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Keep your eyes well peeled today,
The excisemen are on their way,
Searching for the mountain 'tay,
In the hills of Connemara!
(Chorus)
Gather up your pots and your old tin cans,
The mash the worm the barley and the bran,
Run like the divil from the excise man,
Keep the smoke from rising Barney!
Swing to the left and swing to the right,
The excisemen will dance all night,
Drinking up the 'tay in the broad daylight,
In the hills of Connemara!
(Chorus)
A gallon for the butcher, a quart for John,
A bottle for poor auld father Tom,
To help the poor auld dear along,
In the hills of Connemara!
(Chorus)
Stand your ground for its too late,
The excisemen are at the gate,
Glory be to Paddy, their drinking it straight,
In the Hills of Connemara
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Jimmy played harmonica in the bar where I was born,
He played it in the evening till the distant early 'morn,
He soothed the souls of psychos, and the men who had the horn,
And they all looked very happy in the morning.
Well Jimmy didn't like his place in this world of ours,
Where the elephant man broke strong men's necks when he had to many powers,
So sad to see the grieving of the people he was leaving,
He took the road from nowhere in the morning.
(chorus)
We walked him to the station in the rain,
We kissed him as we put him on the train,
We sang a song of times long gone,
But we knew we'd be seeing him again!
Sad to say I must be on me way,
So buy me beer and whiskey cause I'm going far away,
I'd like to think I'll be returning here again,
To the best little boozer and to Sally MacLennane!
Well the years went buy, the times they changed, I grew to be a man,
I learned to love the virtues of sweet Sally MacLennane,
I drank the beers and took the jeers and crawled back home at dawn,
And soon became a barman in the morning.
I did the hump and pulled the pump and watered whiskey down,
I talked of whores and horses with the men who drank the brown,
Some say that Jimmy's making money far away,
Some left for heaven without warning.
(Chorus)
When Jimmy came back home he was surprised that they were gone,
He asked of all the details of the train that they went on,
Some people are afraid to croak, but Jimmy drank until he choked,
He took the train to heaven in the morning.
(Chorus)
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The summer time is coming,
And the trees are gently blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme,
Grows around the blooming heather.
(Chorus)
Will you go lassie go,
And will all go together,
To pluck wild mountain thyme,
All around the blooming heather.
Will you, lassie go?
I will build my love a tower,
Upon yon pure crystal fountain,
And on it I will build,
All the flowers of the mountain.
(Chorus)
If my love she were gone,
I would surely find another,
To pluck wild mountain thyme,
All around the blooming heather.
(chorus)
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I met my love by the gas works cry,
Dreamed a dream by the old canal,
I kissed my girl by the factory wall,
Dirty old town, Dirty old town.
The clouds are drifting across the moon,
Cats are prowling on their beat,
Their springs a girl from the streets at night,
Dirty old town, Dirty old town.
I heard a siren coming from the docks,
Saw a train set the night on fire,
I smelled the spring on the smokey wind,
Dirty old town, Dirty old town.
I'm going to make me a big sharp axe,
Shining steel tempered in the fire,
I'll chop you down like a dead old tree,
Dirty old town, dirty old town
I met my love by the gas works cry,
Dreamed a dream by the old canal,
I kissed my girl by the factory wall,
Dirty old town, Dirty old town.
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In Scarlet Glen there lived a lass,
And every Sunday after mass,
She'd go and take a glass,
Before going home by Bearna.
We won't go home along the road,
For fear you might act the rogue,
We won't go home along the road,
We'll go home by Bearna.
We won't go home across the fields,
The big thornins could stick our heals,
We won't go home across the fields,
We'll go home by Bearna,
We won't go home across the bog,
For fear we might meet Kearney's dog,
Won't go home across the bog,
We'll go home by Bearna.
We won't go down the green boreen,
The moon is bright we might be seen,
We won't go down the green boreen,
We'll go home by Bearna.
We won't go home across the glen,
For fear your blood might rise again,
We won't go home across the glen,
We'll go home by Bearna.
In Scarlet Glen there lived a lass,
And every Sunday after mass,
She'd go and take a glass,
Before going home by Bearna.
We won't go home along the road,
For fear you might act the rogue,
We won't go home along the road,
We'll go home by Bearna.
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The one and only album of produced by the Irish Wolfhounds. It was a demo CD that we put out, and gave away for free. It was where I developed my style and approach to Irish and Scottish music. It was good craic!
