Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Happy Songs of Death
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

I’ll tell you a story that happened to me
One day as I went down to Yore by the sea
The sun it was bright and the day it was warm,
Says I a quiet pint wouldn’t do me no harm

I went in and I called for a bottle of stout
Says the barman, “I’m sorry, all the beer is sold out.
Try whiskey or paddy, ten years in the wood.”
Says I, “I’ll try cider, I’ve heard that it’s good good.”

Oh never, Oh never, Oh never again
If I live to a hundred or a hundred and ten
I fell to the ground and I could not get up
After drinking a quart of the Johnny Jump Up
Ahhh…

After lowering the third I made straight for the yard
Where I bumped into Brody, the big civic guard
Come here to me boy, don’t you know I’m the law?
Well, I up with me fist and I shattered his jaw

He fell to the ground with his knees doubled up
But it wasn’t I hit him, ’twas the Johnny Jump Up
The next thing I met down in Yore by the sea
Was a cripple on crutches and says he to me

I’m afraid for me life I’ll be hit by a car
Won’t you help me on down to the Railway Men’s Bar?
After downing a pint of the cider so sweet
Well, he threw down his crutches and danced on his feet

Well, I went up the lee road, a friend for to see
They call it the madhouse in Cork by the Lea
And when I got there, sure the truth I will tell,
Well, they had the poor bugger locked up in a cell

Said the guard, testing him, say these words if you can
Around the rugged rock the ragged rascal ran
Tell him I’m not crazy, tell him I’m not mad
It was only a sip of the bottle I had

Well, a man died in the mines by the name of McNabb
They washed him and laid him outside on the slab
And after the coroners measurements did take
Well, his wife took him home to a bloody fine wake

About 12 o’clock and the beer it was high
And the corpse he sat up and he says with a sigh
I can’t get to heaven, they won’t let me up
Til I bring them a quart of the Johnny Jump Up

KEY Dm

verse/chorus:
Dm Dm C Dm
Am Am Dm Dm
Dm Dm C Dm
Dm Dm C Dm

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Happy Songs of Death
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

Look at the coffin with golden handles
Isn’t it grand boys to be bloody well dead?

Let’s not have a sniffle,
Let’s have a bloody good cry
And always remember the longer you live,
The sooner you’ll bloody well die

Look at the preacher, bloody well santified (bloody sanctimonious)
Isn’t it grand boys to be bloody well dead?

Look at the choir boys, bloody castrati
Isn’t it grand boys to be bloody well dead?

Look at the widow, bloody great female
Isn’t it grand boys to be bloody well dead?

Look at the mourners, bloody great hippocrites
Isn’t it grand boys to be bloody well dead?

Look at the flowers, all bloody wilted
Isn’t it grand boys to be bloody well dead?

Look at the tombstone, bloody great boulder
Isn’t it grand boys to be bloody well dead?

Look at the whiskey, in buckets and bottles
Isn’t it grand boys to be bloody well dead?

KEY C

verse:
C C F F
C C G G

chorus:
C C C C
F F C C
F F C C
G F C C

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Happy Songs of Death
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

I left my ship with storms on my mind,
High wind and tossing seas.
I sought a maid with soft green eyes
To take my mind off me.

Hai diddle-dai-dum
Ba du diddle-dai-dum
Ba du diddle-dai diddle-dai dee
Hai diddle-dai-dum
Ba du diddle-dai-dum
Won’t you come with me?

I met a maid by waterside
Gutting the herring clean.
She took my hand, laid down her knife.
As we walked along the beach.
Singing…

She set herself down on a rock
And bade me sit at her feet.
The sun settled down and the wind did blow
The curlets across her cheek.
We sang…

I took her gently in my arms
Our bodies rolling in the sand.
When she pulled the knife out of my side
My body stopped lurching at last.

KEY G

verse:
G C D G
G D G G
G C D G
G D G G

chorus:
C D G-D-G
C D G-D-G

Background

Last night, I was watching Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. I finished and after spending hours in front of the computer, I needed a break. So I decided to improvise a song on my autoharp. Once I had a nice melody, I wrote these lyrics. Then I recorded the song on my new Edirol digital recorder. Ah! There’s nothing like a good murder ballad.

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Happy Songs of Death
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t’ither say,
‘Where sall we gang and dine today-o?’

‘In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

‘His hound is to the hunting game,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady’s taken another mate,
So we shall mak our dinner sweet.

‘Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een;
Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
We’ll, theek our nest when it grows bare.

‘Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane;
Oer his white banes, when they we bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.’

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Happy Songs of Death
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

One evening in the month of June
As I was sitting in my room
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was “The Jug Of Punch.”

Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was “The Jug Of Punch.”

What more diversion can a man desire?
Than to sit him down by an alehouse fire
Upon his knee a pretty wench
And upon the table a jug of punch.

Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
Upon his knee a pretty wench
And on the table a jug of punch.

Let the doctors come with all their art
They’ll make no impression upon my heart
Even a cripple forgets his hunch
When he’s snug outside of a jug of punch.

Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
T too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
Even a cripple forgets his hunch
When he’s snug outside of a jug of punch.

And if I get drunk, well, me money’s me own
And them don’t like me they can leave me alone
I’ll chune me fiddle and I’ll rosin me bow
And I’ll be welcome wherever I go.

Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
T oo ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
I’ll chune me fiddle and I’ll rosin me bow
And I’ll be welcome wherever I go.

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

Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay,
Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
Just lay me down in my native peat
With a jug of punch at my head and feet.

KEY G

verse/chorus:
G C G D7
G C G D7 G

Background

A jug was and still is the best for drinking punch out of. As they say, the water and the spirits mix better.

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Happy Songs of Death
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

Whiskey you’re the devil. You’re leading me astray
Over hills and mountains and to Amerikay
You’re sweeter, stronger, decenter, you’re spunkier than tea,
Oh, whiskey you’re me darlin’, drunk or so-ber

Oh now brave boys we’re on the march
Off to Portugal and Spain
The drums a-beating, the banners flying
The devil a-home will come tonight

Bridge:
Love fare thee well
With a tither-y-eye, the diddlum the dah
Me tither-y-eye, the diddlum the dah
Me right fol tur-a ladee
Oh, there’s whiskey in the jar

Said the mother, “Do not wrong me
Don’t take me daughter from me
For if you do, I will torment you
And after death the ghost will haunt you”

The French are fighting boldly
Men dying hot and coldly
Give every man a flask of powder
A firelock upon his shoulder

KEY Bb

Verse:
Bb Bb Bb Bb
Eb Eb Bb Bb
Eb Eb Bb Bb
F F F F

Bridge:
Bb Bb Bb Bb
Bb Bb Bb Bb
Eb Eb Eb Eb
Bb Bb Bb Bb
F F Bb Bb

Chorus:
Bb Bb Bb Bb
Eb Eb Bb Bb
Eb Eb Bb Bb
F F F F
Bb Bb Bb Bb
Eb Eb Bb Bb
Bb Bb Bb Bb
F F Bb Bb

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Happy Songs of Death
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

And sing high Jeannie high,
Sing low Jeannie low
You can never make a singing bird
Out of a hoodie crow

My father was a gentleman, and a gentleman was he
But he’s wed me to an old man of three score years and three

Before I’d have an old man with thirty plows and land
I’d rather have a young man with only hat in hand

For when we go to bed at night he turns o’er to the wall
And never lays a hand on me till morning light dawns

Now some neighbors have advised me to drown him in a well
Some others have advised me to grind him in a mill

But I have taken my own advice and borne him to a plain
And I’ve tied him to a windmill, and he’ll never come back again

KEY D

verse:
D G D G
D G D G

chorus:
A A
G G
A A
G-A-D

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Happy Songs of Death
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

I’ve traveled this wide world all over
And now to another I go.
And I know the good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Bow.

To welcome old Rosin the Bow. (x2)
And I know the good quarters are waiting
To welcome old Rosin the Bow.

When I’m dead and laid out on the counter
A voice you will hear from below,
Saying “Send down a hogshead of whisky
To drink with old Rosin the Bow.

To drink with old Rosin the Bow”. (x2)
Saying “Send down a hogshead of whisky
To drink with old Rosin the Bow”.

Then get a half dozen stout fellows
And line them all up in a row
Let them drink out of half gallon bottles
To the memory of Rosin the Bow

To the memory of Rosin the Bow (x2)
Let them drink out of half gallon bottles
To the memory of Rosin the Bow

Then get a half dozen stout fellows
And line them all stagger and go
And let ‘em dig a great hole in the meadow
And in it put Rosin the Bow.

And in it put Rosin the Bow. (x2)
Let ‘em dig a great hole in the meadow
And in it put Rosin the Bow.

Then get ye a couple of bottles.
Put one at me head and me toe.
With a diamond ring scratched upon ‘em
The name of old Rosin the Bow.

The name of old Rosin the Bow. (x2)
With a diamond ring scratched upon ‘em
The name of old Rosin the Bow.

I feel that grim reaper approaching,
That cruel remorseless old foe,
And I lift up me glass in his honour.
Take a drink with old Rosin the Bow.

Take a drink with old Rosin the Bow. (x2)
And I lift up me glass in his honour.
Take a drink with old Rosin the Bow.

KEY C

verse:
C C C C
C Am Dm G7
C C C C
F C G C

chorus:
C C F F
C Am Dm G7
C C C C
F C G7 C

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Happy Songs of Death
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

‘Twas down the glen one Easter morn
To a city fair rode I.
When armed line of marching men
In squadrons passed me by.
No pipes did hum, no battle drum
Did sound their loud tattoo
But the Angelus bell o’er the Liffey’s swell
Rang out through the foggy dew.

Right proudly high over Dublin town
They hung out the flag of war.
For ‘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 huns with their long range guns
Sailed in through the foggy dew.

O’ the night fell black and the rifles’ crack
Made “Perfidious Abion” reel
Midst the leaden rail, seven tongues of flame
Did shine o’er the lines of steel.
By each shining blade a prayer was said
That to Ireland her sons be true,
And when morning broke still the war flag shook
Out its fold ‘neath the foggy dew

‘Twas England bade our wild geese go
That small nations might be free.
And their lonely graves are by Suvla’s waves
On the fringe of the great North Sea.
Oh had they died by Pearse’s side
Or fought with Cathal Brugha,
Ah their names we’d keep where the Fenians sleep
‘Neath the shroud of the foggy dew.

The bravest fell, and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Watertide
In the springing of the year.
The world did gaze with deep amaze
At fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom’s light
Might shine through the foggy dew.

Ah, back through the glen I rode again
Myy heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men
Whom I never shall see no more.
And to and fro through dreams I’ll go
I’ll kneel and I’ll pray for you,
For slavery fled, O the glorious dead,
When you fell ‘neath the foggy dew.

Key Am

verse:
Am G
C Am-C-Am
Am G
C Am-C-Am
C G
C Am-C-Am
Am G
C Am-C-Am

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Happy Songs of Death
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

Says my auld one to your auld one
Will you go to the Waxie’s dargle
Says your auld one to my auld one
Sure I haven’t got a farthing
I’ve went down to Monto town
To see Uncle McArdle
But he wouldn’t lend me a half a crown
To go to the Waxie’s dargle

Chorus:
What’ll you have, will you have a pint
Yes, I’ll have a pint with you, sir
And if one of us doesn’t order soon
We’ll be thrown out of the boozer

Says my auld one to your auld one
Will you go to the Galway races
Says your auld one to my auld one
For the price of my auld lad’s braces
I went down to Chapel Street
To the Jew man money lender
But he wouldn’t give me a couple bob
On my auld lad’s red suspenders

Says my auld one to your auld one
We’ve got no beef nor mutton
Says your auld one to my auld one
I’ll tell where you get it for nothin’
Here’s a nice piece of advice
I got from an auld fish monger
When the food is scarce and you see the hearse
You’ll know that you died of hunger

KEY D

verse:
D D G G
D D G A7
D D G G
D A7 D D

D D G G
D D G A7 D D
G G D D
D A7 D D

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Happy Songs of Death
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

Johnny awoke with an ache in his head.
Bad dreams had made him ill.
And he grumbled as he dressed despite his duress
As he made his way to the mill.

Oh he never wanted to work that day,
But the foreman had himself clear.
So Johnny dreamed of the eve to come
When he’d drink him beer after beer,
Singing…

“I’ll drink from dusk till dawn
I’ll drink a toast to day’s end.
Yes, I’ll drink from dusk till dawn
And I’ll drink to the health of me friends.”

It was a chilly morning, went straight to his bones
Oh, he wished that he had him some ale.
Just one fine glass of stout Guiness
Would hold him till the end of the trail.

Oh his mouth watered with the thought of ale
By the time he arrived he’d decide
That not even Death could keep him away
From his friends and their favorite dive.
They’d sing…

Johnny worked hard all the day
His mind away drinking alone
And he told his friends of the pledge he’d made
And the fantasy that kept him afloat.

“Come hell or high water I’ll drink with you
Nothing could keep me away.”
When the day came to end, he left with a friend
Together they walked and they sang…

On the road they came to a bridge of rope
And there they met with a man
With a scythe in his hand and an evil grin
Tw’as Old Death who cut Johnny down.

Johnny’s friend crossed himself, swore it’was the truth
As he retold the scene to the bar
And they all recalled Johnny’s last words,
“I’ll drink come hell or high water!”
He sang…

Well, the door swung open, a cold wind blew in.
And there stood a man unafraid.
He called for a beer. They realized when near.
It was Johnny come back from the grave.

He said, “You could keep me away from work.
For there’s nothing I live for there.
But I told you today of the pledge I made
You can’t keep a man from his beer,”

Key G

verse:
G G G G
G G D7 G
C G C G
C G G-D7-G

chorus:
C C G G
C C G G
C C G G
C G G-D7-G

Background

Original ghost story that’s also been titled “Johnny at the Door” and “An Irish Drinking Song”.

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Celtic Christmas Elf Conscription Song
Buy MP3:  Amazon or iTunes

Ho ho! Merry Christmas with a rat-ta-ta-tum,
The presents we make will bring joy to children.
Santa’s smiling and stroking his beard with his thumb
Come celebrate Christmas with me, with me!
Come celebrate Christmas with me!

Twas a fortnight following St. Patrick’s Day
When across the thin veil the Leprechauns came
To Shebeg and Sheemore to dance with the fae
To join the fine craic until morning.

Ol’ Lucky was sitting and drinking stout brew
When in walked two elves with green hats and red shoes
He smiled and said, “Why! How do you do?
Pull a seat up and drink here with me.”

The larger elf said, “Let me buy you a beer.
T’was a great Paddy’s Day from all that I hear!”
The other elf added, “I’ve a secret to share.Gm
Just listen and the next round’s on me.”

Lucky drank his first pint while singing a song.
The second pint came as he was feeling quite strong.
But the shot of hot whiskey, made him feel all wrong.
That’s when the elves began to speak.

“Kris Kringle sent us to recruit by ourselves.
But the Keeblers are busy. S.P.E.W.’s freeing house elves.
I guess what we’re staying is we’ve chosen quite well.
Your going to the North Pole with me.”

They dragged him outside. Tied him to a reindeer
To the North Pole they flew to serve a full year.
You Leprechauns take note of Santa’s elves and beware
Don’t share in the craic of the fae.

KEY C

chorus:
F / / C
C Am Dm G
C / / F
C G C F
C G C /

verse:
C / / F
C Am Dm G
C / / F
C G C /

F / / C
C Am Dm G
C / / F
C G C /

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Kilted For Her Pleasure
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

High atop a lonely moor, a Widow lived alone.
An Inn she kept, and as she slept,
her pillow heard her moan:
“Oh, many’s the lonely traveller
has spent the night with me,
but there’s no a man in all creation
gives content to me!

“Well, some can manage once or twice,
and some make three or four;
but it seems to me a rarity
is the man who can do more.
I’d do anything to find him,
in Heaven or in Hell.”
And as she spoke these words,
sure, she heard her front door bell.

And the wind blew cold and lonely
across that Widow’s moor,
and she never, ever turned away
a traveller from the door.

So boldly ran the Widow,
and the door did open wide,
and as she did, a tall and handsome
stranger stepped inside.
Well, she gave him bread and brandy,
and when that he was fed,
he said, “My dear, now have no fear;
it’s time to come to bed.

“For I’ve heard your plea
right down below,
and I’ve come to see you right.
But you must come to Hell with me
if I can last the night.”
She said, “You randy Devil!
To this bargain I’ll agree,
for Hell on Earth, or Hell in Hell,
it’s all the same to me!”

Now, as they tumbled in the bed,
the Devil, he proved well…
and he thought before the night would end
that she’d be in his Hell.
Ah, but when they came to number nine,
the Widow cried out, “More!”
And when the twelfth time came around,
the Widow cried, “Encore!”

At twenty-five the Devil
felt compelled to take a rest,
but the Widow cried,
“Come raise your head,
and put me to the test!”
At sixty-nine, the Widow laughed.
“Again! Again!” she cried,
and the Devil said,
“Well, I can see just how your husband died!”

At ninety-nine, the Devil
he began to wail and weep.
He said, “I’ll give you anything,
if you’ll let me go to sleep!”
But before the morning light was up,
the Devil hobbled home,
and the Widow, still not satisfied,
once more was left alone.

She lay there on her pillow
and she thought on ninety-nine.
“It’s a pity that poor old Devil
couldn’t manage one more time!
I’ll call him up again tonight
to see what can be done -
with a little more application,
we could make it to the ton!”

But when she called to him that night,
no Devil did appear.
For the first time in Eternity,
the Devil, he shook with fear.
He said, “Of all the torments
I’ve witnessed here in Hell,
I never knew what pain was,
’til I rang your front door bell!”

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Kilted For Her Pleasure
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

The 14th day of February’s for Saint Valentine
September 29th is when Saint Michael’s faithful dine
On April 23rd we hail Saint George without restraint
And come November 1st we cheer for EV’RY bloody saint

But none of those can claim the very BEST day of the year
‘Cause on March 17th we praise the patron saint of BEER!

[Cheers: "Hail St Patrick!" "Slainte!" etc.]

But wait! Don’t cheer for greenish beer or Irish cream liqueur
Be-cause the man you toast was one devout tee-to-tal-ER!

Saint Patrick never drank! (Hey!)
Saint Patrick never drank! (Hey!)
‘Twas only clear, unleaded stuff he poured into his tank!
He’d take the cash YOU spend for drafts and stash it in the bank! (Hooray!)
Heroic, true, but STOIC too!
Saint Patrick never drank!

He strode with ancient war-ri-ors from coast to plain to highland
His staff he’d shake till ev’ry snake was banished from the island
He taught his fans the shamrock stands for Father, Son, and Spirit
But don’t break out the Guinness Stout – the man would not go near it!

Saint Patrick didn’t drink! (Hey!)
Saint Patrick didn’t drink! (Hey!)
He never tossed a bracer back or teetered on the brink!
So pour another tall one, lad, then pour it down the sink! (Hooray!)
With piety, SOBRIETY!
Saint Patrick didn’t drink!

Saint Patrick never drank (Hey!)
Saint Patrick never drank (Hey!)
So let’s be frank: When asked his fav’rite beer, he drew a blank!
By gosh, if he could see you sloshed, he’d give your tush a spank! (Hooray!)
The guy was swell – but DRY AS HELL!
Saint Patrick never drank!

No, SAINT – PAT – RICK – NEV – ER – DRANK!

Key G

first verse:
G D G
Em G D
C G Em
G D G

chrous:
G G G G
G G G G
C C G D
C C G G
G G D G

verse:
G G D G
C C G D
C C G G
G G D G

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Kilted For Her Pleasure
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

As I went out one morning on the fourteenth of July
I met a maid and I asked her age and she gave me this reply:
“I have a little meadow, I’ve kept for you in store
And it’s only due, I should tell you true, it never was mowed before”

She said: “Me handsome young man, if a mower that you be
I give you good employment, so come along with me”
Well it was me good employment to wander up and down
With me tearing scythe all to contrive to mow her meadow down.

Now me courage being undaunted, I stepped out on the ground
And with me tearing scythe I then did strive to mow her meadow down
I mowed from nine till dinnertime, it was far beyond my skill
I was obliged to yield and to quit the field and the grass was growing still.

Now the mower she kissed and did pretest, this fair maid bein’ so young
Her little eyes they glittered like to the rising sun
She said: “I’ll strive to sharpen your scythe, so set it in me hand
And then perhaps you will return again to mow me meadow land.”

Key Am

verse:
Bm Bm A Bm
A A D-A-Bm
A A G-D-A
A A D-A-Bm

Background

Traditional song with a new arrangement by Marc Gunn.

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Kilted For Her Pleasure
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

(Won’t you) Pour me a glass
Of Monahan’s Mudders Milk
We’ll wash the mud away.
If you poor me a glass
Of Monahan’s Mudders Milk
We’ll leave Higgins’ damn Moon some day.

I was 12 years old
When my daddy brought me here
With two brothers who loved to laugh,
But 10-20 in this muddy hole
We lost the laughing muscle mold
And my brothers lost their lives to mudders gas.

My daddy raised one fist
To tell the boss he’s pissed,
Another to the foreman on third shift,
But when he raised his shovel
To protest his low wage troubles
He was shot down and dumped in a muddy ditch.

Well mudden’s all I know
Until I’ve ‘nough to go
And take my own three boys far from here.
Maybe another place much worse
In this here cold Verse
Till then I drink my Monahan’s for cheer.

Pour me, pour me, mudder, mudder, mudder me,
Mudder, mudder me my milk.
Poor me, mudder me, mudder, mudder marry me
Mudder marry me my milk.

Key F

Background

It all began three years ago when I was introduced to Firefly, a Sci Fi Western by Joss Whedon, creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. I became a huge fan. The TV series is still one of my most-watched DVDs. One of my favorite episodes is “Jaynestown” where the ruffian Jayne Cobb becomes a folk hero with his own folk song, “Hero of Canton”.

I loved it so much, I wanted to write my own Firefly song, but I was too busy watching the show to really spend any time writing about it. Then I was inspired to write “She Said Her Name Was Saffron” for a contest last year. I hoped more songs would come. It didn’t until a couple weeks ago. I finally decided I was gonna write a song about mudder’s milk, the alcoholic drink from “Jaynestown”. The song evolved into a worker’s rights folk song ala Woodie Guthrie. I recorded it, and for the icing on the cake, I got a bunch of Firefly fans to sing back up in the chorus, the way a good drinking song should be sung.

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Kilted For Her Pleasure
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

The maid went to the mill last night
Hey-hey, so wanton!
The maid went to the mill last night
Hey, so wanton she!
She swore below the stars so bright
That she should have her corn ground,
She should have her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

Then out came the miller’s man
Hey-hey, so wanton!
Out came the miller’s man
Hey, so wanton he!
He swore he’d do the best he can
For to get her corn ground
For to get her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

He bade her rest upon a sack
Hey-hey, so wanton!
He bade her rest upon a sack
Hey, so wanton he!
Her maidenhead went with a crack
Right well she got her corn ground
Right well she got her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

It’s easy up and easy down
Hey-hey, so wanton!
It’s easy up and easy down
Hey, so wanton he!
She scarce could tell her corn was ground
Right well she got her corn ground
Right well she got her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

When nine months were passed and gone
Hey-hey, so wanton!
When nine months were passed and gone
Hey so wanton she!
This fair young maid brought forth a son
Because she’d got her corn ground
Because she’d got her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

Her mother bade her cast it out
Hey-hey, so wanton!
Her mother bade her cast it out
Hey, so wanton she!
It was the miller’s dusty clout
For getting all her corn ground
Getting all her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

Her father bade her keep it in
Hey-hey, so wanton!
Her father bade her keep it in
Hey, so wanton he!
The miller’s man was of a wealthy clan
And oh he got her corn ground
Oh he got her corn ground
The miller grounds so free!

This young man must have a nurse
Hey-hey, so wanton!
This young man must have a nurse
Hey so wanton he!
So the miller’s man drew out his purse
Because he got her corn ground
Because he got her corn ground
The miller grinds so free!

Key C

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Kilted For Her Pleasure
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

I am young Scotsman from Am-er-i-ca
The kilt is my pleasure it’s true
You can call it a skirt, but your lady will flirt
If she has a chance she’ll leave you.

I’m kilted [kilted], kilted [kilted]
With the mystery of what’s under there
I’m kilted [kilted], kilted [kilted]
Kilt inspectors will beg, to know my third leg
Is free as the fresh morning air

I have no red hair, but my skin is quite fair
But it does nothing to show off my pride
But my Scottish family tree, I wear on me
And it makes the ladies giggle and sigh

I feel like a man both noble and strong
When I dance my kilt swishes in time.
But I must confess, it’s for the ladies I dress
And undress too. Is that a crime?

So don your kilt my good Scottish friends
And let your flag blow and unwind
If they ask what’s beneath, your kilted sheath
Tell them it’s lipstick they’ll find.

Key D

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Kilted For Her Pleasure
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

Oh my name is Jock Stuart, I´m a trooser-less man
And my roving young fellows move freely

So be easy and free in nae boxers or briefs
I´m a man who wears a kilt every day.

I’m a Highlander made and a piper to trade
And the tartan is me flag that I wear.

I go out with my gun and my dog for to hunt
Try to make me wear troosers, and you’ll pay.

I´ve got acres of land, I´ve got ships to command
So burn your pants on No Troosers Day

So come fill up my glass with whiskey or rum
Then send o’er your lass and you’ll see.

It’s better easy and free in nae boxers or briefs
I´m a man who wears a kilt every day.

Background

On April 16, 1746, the rightful heir to throne of England, The Bonnie Prince Charles Edward Stewart’s army was defeated at Culloden Moor by the Duke of Cumberland. This single battle wiped out the traditional clan system that had been a part of the Highland culture for centuries. It also marked the beginning of one of the most dreadful periods of ethnic cleansing in Scotland that became known as The Highland Clearances.

The Duke of Cumberland gave no quarter to the Highlanders at Culloden. Every last one was executed. Then Cumberland began sweeping the country and executing Highlanders. Those who were not executed fled to Ireland and America. The bagpipes and wearing the tartan were banned as part of ‘Proscription Act’ (also known as the ‘Black Act’) of 1746.

The Proscription Act was repealed in 1782 thanks in part to books in the people like Sir Walter Scott who romanticized the Highland tradition. Many of the Lowlanders began tracing their Highland ancestry.

Then on May 6, 1805, a small group of Scots in Glasow rose up against the English oppression and declared May 6th as No Troosers Day. They cast off their pants, donned their kilts, and rewrote an old Scottish drinking song to celebrate this day.

Like many such rebellions, it was quickly defeated. All remnants of this tragic No Troosers Day Clearance were obliterated from history. Only a single broadsheet, located in the home of Angus MacDonald of Glasgow, remains that testifies to the horrible atrocities endured and the fact that Scotland was in actuality the originator of the No Pants Day celebration.

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: The Bridge
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

Oh Peggy Gordon you are my darling,
Come sit ye down upon  my knee,
And tell to me the very reason
Why I am slighted so by thee.

I’m so in love I cannot deny it,
My heart lies smothered in my breast,
But It’s not for me to let the world know it,
A troubled mind has no rest.

I wish I was in some lonesome valley,
Where woman-kind cannot be found,
Where the pretty small birds lie on every branch
And every moment a different sound.

additional lyrics:

I laid my head on a cask of brandy
Which was my fancy I do declare,
For while I’m drinking, I’m always thinking
How I’m to gain that lady fair.

I put my back against an oak tree
Thinking it was a trusty tree,
But first it bent and then it broke,
And that’s the way my love served me.

I wish I was as far as Ingo
Way out across the briny sea,
A-sailing over the deep blue water
Where love nor care never trouble me.

Chords: KEY F

Background

Canadian folk song collected in the 50s in Nova Scotia.

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: The Bridge
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

Three tunes:

• Dobby Goes to Dublin (Samantha Gillogly)
• The Cat in the Corner (Traditional)
• The Can of Salmon (Samantha Gillogly)

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: The Bridge
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

A gypsy rover came over the hill
Down through the valley so shady.
He whistled and he sang ’til the green woods rang
And he won the heart of a lady.

Ah-dee-doo-ah-dee-doo-dah-day
Ah-dee-doo-ah-dee-day-dee
He whistled and he sang ’til the green woods rang
And he won the heart of a lady.

She left her father’s castle gate.
She left her own fine lover.
She left her servants and her state
To follow her gypsy rover.

She left behind her velvet gown
And shoes of Spanish leather
They whistled and they sang ’till the green woods rang
As they rode off together

Last night, she slept on a goose feather bed
With silken sheets for cover
Tonight she’ll sleep on the cold, cold ground
Beside her gyspy lover

Her father saddled up his fastest stead
And roamed the valley all over.
Sought his daughter at great speed
And the whistlin’ gypsy rover.

He came at last to a mansion fine
Down by the river Claydee.
And there was music and there was wine
For the gypsy and his lady.

“He is no gypsy, my Father,” she cried
“but Lord of these lands all over.
And I shall stay ’til my dying day
with my whistlin’ gypsy rover.”

Chords: KEY G

verse/chorus:
G D G D
G D G D
G D G C
G C G C G D

Background

This song  also known as “The Whistling Gypsy Rover” was copyrighted by Leo Maguire in 1950s. It is based on the Popular Childe Ballad #200, “The Gypsy Laddie”.

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: The Bridge
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

Key

verse/chorus:

Background

Instrumental inspired by the Healy Pass in Ireland.

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: The Bridge
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and never brought to mind?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,
and auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup!
And surely I’ll buy mine!
And we’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.

We two have run about the braes,
and pulled the gowans fine;
But we’ve wandered many a weary foot,
since auld lang syne.

We two have paddled in the burn,
from morning sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roared
since auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand my trusty fiere!
And give a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll take a right gude-willie-waught,
And we’ll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.

Chords: KEY C

verse/chorus:

Background

It’s New Years Eve. I’ve wanted to record “Auld Lang Syne” for years now. It’s just a beautiful song. As I was napping today, I finally came up with a solo arrangement for this classic song by Robert Burns, the national poet of Scotland.

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: The Bridge
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

In a neat little town they call Belfast
Apprenticed in trade I was bound
And many’s the hour of sweet happiness
I spent in that neat little town
Till bad misfortune befell me
That caused me to stray from the land
Far away from my friends and relations
To follow the black velvet band

Her eyes they shone like the diamond
You’d think she was queen of the land
And her hair hung over her shoulder
Tied up with a black velvet band

As I was out strolling down broadway
Not intending to go very far
I met with a frolicksome damsel
Applying her trade in a bar
Well a watch she took from a customer
And she slipped it right into my hand
Then the Watch came and put me in prison
Bad luck to the black velvet band

Before judge and jury next morning
For our trial I had to appear
The judge, he said, “My young fellow,
The case against you is quite clear.
Well seven years is your sentence.
You’re going to Van Dieman’s Land.
Far away from your friends and relations
To follow the black velvet band.”

So come all you jolly young fellows
I’d have you take warning by me
Whenever you’re out on the liquor
Beware of the pretty colleen
For she’ll fill you with whiskey and porter
Until You’re not able to stand
And the very next thing that you notice
You’ve landed in Van Dieman’s Land

Chords: KEY C

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: The Bridge
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

Oh, the summer time is coming,
And the trees are sweetly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather.

Will you go, lassie, will you go?
And we’ll all go together
To pull wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather,
Will you go, lassie, go?

I will build my love a bower
By yon clear and crystal fountain,
And all around the bower,
I’ll pile flowers from the mountain.

I will roam the country o’er
Through that dark land so dreary;
And all the spoils I find,
I’ll bring to my darling dearie.

If my true love, she won’t have me,
I will surely find another
To pull wild mountain thyme
All around the blooming heather.

Oh, the summertime is coming
And thre trees are blooming
And the wild mountain thyme
Grows around the blooming heather.

Chords: KEY C

verse:
G-F-C C C
F F F F
C F G C
F F C F

chorus:
F C F C
C F F C
C F G C
F F F C
F C F C

Background

This song was written by William McPeake and finished by his son Francis. It is based on a much older Scottish song called “The Braes O’ Balquhidder”.

Performed by Marc Gunn
From CD: Kilted For Her Pleasure
Buy MP3: Amazon or iTunes

A long time ago, way back in history,
when all there was to drink was nothin but cups of tea.
Along came a man by the name of Charlie Mops,
and he invented a wonderful drink and he made it out of hops.

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
and to his praises we shall always sing.
Look what he has done for us he’s filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
tiddly beer beer beer.

The Curtis bar, the James’ Pub, the Hole in the Wall as well
one thing you can be sure of, its Charlie’s beer they sell
so all ye lads a lasses at eleven O’clock ye stop
for five short seconds, remember Charlie Mops 1 2 3 4 5

A barrel of malt, a bushel of hops, you stir it around with a stick,
the kind of lubrication to make your engine tick.
40 pints of wallop a day will keep away the quacks.
Its only eight pence hapenny and one and six in tax, 1 2 3 4 5

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
and to his praises we shall always sing.
Look what he has done for us he’s filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
tiddly beer beer beer.

The Lord bless Charlie Mops!

Chords: KEY D