Bekannte Irish Folk Traditionals - zum Mitsingen, Mittanzen, oder einfach Zuhören |
Songs:
On the fourth of July eighteen hundred and six We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks For the grand city hall in New York 'Twas a wonderful craft, she was rigged fore-and-aft And oh, how the wild winds drove her. She'd got several blasts, she'd twenty-seven masts And we called her the Irish Rover. We had one million bales of the best Sligo rags We had two million barrels of stones We had three million sides of old blind horses hides, We had four million barrels of bones. We had five million hogs, we had six million dogs, Seven million barrels of porter. We had eight million bails of old nanny goats' tails, In the hold of the Irish Rover. There was awl Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute When the ladies lined up for his set He was tootin' with skill for each sparkling quadrille Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet With his sparse witty talk he was cock of the walk As he rolled the dames under and over They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance And he sailed in the Irish Rover There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee, There was Hogan from County Tyrone There was Jimmy McGurk who was scarred stiff of work And a man from Westmeath called Malone There was Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule And fighting Bill Tracey from Dover And your man Mick McCann from the banks of the Bann Was the skipper of the Irish Rover We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out And the ship lost it's way in a fog. And that whale of the crew was reduced down to two, Just meself and the captain's old dog. Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord what a shock The bulkhead was turned right over Turned nine times around, and the poor dog was drowned I'm the last of the Irish Rover |
You Gentlemen Sportsmen I pray listen all I'll sing you a song in the praise of Stewball And how they came over you shall understand By one Squire Irvine the Mell of our land. 500 bright guineas on the plains of Kildare I'll bet upon, Sportsmen, that bonny-grey mare Stewball hearing the wager, the wager was laid He said loving master, its don't be afraid. For on my side thou'st laid thousands of pounds I'll rig in thy castle a fine mass of gold. Squire Irvine he smiled, and thus he did say, You gentlemen-sportsmen to-morrow's the day Your saddles and bridles, and horses prepare, For we will away to the plains of Kildare. The day being come, & the horses bro't out, Squire Irvine he order'd his rider to mount. All the people then went to see them go round They swore in their hearts he ne'er touch'd the ground. And as they were riding this was the discourse The grey mare will never touch this horse. O, loving kind rider come tell unto me, How far is the grey mare behind you said he... O loving master you bear a great smile, Grey mare is behind me a large English mile For in this country I was ne'er seen before Thou hast won the race & broken lord Gore. |
On the ocean o´he Waves in motion o´ho Not but clouds could we see O´er the blue sea below Islay loomin´ o´he In the gloamin´ o´ho Our ship´s compass set we And our lights we did show Leis a Lurrighan o´he Leis a Lurrighan o´ho In the grey dark of evening O´er the waves let us go Aros passing o´he Was harrassing o´ho The proud billows to see High as masthead to flow Captain hollers o´he To his fellows o´ho Those that courage would flee Let him go down below Leis a Lurrighan o´he Leis a Lurrighan o´ho In the grey dark of evening O´er the waves let us go In the tempest o´he Waves were crashing o´ho And the cry of the sea As the cold winds did blow Captain hollers o´he To his fellows o´ho Those that won´t stay with me Let them go down below Leis a Lurrighan o´he Leis a Lurrighan o´ho In the grey dark of evening O´er the waves let us go |
In Dublin's fair city, where the girls are so pretty I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone As she wheeled her wheelbarrow through streets broad and narrow Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O! A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O! Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O! She was a fishmonger and sure it was no wonder For so were her father and mother before And they both wheeled their barrows through streets broad and narrow Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O! A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O! Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O! She died of a fever and no one could save her And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone Now her ghost wheels her barrow through streets broad and narrow Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O! A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O! Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O! A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O! Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O! |
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 then produced my rapier. Said stand and deliver, for I am a bold deceiver, I counted out his money, and it made a pretty penny. I put it in my pocket and I took it home to Jenny. She said and she swore, that she never would deceive me, but the devil take the women, for they never can be easy I went into my chamber, all for to take a slumber, I dreamt of gold and jewels and for sure it was no wonder. But Jenny took my charges and she filled them up with water, Then sent for captain Farrel to be ready for the slaughter. It was early in the morning, as I rose up for travel, The guards were all around me and likewise captain Farrel. I first produced my pistol, for she stole away my rapier, But I couldn't shoot the water so a prisoner I was taken. If anyone can aid me, it's my brother in the army, If I can find his station down in Cork or in Killarney. And if he'll come and save me, we'll go roving near Kilkenny, And I swear he'll treat me better than me darling sportling Jenny Now some men take delight in the drinking and the roving, But others take delight in the gambling and the smoking. But I take delight in the juice of the barley, And courting pretty fair maids in the morning bright and early musha ring dumma do damma da whack for the daddy 'ol whack for the daddy 'ol there's whiskey in the jar |
I've been a wild rover for many's the year I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer But now I'm returning 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 wild rover, No never no more I went in to an alehouse I used to frequent And I told the landlady me money was spent I asked her for credit, she answered me nay Such a customer as you I can have any day I took up from my pocket, ten sovereigns bright And the landlady's eyes opened wide with delight She says "I have whiskeys and wines of the best And the words that you told me were only in jest" I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son And, when they've caressed me as oft times before I never will play the wild rover no more |
There were three old gypsies came to our hall door They came brave and boldly-o, The one sang high and the other sang low The other sang a raggle taggle gypsy-o. It was upstairs downstairs the lady went She put on her suit of leather-o, There was a cry from around the door Shes away wi the raggle taggle gypsy-o. It was late that night when the Lord came in Enquiring for his lady-o, The servant girl she said to the Lord Shes away wi the raggle taggle gypsy-o. Then saddle for me my milk white steed For my big horse is not speedy-o, And I will ride till I seek my bride Shes away wi the raggle taggle gypsy-o. Now he rode East, he rode West He rode North and South also, Till he came to a wide open plain, There he spied his lady-o. How could you leave your goose featherbed With your blankets strewn so comely-o? How could you leave your newly wedded Lord All for the raggle taggle gypsy-o? What care I for my goose featherbed Wi ma blankets strewn so comely-o, Tonight I lie in a wide upon field In the arms of a raggle taggle gypsy-o. How could you leave your house and your land? How could you leave your money-o? How could you leave your only wedded Lord All for a raggle taggle gypsy-o? What care I for my house and my land? What care I for my money-o? Id rather have a kiss from the yellow gypsys lips Im away wi the raggle taggle gypsy-o. Away wi the raggle taggle gypsy-o. |
I know where I'm going And I know who's going with me I know who I love And the dear knows who I'll marry. I have stockings of silk And shoes of bright green leather Combs to buckle my hair And a ring for every finger. Some say he's black But I say he's bonnie The fairest of them all My handsome winsome Johnny. Feather beds are soft And painted rooms are bonny But I would leave them all To go with my love my Johnny. |
I am a roving sporting blade, they call me Jack of all Trades I always place my chief delight in courting pretty fair maids. So when in Dublin I arrived to try for a situation I always heard them say it was the pride of all the Nations. I'm a roving jack of many trades Of every trade of all trades And if you wish to know my name They call me Jack of all trades. On George's Quay I first began and there became a porter Me and my master soon fell out which cut my acquaintance shorter In Sackville Street, a pastry cook; In James' Street, a baker In Cook Street I did coffins make; In Eustace Street, a preacher. In Golden Lane I sold old shoes: In Meath Street was a grinder In Barrack Street I lost my wife. I'm glad I ne'er could find her. In Mary's Lane, I've dyed old clothes, of which I've often boasted In that noted place Exchequer Street, sold mutton ready roasted. |
The winter it has passed And the summer's come at last The small birds are singing in the trees And their little hearts are glad Ah, but mine is very sad Since my true love is far away from me And straight I will repair To the Curragh of Kildare For it's there I'll finds tidings of my dear The rose upon the briar And the clouds that float so high Bring joy to the linnet and the bee And their little hearts are blessed But mine can know no rest Since my true love is far away from me All you who are in love Aye and cannot it remove I pity the pain that you endure For experience lets me know That your hearts are filled with woe It's a woe that no mortal can cure |
Fare thee well to Prince's Landing Stage River Mersey, fare thee well Well I am bound for California A place that I know right well So fare thee well, my own true love When I return united we will be It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me But my darling when I think of thee Oh I am boarding a yankee sailing ship Davy Crockett is her name And Burgess is the captain of her And they say that she's a floatin' shame The sun is on the harbor, love And I wish that I could remain Because I know it will be some long long time Before I see you again |