Revived? Forty Five!
(the lyrics)

Seth Davey   Jock Stewart   She Loved a Portuguese   Cushie Butterfield
Jug of Punch   Old Pendle   Lizzie Lindsay   The Streets of London
   The Hills of Connemara   Will Ye Go, Lassie, Go?  CD Info Page

A Mon Like Thee

  1. There's an owd chap lives down our street
    In a cosy cottage greenhouse
    And on a Sunday morning when it's fine
    I often goes and sits wi' him
    To have a smoke and chat
    Because he is a dear owd friend o' mine.
    But when it's getting dinnertime,
    And dinner's ready then
    I think it must be time for me to go,
    He goes and hangs me hat up
    Just behind the owd front door
    And then, to my surprise, I hear him say:

    Ee, I'm allus glad t'see a mon like thee,
    Th'art welcome, lad, as welcome as can be.
    Fotch thi cheer up to t'table,
    Stop as long as thou art able,
    Fer I'm allus glad t'see a mon like thee.

  2. One day, as I were sat wi' him,
    There came a loud rat-tat
    There came a loud rat-tat on Jack's front door
    He hurries o'er to open it, and there to his surprise
    A hungry, tattered beggar stood outside.
    He asked Jack for a crust o' bread,
    Jack looks him through and through,
    Then says 'Well, bless thi' heart, now come inside!'
    Then he goes and hangs his hat up
    Just behind the owd front door
    And then, to t' tramp's surprise, he heard Jack say:

  3. Now, this beggar did not eat a bit,
    But down his pale face streaming
    The tears came flowing like a shower o' rain
    He cried: Jack, dost no know me,
    Dost no know thi' long lost brother
    These fifty years away, now back again?
    I've only put these clothes on,
    Just, me lad, fert try thee
    For I'm not poor, but rich as ony Jew
    And th'art welcome to it all, lad,
    Thi' wife and childer too
    And that's because, me lad, I've found thee true.


(to top)

Seth Davey

  1. He sat at the corner of Bevington Bush
    Astride of an old packing case
    And the dolls at the end of his plank were dancing
    As he crooned with a smile on his face:

    Ah, ah, ah, ah, come day, go day,
    Wish in me heart for Sunday.
    Drinking buttermilk all the week,
    Whiskey on a Sunday.

  2. His tired old hands drummed the wooden beam
    The puppet-dolls, they danced the gear
    A far better show than you've ever seen
    At the 'Pivvy' on New Brighton pier.

  3. In nineteen-oh-five old Seth Davey died,
    And his song was heard no more.
    The three dancing dolls in the jowler-bin were thrown,
    And the plank went to mend a back-door.

  4. On some stormy night, down Scotty Road way,
    With the wind blowing up from the sea
    You can still hear the sound of old Seth Davey,
    As he croons to his dancing-dolls three.


(to top)

Jock Stewart

  1. Well, my name is Jock Stewart,
    I'm a canny goin' lad,
    And a roving young fellow I've been,

    So be easy and free
    When your drinking with me
    I'm a man you don't meet every day.

  2. I've got acres of land,
    And I've men to command,
    But I've always a shilling to spare

  3. I took out my dog
    And my gun, for to shoot
    All along the green banks of the Spey

  4. So, come fill up your glass
    With strong brandy or wine
    And whatever the cost I will pay,

  5. Well, my name is Jock Stewart,
    I'm a canny goin' lad,
    And in this company I will never be sad,


(to top)

She Loved a Portuguese
(Paddy Roberts)

  1. I fell in love with a fair young maid
    Who in Campden did reside
    And I was living in Shoreditch,
    Which was a one-and-fourpenny ride.
    But there was a fly in the ointment,
    As you very soon will perceive,
    Cos, although I loved her ever so well,
    She loved a Portuguese.

  2. One night, I saw them both together,
    And I opened me mouth to speak.
    But the sight I saw before me
    Made me shut me mouth up quick!
    For they was both a-sitting there,
    They was laughing, and holding hands,
    And he was a-seducing of her
    With pints of Babycham!

  3. He was a nasty piece of work,
    Gonzales was his name.
    And there he was, a-dallying with
    The honour of my dame.
    So, I resolved to kill him,
    Though I knew it was a sin,
    Cos I didn't like Portuguese in general,
    And in particular, I didn't like 'im!

  4. So I followed him to his lodgings,
    Which was in Millwall, or thereabouts,
    And I followed him up an alleyway,
    And I turned him inside-out!
    Then I muttered jealous oaths, and things,
    And bashed him black and bluer,
    Then I lifted up a manhole cover,
    And I bunged him down a sewer!

  5. Now when she heard what I had done,
    She made me poor life hell,
    So just for the sake of peace and quiet,
    I done her in, as well!
    So now I'm up before the Beak
    To answer for me crime.
    He said: I don't like what you did first off, my son,
    But I'll forgive you the second time!

  6. Now, love and jealousy are dangerous passions,
    I should never have intermixed 'em.
    I might have been much wiser,
    Cos now I'm languishing here in Brixton.
    All for the love of a fair young maid
    Who in Campden did reside,
    Yes, all for the love of a fair young maid
    I got thirteen years inside!

Wiltshire 6 Hand Reel
(Tune only!)

(to top)

Cushie Butterfield
(Geordie Ridley)

  1. I'm a broken-hearted keel man, and I'm o'er heels in love
    With a big lass from Gateshead, and I calls her me dove
    Her name is Cushie Butterfield, and she sells yellow clay
    And her cousin's a muck man, and they calls him Tom Grey.

    She's a big lass, and a bonny lass,
    And she likes her beer,
    And they call her Cushie Butterfield,
    And I wish she were here.

  2. Her eyes are like two holes in a blanket burned through
    And her brows of a morning would spyen a young coo
    But when I hears her hollerin 'Will ye buy any clay?'
    Like a candyman's trumpet, it steals me young heart away.

  3. You should see her down at Sandgate when the fresh herring come in.
    She's like a bag full of sawdust tied round with a string.
    She wears big galoshes, and her stockings once was white,
    And her bedgown is lilac, and her hat's never straight.

  4. When I asked her to marry us, she started to scoff.
    She says 'None of your monkey tricks, I want none of such chaff!'
    Then she starts a blubbering, and roars like a bull,
    And the blokes on the quayside say I'm nowt but a fool.

  5. She says the chap as gets her will have to work every day
    And when he gets home at night he'll have to gan and seek clay,
    And while he's away seeking she'll make balls and sing
    Oh, weel may the keel row that ma laddie's in.


(to top)

Jug of Punch

  1. As I was sitting with me jug and spoon
    On one fine morn in the month of June
    A small bird sang on an ivy branch
    And the song he sang was the Jug of Punch

    Too-ruloo-ruloo, too-ruloo-ruloo,
    Too-ruloo-ruloo, too-ruloo-ruloo.
    (Repeat last two lines of Verse)

  2. What more diversion could a man desire
    Than to court a girl by a neat turf fire,
    A Kerry Pippin to crack and crunch,
    Aye, and on the table a jug of punch

  3. The learned doctors with all their art
    Cannot cure the impression that's on my heart
    Even the cripple forgets his hunch
    When he's safe outside of a jug of punch

  4. Well if I get drunk, then, me money's me own,
    And if you don't like me, then leave me alone,
    I'll tune me fiddle and rosin me bow,
    Aye, and I'll be welcome where e'er I go

  5. And when I'm dead, aye, and in me grave,
    No costly tombstone will I crave,
    Just lay me down in me native peat,
    With a jug of punch at me head and feet.


(to top)

Old Pendle
(arr. Brian Osborne)

Pendle, old Pendle, thou standest alone.
Twixt Burnley and Clitheroe, Whalley and Colne,
Where Hodder and Ribble's fair waters do meet
With Barley and Downham content at thy feet.

  1. Pendle, old Pendle, majestic, sublime
    Thy praises shall ring till the end of all time
    Thy beauty eternal, thy banner unfurled,
    Th'art dearest and grandest old hill in the world


  2. When witches fly out on a dark rainy night,
    We'll not tell a soul, and we'll bar the door tight,
    We'll sit near to t' fire, and keep ourselves warm
    Until once again we can walk on thy arm.


  3. Pendle, old Pendle, by moorland and fell
    In glory and loveliness, ever to dwell
    On life's faithful journey, where e'er I may be,
    I'll pause in my labours, and oft think of thee.


(to top)

Lizzie Lindsay
[Child 226]

  1. Will ye gang tae the Highlands, Lizzie Lindsay?
    Will ye gang tae the Highlands, wi' me?
    Will ye gang tae the Highlands, Lizzie Lindsay?
    Ma pride and ma darling tae be.

    Will ye gang tae the Highlands, Lizzie Lindsay?
    Will ye gang tae the Highlands, wi' me?
    Will ye gang tae the Highlands, Lizzie Lindsay?
    Ma pride and ma darling tae be.

  2. Tae gang tae the highlands wi' ye, sir?
    I dinnae ken how this can be
    For I ken no the land where I'm gannin
    Nor ken I the lad I'm gang wi'


  3. Oh, Lizzie, lass, ye mon ken sae little
    If say thee that ye dinnae ken me,
    For I am the Lord Ronald Macdonald
    A chieftain of high degree.


  4. So she's kilted up her skirts of green satin
    She's kilted them up round her knee
    And she's gone with Lord Ronald Macdonald,
    His pride and his darling to be.


Katz Rag
(Tune only!)

Dark Island
(Tune only!)

(to top)

The Streets of London
(Ralph McTell)

  1. Have you seen the old man in the closed down market,
    Kicking up the paper with his worn-out shoes?
    In his eyes you see no pride, arms held loosely by his side,
    Yesterday's papers telling yesterday's news.

    So how can you tell me you're lonely?
    And say for you the sun don't shine.
    Let me take you by the hand
    I'll lead you through the streets of London.
    I'll show you something
    To make you change your mind.

  2. Have you seen the old girl who walks the streets of London,
    Dirt in her hair, and her clothes in rags?
    She's no time for talking, she just keeps right on walking,
    Carrying her home in two carrier-bags.


  3. In the all night cafe at a quarter-past eleven
    Same old man sits there on his own.
    Looking at the world over the rim of his teacup:
    Each tea lasts an hour, and he wanders home alone.


  4. Have you seen the old man outside the Seamen's Mission,
    Memories fading with the medal ribbons he wears?
    In our winter city the rain cries a little pity
    For one more forgotten hero in a world that doesn't care.


(to top)

The Hills of Connemara

Gather up your pots and your old tin can,
The mash, the corn, the barley and the bran,
Run like the divvil from the Excise man,
Keep the smoke from rising, Barney.

  1. Keep your eyes well peeled today,
    The Excise men are on their way
    Searching for the Mountain Tae
    In the Hills of Connemara.

  2. Mountain breezes, as they blow,
    Hear their echo in the glen below,
    The Gun 'B' men are on the go
    In the Hills of Connemara

  3. A gallon for the butcher, a quart for Tom
    A bottle for poor old farmer John
    Put out those fires and run along
    In the Hills of Connemara

  4. Stand your ground, boys, it's too late
    The Excise Men are at your gate
    Glory be to God, but they're drinking it nate
    In the Hills of Connemara

  5. Swing to the left and swing to the right,
    The Excise Men will dance all night
    Drinking up tae till the morning light
    In the Hills of Connemara


(to top)

Will Ye Go, Lassie, Go?
(Robert Tannahill)

  1. Where the deer and the rae,
    Lightly bounding together,
    Sport the lang summer day
    Mang the braes o' Balquhidder
    Will ye go, lassie, go?
    And we'll all go together
    To pull wild mountain thyme
    All around the blooming heather,
    Will ye go, lassie, go?

  2. I will twine my love a bower
    By yon cool, clear, crystal fountain,
    And I'll pile on the tower
    All the flowers o' the mountain

  3. Now the summer's in its prime
    And the trees sae sweetly blooming
    And the wild mountain thyme
    O'er the moorlands is perfuming

  4. If your true-love, she won't come,
    Then you'll surely find another
    To pluck wild mountain thyme
    All around the blooming heather

  5. While the rude and wintry wind
    Idly raves round our dwelling,
    And the roar o' the lyn
    O'er the night breeze is telling

  6. I will roam the mountains wild,
    Mang the glens sae deep and dreary,
    And return with ma spoils
    Tae the bower o' ma deary.

  7. To our dear native scenes
    Let us journey together,
    Where glad innocence reigns
    Mang the braes o' Balquhidder


Originally released on cassette in January, 1994,
my album is now on CD!!

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