For to see Mad Tom of Bedlam Ten thousand miles I traveled Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes For to save her shoes from gravel. Still I sing bonny boys, bonny mad boys Bedlam boys are bonny For they all go bare and they live by the air And they want no drink or money. I went down to Satan's kitchen For to get me food one morning And there I got souls piping hot All on the spit a-turning My staff has murdered giants My bag a long knife carries For to cut mince pies from children's thighs And feed them to the fairies The spirits white as lightening Would on me travels guide me The stars would shake and the moon would quake Whenever they espied me And when that I'll be murdering The Man in the Moon to the powder His staff I'll break, his dog I'll shake And there'll howl no demon louder
General Taylor gained the day silver spade, shroud silk golden chain, link we carve all the go, stormy winds dont blow dead and gone, long
cho: Step we gaily, on we go Heel for heel and toe for toe, Arm in arm and row on row All for Mairi's wedding. Over hillways up and down Myrtle green and bracken brown, Past the sheiling through the town All for sake of Mairi. Red here Cheeks as rowans are Bright her eyes as any star, Fairest o' them all by far Is our darlin' Mairi. Plenty herring, plenty meal Plenty peat to fill her creel, Plenty bonny bairns as weel That's the toast for Mairi.
There was a weaver o' the north And oh, but he was cruel; The very first nicht that he got wed. He sat and grat for gruel. He widna wint his gruel, He widna wint his gruel. The very first nicht that he got wed. He sat and grat for gruel. There is nae a pot in a' the hoose That I can mak' your gruel. Oh, the washing pot it'll dae wi' me. For I mun hae ma gruel. For I mun hae ma gruel. I canna wint ma gruel. Oh the washing pot it'll dae wi' me. For I mun hae ma gruel. There is nae a spoon in a' the hoose That ye can sup your gruel. Oh, the gairden spade it'll dae wi' me. For I mun hae ma gruel. For I mun hae ma gruel. I canna wint ma gruel. The gairden spade it'll dae wi' me For I mun hae ma gruel. She gaed ben the hoose for cakes and wine, She brocht them on a towel ; Oh gae awa, gae awa, with your fol-de-rols. For I mun hae ma gruel. For I mun hae ma gruel. I canna wint ma gruel. Oh gae awa, gae awa, with your fol-de-rols. For I mun hae ma gruel. Come all young lasses take my advice And never marry a weaver; The very first nicht that he got wed. He sat and grat for gruel. He widna wint his gruel. He widna wint his gruel. Oh, the very first nicht that he got wed, He sat and he grat for gruel.
The air is clear the day is fine, and swiftly swiftly flows the time The boat is floating on the tide that wafts me off from Fiunary (chorus) We must up and and haste away, We must up and and haste away We must up and and haste away, farewell, farewell tae Fiunary A thousand thaousand tender ties awake this day my plaintive sighs My heart within me almost dies, at thought of leaving Fiunary ChorusBut I must leave those happy vales, see how they fill the spreading sails Adeau, Adeau my native dales, farewell, fairvell tae Fiunary
Buying powder fron the Dutch Trading for our goods and such Buying Spanish arms along the Main Persuded by sailors from the West An English ship, no doubt the best But we'll make sure their efforts are in vain (chorus) Put our backs into it, lads, We'll head into the wind The English will be nay to use their sails and we'll be safe on Irish lands And put our guns in Irish hands Long before they reach the coast of Wales Across our bow the cannon fire It only raises up our ire Our archers fire arrows full of flame A couple arrows hit their mark Their mainsail's lighting up the dark And now their ship is slowing down again (chorus) Their captain fights the fire on deck But it's now use, their sails are spent We'll leave the Englich bastards far behind Their vessel's speed is such a farce It should be called the "Leaden Arse" Instead of being dubbed the "Golden Hind" (chorus) (chorus)
Oh, what a parish, a terrible parish. Oh, what a parish is that of Dunkeld. They hanged their minister, drowned their presenter, dun downed the steeple and fuddled the bell. he steeple was downed, bu the Kirk was sill sandin', The bigit a lum where the bell used to hang. A still po they got and they brewed Highland whisky On Sundays they drank it and ranted and sang. Oh, had you but seen how graceful they took it, To see the crammed pews so socially joined. MacDonald the piper stood up in the pulpit. He made the pipes skirl, out came music divine. With whisky and beer they would cures and they'd swear, They's argue and fight your darn ya will tell. Ah, but Georddie and Charlie they bothered Furellie With whisky the worse than the devil himself. When they high in spirits, had mounted their garrits, To a fesh [feis] on the green they did all adjourn. The maids with coats kilted, they skipped and lilted When tired they shook hands and then hame to town. If the Kirks all o'or Scotland held like social meetin's Nay warnin' you'd need from a far tinkling bell. For true love and friendship would drar you together far better then roarin' the horrors of Hell.
cho: I'll tell my ma when I go home The boys won't leave the girls alone They pulled my hair and they stole my comb But that's alright 'til I go home. She is handsome she is pretty She is the belle of Belfast City She is courting 1, 2, 3, Please won't you tell me who is She? Here she comes as white as snow Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes Oh Johnny Murray he says she'll die If she doesn't get the fellow with the roving eye. Let the wind and rain and the hail blow high And the snow come tumbling from the sky She's as nice as apple pie She'll get her own boy by and by. When she gets a lad of her own She won't tell her ma 'til she comes home Let the boys stay as they will For it's Albert Mooney she loves still.