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Irish Drinking Songs: The Cat Lover's Companion

by Marc Gunn

Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street, A gentle Irishman mighty odd He had a brogue both rich and sweet, An' to rise in the world he carried a hod You see he'd a sort of a tipplers way but for the love for the liquor poor Tim was born To help him on his way each day, he'd a drop of the craythur every morn Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner round the flure yer trotters shake Bend an ear to the truth they tell ye, we had lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake One morning Tim got rather full, his head felt heavy which made him shake Fell from a ladder and he broke his skull, and they carried him home his corpse to wake Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet, and laid him out upon the bed A bottle of whiskey at his feet and a barrel of porter at his head His friends assembled at the wake, and Widow Finnegan called for lunch First she brought in tay and cake, then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch Biddy O'Brien began to cry, "Such a nice clean corpse, did you ever see, Tim, auvreem! O, why did you die?", "Will ye hould your gob?" said Paddy McGee Then Maggie O'Connor took up the cry, "O Biddy" says she "you're wrong, I'm sure" Biddy gave her a belt in the gob and sent her sprawling on the floor Then the war did soon engage, t'was woman to woman and man to man Shillelagh law was all the rage and a row and a ruction soon began Mickey Maloney ducked his head when a bucket of whiskey flew at him It missed, and falling on the bed, the liquor scattered over Tim Now the spirits new life gave the corpse, my joy! Tim jumped like a Trojan from the bed Cryin will ye walup each girl and boy, t'underin' Jaysus, do ye think I'm dead?"
Black is the color of my true love's hair Her lips are like some roses fair She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands. I love the ground whereon she stands I love my love and well she knows I love the ground whereon she goes. And I wish the day, it soon will come That she and I will be as one I'll go to the Clyde and I'll mourn and weep Where satisfied I never shall be I'll write her a letter, just a few short lines And suffer death ten thousand times
There's a tear in your eye, And I'm wondering why, For it never should be there at all. With such pow'r in your smile, Sure a stone you'd beguile, So there's never a teardrop should fall. When your sweet lilting laughter's Like some fairy song, And your eyes twinkle bright as can be; You should laugh all the while And all other times smile, And now, smile a smile for me. When Irish eyes are smiling, Sure, 'tis like the morn in Spring. In the lilt of Irish laughter You can hear the angels sing. When Irish hearts are happy, All the world seems bright and gay. And when Irish eyes are smiling, Sure, they steal your heart away. For your smile is a part Of the love in your heart, And it makes even sunshine more bright. Like the linnet's sweet song, Crooning all the day long, Comes your laughter and light. For the springtime of life Is the sweetest of all There is ne'er a real care or regret; And while springtime is ours Throughout all of youth's hours, Let us smile each chance we get.
I'm a rambler, I'm a gambler, I'm a long way from home And if you don't like me, Well, leave me alone I'll eat when I'm hungry, I'll drink when I'm dry And if moonshine don't kill me, I'll live til I die I've been a moonshiner for many a year I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer I'll go to some hollow, I'll set up my still And I'll make you a gallon for a ten shilling bill I'll go to some hollow in this count-er-y Ten gallons of wash I can go on a spree No women to follow, the world is all mine I love none so well as I love the moonshine Oh, moonshine, dear moonshine, oh, how I love thee You killed me old father, but ah you try me Now bless all moonshiners and bless all moonshine Their breath smells as sweet as the dew on the vine
I'll tell my ma when I get home, The boys won't leave the girls alone They pull my hair and stole my comb But that's all right till I go home She is handsome, she is pretty, She is the Belle of Belfast city She is a courtin' one, two, three, Please won't you tell me who is she Albert Mooney says he loves her, All the boys are fightin' for her Knock at the door and ring at the bell, Saying oh my true love, are you well Out she comes as white as snow, Rrings on her fingers, bells on her toes Ould Johnny Morrissey says she'll die If she doesn't get the fella with the roving eye Let the wind and the rain and the hail blow high And the snow come travellin' through the sky She's as sweet as apple pie, She'll get her own lad by and by When she gets a lad of her own She won't tell her ma when she gets home Let them all come as they will For it's Albert Mooney she loves still
Patriot Game 03:17
Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing, For the love of one's country is a terrible thing. It banishes fear with the speed of a flame, And it makes us all part of the patriot game. My name is O'Hanlon, and I've just turned sixteen. My home is in Monaghan, and where I was weaned I learned all my life cruel England's to blame, So now I am part of the patriot game. This Ireland of ours has too long been half free. Six counties lie under John Bull's tyranny. But still De Valera is greatly to blame For shirking his part in the Patriot game. They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair, His wounds from the fighting all bloody and bare. His fine body twisted, all battered and lame They soon made me part of the patriot game. It's nearly two years since I wandered away With the local battalion of the bold IRA, For I read of our heroes, and wanted the same To play out my part in the patriot game. [extra verse I found] I don't mind a bit if I shoot down police They are lackeys for war never guardians of peace And yet at deserters I'm never let aim The rebels who sold out the patriot game And now as I lie here, my body all holes I think of those traitors who bargained in souls And I wish that my rifle had given the same To those Quislings who sold out the patriot game.
Black is the color of my true love's hair Her lips are like some roses fair She has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands. I love the ground whereon she stands I love my love and well she knows I love the ground whereon she goes. And I wish the day, it soon will come That she and I will be as one I'll go to the Clyde and I'll mourn and weep Where satisfied I never shall be I'll write her a letter, just a few short lines And suffer death ten thousand times
The Diamond is a ship, my lads For the Davis Strait we're bound The quay it is all garnished With bonnie lasses 'round Captain Thompson gives the order To sail the ocean wide Where the sun it never sets, my lads Nor darkness dims the sky For it's cheer up my lads Let your hearts never fail For the bonnie ship the Diamond Goes a-hunting for the whale Along the quay at Peterhead The lasses stand aroon Wi' their shawls all pulled around them And the saut tears runnin' doon Don't you weep, my bonnie wee lass Though you be left behind For the rose will grow on Greenland's ice Before we change our mind Here's a health to the Resolution Likewise the Eliza Swan Three cheers for the Battler of Montrose And the Diamond, ship of fame We wear the trousers o' the white The jackets o' the blue When we get back to Peterhead We'll hae sweethearts enou' It will be bright both day and night When the Greenland lads come hame Our ship full up with oil, my lads And money to our name We'll make the cradles for to rock And the blankets for to tear And every lass in Peterhead sing "Hushabye, my dear"
Gypsy Rover 04:01
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."
Wild Rover 02:41
I've been a wild rover for many a year, And I spent all my money on whiskey and beer, But now I've returned with gold in great store, And I never will play the wild rover no more. And it's no, nay, never No, nay, never, no more, Will I play the rover No never, no more. I went down to an ale house I used to frequent, And I told the landlady my money was spent. I asked her for credit, but she answered me "Nay. Such custom like yours I could have any day." I took from my pocket ten sovereigns bright, And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight, She said, "I have whiskeys and wines of the best, And I'll take you upstairs, and I'll show you the rest. I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done, And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son. And if they caress me as oft times before, I never will play the wild rover no more!
As I went down to Turra market, Turra market for to fee I fell in with a market farmer, The barnyards of Delgaty Linten addie toorin addie, Linten addie toorin ee Linten lowrin lowrin lowrin, The barnyards of Delgaty He promised me the finest horse That e'er I set my eyes upon When I got to the barnyards, T here was nothing there but skin and bone As I went down to church on Sunday, Many's the bonnie lass I see Sitting by her mothers side, Winkin' over the pews at me. Now, I can drink and not get drunken, I can fight and not be slain I can court with another mans lass And I'll be welcome to me ain Now my candle is burnt oot, My snotter's fairly on the wane Fare ye well ye barnyards, You'll not see me here again.
As I roved by the dockside one evening so fair To view the salt waters and take in the salt air I heard an old fisherman singing a song Oh, take me away boys me time is not long Wrap me up in me oilskin and blankets No more on the docks I'll be seen Just tell me old shipmates, I'm taking a trip mates And I'll see you someday on Fiddlers Green Now Fiddler's Green is a place I've heard tell Where the fishermen go if they don't go to hell Where the weather is fair and the dolphins do play And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away Now when you're in dock and the long trip is through There's pubs and there's clubs and there's lassies there too And the girls are all pretty and the beer is all free And there's bottles of rum growing on every tree. Where the skies are all clear and there's never a gail And the fish jump on board with one swish on their tail Where you lie at your leisure, there's no work to do And the skipper's below making tea for the crew Now I don't want a harp nor a halo, not me Just give me a breeze and a good rolling sea I'll play me old squeeze-box as we sail along With the wind in the riggin to sing me a song


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This CD may look a little familiar if you are a fan of Marc Gunn. The tracks are identical to his CD “Irish Drinking Songs: The Cat Lover's Companion” and for good reason. It is the same CD.

Why are there two different covers?

I love the original CD cover, but there were some misunderstandings regarding the original CD. It is not a CD of “Irish Drinking Songs for Cat Lovers”. It's a CD of Irish drinking songs. In fact, it is all the original Irish songs parodied on the the aforementioned CD.

So if you love Irish songs, this is the perfect Marc Gunn twist on Irish drinking songs.


released June 6, 2007

Produced by Ari Koinuma. Photography by Marc Gunn, Kristen Roger, Nancy e. Pearsall. Celtic Cat Logo by Ingrid Houwers. Graphic Design by Molly C. Loar, James McDaniel II




Marc Gunn Atlanta, Georgia

Marc Gunn is a rhythm and folk musician inspired by Celtic culture, science fiction, fantasy, and cats--Sci F'Irish music.

He breathes new life into the autoharp, which continues to surprise musical veterans and fans alike for its unique sound and spirited energy. It’s like a satirical jam session between The Clancy Brothers and Weird Al Yankovic.
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