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Scottish Songs of Drinking & Rebellion

by Marc Gunn

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Come ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg, Down by the Tummel, or banks of the Garry? Saw ye the lads, with their bonnets and white cockades, Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie. * Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee? Long has thou loved and trusted us fairly! Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee? King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Charlie. I have but one son, my gallant young Donald; But if I had ten, they should follow Glengarry; Health to MacDonald and gallant Clan Ronald, For these are the men that will die for their Charlie. I'll go to Lochiel, and Appin, and kneel to them; Down by Lord Murray and Roy of Kildarlie; Brave Mackintosh, he shall fly to the field with them; These are the lads I can trust with my Charlie. Down thru the Lowlands, down with the whigamore, Loyal true Highlanders, down with them rarely; Ronald and Donald drive on with the braid claymore, Over the necks of the foes of Prince Charlie.
Farewell ye dungeons dark and strong Farewell, farewell to thee MacPherson's time will no' be long On yonder gallows tree. It was by a woman's treacherous hand That I was condemned to dee Below a ledge at a window she stood And a blanket she threw o'er me *Sae rantingly, sae wantonly Sae dauntingly gaed he He played a tune and he danced it aroon' Below the gallows tree The laird o'Grant, that Highland sant, That first laid hands on me, He played the cause on Peter Broon To let MacPherson die Untie these bands from off my hands And gie to me my sword And there's no a man in all Scotland But I'll brave him at a word There's some come here to see me hanged And some to buy my fiddle But before that I do part with her I'll break her through the middle He took the fiddle into both his hands And he broke it o'er a stone Says, "There's nae ither hand shall play on thee When I am dead and gone." O little did my mother think, When first she cradled me That I would turn a rovin' boy And die on the gallows tree The reprieve was comin' o'er the brigs o' Banff To let MacPherson free; But they put the clock a quarter a'four And hanged him to the tree
Heel yo ho, boys; let her go, boys; Bring her head round, into the weather, Heel you ho, boys, let her go, boys Sailing homeward to Mingulay What care we though, white the Minch is? What care we for wind or weather? Let her go boys; every inch is Sailing homeward to Mingulay. Wives are waiting, by the pier head, Or looking seaward, from the heather; Pull her round, boys, then you'll anchor 'Ere the sun sets on Mingulay. Ships return now, heavy laden Mothers holdin' bairns a-cryin' They'll return, though, when the sun sets They'll return to Mingulay.
I'm a rover, seldom sober, I'm a rover of high degree It's when I'm drinkin' I'm always thinking how to gain my love's company Though the night be as dark as dungeon, not a star can be seen above I will be guided without a stumble, into the arms of my own true love He stepped up to her bedroom window, kneeling gently upon a stone He whispers through her bedroom window, my darling dear do you lie alone It's only me your own true lover, open the door and let me in For I have come on a long nights journey and I'm near drenched to the skin She opened the door with the greatest pleasure, she opened the door and she let him in They both shook hands and embraced each other, until the morning they lay as one Says I: My love I must go and leave you, to climb the hills they are far above But I will climb with the greatest pleasure, since I've been in the arms of my love
Ye Jacobites by name give an ear, give an ear Ye Jacobites by name give an ear Ye Jacobites by name your faults I will proclaim Your doctrines I must blame, you shall hear. What is right and what is wrong by the law, by the law What is right and what is wrong by the law What is right and what is wrong, a short sword and a long A weak arm and a strong for to draw. What makes heroic strife famed afar, famed afar? What makes heroic strife famed afar? What makes heroic strife, to whet the assassin's knife Or hunt a parent's life with bloody war. Then leave your schemes alone in the state, in the state Then leave your schemes alone in the state Then leave your schemes alone, adore the rising sun And leave a man alone to his fate. Then leave your schemes alone, adore the rising sun And leave a man alone to his fate... And leave a man alone to his fate.
Scots wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled Scots wham Bruce has often led Welcome to your gory bed Or to victory Now's the day and now's the hour See the front o' battle lour See approach proud Edward's power Chains and slavery Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Let him turn and flee! Wha, for Scotland's king and law, Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand or Freeman fall, Let them follow me! By oppression's woes and pains, By your sons in servile chains, We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free. Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow! Let us do or die!
When I've done the work of day, and I row my boat away Down the waters of Loch Tay, where the evening light is fading And I look upon Ben Lawers, where the after glory glows, And I think on two bright eyes, and the melting mouth below. She's my beauteous nighean ruadh; she's my joy and sorrow too. And although she is untrue, well I cannot live without her. For my heart's a boat in tow, and I'd give the world to know If she means to let me go, while I sing horee, horo. Nighean ruadh your lovely hair, has more glamour I declare Than all the tresses rare, from Killin and Aberfeldy. Be they lint white, brown or gold, be they black than the sloe, They are worth much more to me, than the melting flake of snow. Her eyes are like the gleam, of the sunlight on the stream, And the song the wee folk sing, seems like songs she sings at milking But my heart is full of woe, for last night she bade me go And the tears begin to flow, while I sing horee, horo.
As I went down to Turra market, Turra market for to fee I fell in with a market farmer, The barnyards of Delgaty Linten adie toorin adie, Linten adie toorin ee; Linten lowrin, lowrin, lowrin, The Barnyards o'Delgaty He promised me the finest horse That e'er I set my eyes upon When I got to the barnyards, There 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, And winkin' over the pews at me Now, I can drink and not get drunk, And I can fight and not be slain I can court with another man's lass I'll be welcome to me ain Now my candle is burnt out, My snotter's fairly on the wane Fare ye well ye barnyards, You'll not see me here again
Jock Stuart 02:52
Now, my name is Jock Stewart I'm a canny gaun man, And a roving young fellow, I've been. * So be easy and free When you're drinkin with me. I'm a man you don't meet every day. I'm a piper by trade And a roving young blade And many's the tune I do play I go out with my gun, And my dog for to hunt, All along by the banks of the Tay I have acres of land; I have men at command; And I've always a shilling to spare. So, come fill up your glass With whiskey or rum Whatever the cost, I will pay.
Ye canna shove yer granny off a bus Ye canna shove yer granny off a bus Oh ye canna shove yer granny For she's yer mammy's mammy Ye canna shove yer granny off a bus Ye can shove yer other granny off a bus Ye can shove yer other granny off a bus Ye can shove yer other granny Cause she's yer father's mammy Ye can shove yer other granny off a bus Ye can shove yer Uncle Willie off a bus Ye can shove yer Uncle Willie off a bus Uncle Willie's like yer father a harum-scarum blether Ye can shove yer Uncle Willie off a bus Ye can shove yer Auntie Maggie off a bus Ye can shove yer Auntie Maggie off a bus Auntie Mag's yer father's sister She's nothing but a twister Ye can shove yer Auntie Maggie off a bus But ye canna shove yer Granny off a bus No ye canna shove yer Granny off a bus O ye canna shove yer granny Cause she's yer mammy's mammy O ye canna shove her Granny off a bus
Is there for honest Poverty That hangs his head, and a' that; The coward slave-we pass him by, We dare be poor for a' that! For a' that, and a' that. Our toils obscure and a' that, The rank is but the guinea's stamp, The Man's the gowd for a' that. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin grey, and a that; Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A Man's a Man for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, Their tinsel show, and a' that; The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, Is king o' men for a' that. Ye see yon birkie, caled a lord, What struts, and stares, and a' that; Tho' hundreds worship at his word, He's but a coof for a' that: For a' that, and a' that, His ribband, star, and a' that: The man of independent mind He looks and laughs at a' that. A prince can make a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's abon his might, Good faith, he maunna for a' that! For a' that, and a' that, Their dignities and a' that; The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher rank than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a' that,) That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth, Shall bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet for a' that, That Man to Man, the world o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that.
There's naught but care on every hand, In every hour that passes, O! What signifies the life o' man, And 'twere not for the lasses O? Chorus: Green grow the rashes O! Green grow the rashes O! The sweetest hour that e'er I spent Were spent among the lasses O! The war'ly race may riches chase, And riches may soon fly them, O! And tho at last they catch them fast, Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O! But gie me a cannie hour at e'en My arms about my dearie, O! And war'ly cares and worldly men, May all gae tapsalteerie, O! For you sae douce wha sneer at this, Ye're not but senseless asses, O! The wisest man the world e'er saw, He dearly loved the lasses, O! Auld Nature swears the lovely dears, Her noblest work she classes, O! Her apprentice hand she tried on man, And then she made the lasses, O!
Mari Mac 02:03
There's a nice wee lass and her name's Mary Mac Make no mistake, she's the miss I'm going to take There's a lot of other fellows that would get up on her track But I'm thinking that they'll have to get up early. Mary Mac's father's making Mary Mac marry me My father's making me marry Mary Mac And I'm going to marry Mary To get married and take care of me We'll all be making merry when I marry Mary Mac Now this wee lass she has a lot of brass She has a lot of gas and her father thinks I'm class So I'd be a silly ass to let the matter pass Her father thinks she suits me fairly Now Mary and her Mother gain an awful lot together In fact you never see the one or the one without the other And the fellows often wonder if it's Mary or her mother Or the both of them together that I'm courtin' Now the wedding day's on Wednesday and everything's arranged Her name will soon be changed to mine unless her mind be changed And we're making the arrangements and I'm just a bit deranged For marriage is an awful undertakin' It's sure to be a grand affair and grander than a fair There's going to be a coach and pair for every couple there We'll dine upon the finest fare I'm sure to get my share If I don't we'll all be very much mistaken
* In Kirkintilloch there's nae pubs And I'm sure you'll wonder why My brother and me, we went on a spree We drank the pubs all dry, all dry Drank the pubs all dry My Granpaw he worked doon the pit And so did my faither tae You work like a mule when you leave the school And you drink on a Saturday, my lads You drink on a Saturday The gaffer doon the pit my lads Could scarce believe his een For my brother and me we hawked more coal Than his latest cuttin' machine, my lads His latest cuttin' machine My father he was a Glasgow man My mother come frae Troon They both did say the other day It's time you settled doon, my lads It's time you settled doon So I think I'll just get married lads And have a family tae Then we'll use our mits and work in the pits And drink on a Saturday, my lads And drink on a Saturday
* Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing, Onward, the sailors cry Carry the lad that is born to be king Over the sea to Skye Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar, Thunder clouds rend the air; Baffled our foe's stand on the shore Follow they will not dare Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep Ocean's a royal bed Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep Watch by your weary head Many's the lad fought on that day Well the claymore could wield When the night came, silently lay Dead on Culloden's field Burned are our homes, exile and death Scatter the loyal men Yet, e'er the sword cool in the sheath, Charlie will come again.
* Step it gaily, off we go Heel for heel and toe for toe, Arm in arm and row and 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. Cheeks as bright as rowans are Brighter far than many a star, Fairest of them all by far Tis my darlin' Mairi. Plenty herring, plenty meal Plenty peat to fill her creel, Plenty bonny bairns as weel That's the toast for Mairi.
O flower of Scotland when will we see your likes again That fought and died for your wee bit hill and glen And stood against them Proud Edward's army And sent him homeward to think again The hills are bare now and autumn leaves lie thick and still O'er land that is lost now Which those so dearly held Those days are passed now And in the past they must remain But we can still rise now And be the nation again The hills are bare now And autumn leaves lie vacant still O'er land that is lost now Which those so dearly held O Flower of Scotland When will we see your like again That fought and died for Your wee bit hill and glen


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released November 30, 2013




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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