Neat Little Still: The Authorized Bootlegs, Vol. 1

by Patrick Clifford

/
1.
I'm on my way down to the quay Where the big ship at anchor lays To command a gang of navvys I was told to engage I thought I'd drop in for a drink Before I went away For to take a trip on an emigrant ship To the shores of Botany Bay CHORUS: Farewell to your bricks and mortar Farewell to your dirty lime Farewell to your gangway and your gang plank To hell with your overtime For the good ship Ragamuffin Is lying at the quay For to take old Pat with a shovel on his back To the shores of Botany Bay The boss came up this morning He says "Well, Pat you know If you didn't get your navvys out I'm afraid you'll have to go" So I asked him for my wages I demanded all my pay And I told him straight I was going to emigrate To the shores of Botany Bay And when I reach Australia I'll go and I'll look for gold There's plenty there for digging up Or so I have been told Or else I'll go back to my trade Eight hundred bricks I'll lay And eight bob I'll lift for an eight-hour shift On the shores of Botany Bay
2.
03:16
Sea-Fever, by John Masefield I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life. To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
3.
It was one fine March morning I bid New Orleans adieu And I took the road to Jackson town, my fortune to renew Accursed with foreign money, no credit could I gain Which filled my heart with longing for the lakes of Ponchartrain I stepped on board a railroad car beneath the morning sun I rode the rods till evening and I laid me down again All strangers there no friends to me till a dark girl towards me came And I fell in love with my Creole girl by the lakes of Ponchartrain I said, "My pretty Creole girl, my money here is no good If it weren't for the alligators, I'd sleep out in the woods" "You're welcome here, kind stranger, our house is very plain But we never turned a stranger out by the lakes of Ponchartrain" She took me into her mother's house and treated me right well The hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell To try and paint her beauty, I’m sure twould be in vain So handsome was my Creole girl by the lakes of Ponchartrain I asked her if she'd marry me, she said that ne'er could be For she had got a lover and he was far at sea She said that she would wait for him and true she would remain Till he'd return to his Creole girl on the lakes of Ponchartrain So its fare thee well, my Creole girl, I never will see you more I'll not forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore And at each social gathering, a flowing glass will I drain And I'll drink the health of my Creole girl by the lakes of Ponchartrain
4.
As I was going over the far-famed Kerry mountains I met with Captain Farrell and his money he was counting I first produced my pistol, and I then produced my rapier Saying, "Stand and deliver, for I'm your bold deceiver" CHORUS Musha ring dum a do dum a da Whack for my daddy-o Whack for my daddy-o There's whiskey in the jar I counted out his money, and it made a pretty penny I put it in my pocket and I took it out to Jenny She sighed and she swore that she never would deceive me But the devil take that woman, for they never can be easy I went into my chamber, all for to take a slumber I dreamed of gold and jewels and sure it was no wonder But Jenny drew me charges and she filled them up with water Then sent for Captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter It was early in the morning, just before I rose to travel Up comes a band of footmen and likewise Captain Farrell I first produced my pistol, for she stole away my rapier But I couldn't shoot the water so as a prisoner I was taken If anyone can aid me, it's my brother in the army But a new station will be in Cork or in Killarney And if he'll come to join me, we'll go roving near Kilkenny And I swear he'd treat me fairer than my army sporting Jenny Now some take delight when the carriages are rolling Others take delight in the hurling and the bowling Me, I take delight in the juice of the barley And courting pretty Jenny in the morning bright and early
5.
There's been a woman in our town A woman you ought know well She loved her husband dearly And another man twice as well CHORUS With me right finnickineerio Me tip finnick a wall With me right finnickineerio We're tipping it up to Nancy She went down to the chemist's shop Some remedies for to buy "Have you anything in your chemist shop To make me old man blind?" "Give him eggs and marrowbones And make him suck them all Before he has the last one sucked He won't see you at all." So she gave him eggs and marrowbones She made him suck them all Before he had the last one sucked He couldn't see her at all "If in this world I cannot see Then here I cannot stay. I'd drown myself in the river!" "Come on" says she, “I'll show you the way." She led him to the river She led him to the brim But sly enough of Martin It was him that shoved her in She swam through the river She swam through the brine "Oh Martin, dear Martin Don't leave your wife behind." "Yerra shut up outa that ye silly aul fool Don't ye know poor Martin is blind?" There's nine in me family And none of them is me own I wish that each and every man Would come and claim his own.
6.
03:11
7.
'Twas down the glen one Easter morn To a city fair rode I. When Ireland's line of marching men In squadrons passed me by. No pipe did hum, no battle drum Did sound its dread tattoo But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell Rang out in the foggy dew. Right proudly high over Dublin town They hung out a flag of war. 'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar. And from the plains of Royal Meath Strong men came hurrying through; While Brittania's sons with their long-range guns Sailed in from the foggy dew. 'Twas England bade our wild geese go That small nations might be free. Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves On the fringe of the grey North Sea. But had they died by Pearse's side Or fought with Cathal Brugha, Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep 'Neath the hills of the foggy dew. The bravest fell, and the solemn bell Rang out mournfully and clear For those who died that Eastertide In the springing of the year. And the world did gaze in deep amaze At those fearless men and true Who bore the fight that freedom's light Might shine through the foggy dew.
8.
I joined the flying column in 1916 In Cork with Sean Moylan; in Tipperary with Dan Breen Arrested by Free Staters and sentenced for to die Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee mountain boy We went across the valleys and over the hilltops green Where we met with Dinny Lacey, Sean Hogan and Dan Breen Sean Moylan and his gallant men that kept the flag flying high Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee mountain boy We tracked the Wicklow mountains we were rebels on the run Though hunted night and morning we were outlaws but free men We tracked the Dublin mountains as the sun was shining high Farewell to Tipperary said the Galtee mountain boy I’ll bid farewell to old Clonmel that I never more will see And to the Galtee mountains that oft times sheltered me To the men who fought for liberty and died without a sigh May their cause be ne'er forgotten said the Galtee mountain boy
9.
10.
"And who are you, me pretty fair maid, and who are you, me honey?" She answered me quite modestly, "I am me mother's darling." CHORUS With me too-ry-ay Fol-de-diddle-day Di-re fol-de-diddle Dai-rie oh. "Will you come to me mother's house, when the moon is shining clearly? I'll open the door and I'll let you in And devil a one would hear us." So I went to her house in the middle of the night when the moon was shining clearly. She opened the door and she let me in And devil a one did hear us. She took my horse by the bridle and the bit and she led him to the stable, Saying "There's plenty of oats for a soldier's horse, Leave him eat it if he's able." Then she took me by the lily-white hand and she led me to the table, Saying "There's plenty of wine for a soldier boy, Drink it if you're able." Then she got up and she made the bed and made it nice and easy She got up, she laid me down, she said "Laddie, are you able?" And there we lay till the break of day and devil a one did hear us She arose, put on her clothes saying "Darling, I must leave you." "When will I return again and when will we be married?" "When broken shells make Christmas bells, we might well be married."
11.
Oh, all the money e'er I had, I spent it in good company And all the harm that ever I've done, alas it was to none but me And all I've done for want of wit to mem'ry now I can't recall So fill to me the parting glass, Good night and joy be with you all If I had money enough to spend, and leisure time to rest awhile There is a fair maid in this town, who sorely has my heart beguiled Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips, I own she has my heart enthralled So fill to me the parting glass, Good night and joy be with you all. Oh, all the comrades e'er I had, they're sorry for my going away. And all the sweethearts e'er I had, they wished me one more day to stay. But since it falls unto my lot, that I should rise and you should not, I will gently rise and softly call, Goodnight and joy be with you all.

about

Selected live recordings from assorted performances.

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released January 26, 2011

Executive Producers: Linda Jeffers, Kieran Xanthos, Martin Rutherford, Linda Zdepski, Anonymous.

Photo courtesy Orange County Archives:
www.flickr.com/photos/ocarchives/4678633927/

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Patrick Clifford New York, New York

Patrick Clifford is an Irish-American musician, songwriter, and producer.

He performs and records Irish traditional standards; skillfully crafted original songs and compositions; and discerning covers of contemporary Irish and American songwriters such as Pete St. John, Bob Dylan, and Bruce Springsteen.

Read more:
www.patrickclifford.com/clifford/about/
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