1. |
Fifth Gear
04:53
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2. |
Keg of Brandy
03:31
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2. Keg of Brandy
Words and music by Robbie O'Connell, Slievenamon Music, BMI, administered by Cappal Beag Music, BMI
I’m always drunk, and I’m seldom sober.
I am constant rovin’ from town to town.
Ah, but I’m old now; my sportin’s over,
so, Molly, a stór, won’t you lay me down?
Chorus:
Just lay my head on a keg of brandy;
it is my fancy, I do declare.
For while I’m drinking, I’m seldom thinking
on lovely Molly, from the county Clare.
For the ripest apple is the soonest rotten;
and the warmest love is the soonest cold;
and a young man’s fancies are soon forgotten,
so beware young maids, and don’t make so bold.
Chorus
It’s youth and folly makes young men marry,
and makes them tarry a long, long day.
What can’t be cured, Love, must be endured, Love,
so, farewell darling, I’m going away.
Chorus
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3. |
Blackest Crow
05:09
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3. Blackest Crow
Words and music, traditional.
The blackest crow that ever flew, would surely turn to white
if ever I prove false to you; bright day will turn to night.
Bright day will turn to day my love, the elements will mourn.
If ever I prove false to you, the seas will rage and burn.
I wish my breast were made of glass, wherein you might behold,
written, your name upon my heart, in letters made of gold.
In letters made of gold my love, believe me when I say
you are the one that I'll always love, until my dying day.
The time draws near my dearest dear, for you and I to part.
How little do you know of the grief and woe, in my poor aching heart.
'Tis but I suffer for your sake, believe me dear its true.
I wish that you would stay with me, or I was going with you.
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4. |
Sarah Jane
05:41
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5. |
Hey, Donal
02:37
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5. Hey, Donal
Words by Mary Brooksbank
As I cam by Strathmartine Mains
Wha dae ye think I seen
But a braw young piper laddie cam
A-linkin ower the green
Singin 'Hey Donal, Ho Donal
Dirrum a doo a day'
He played a reel, an he played a jig
An he played a sweet strathspey
He roosed ma hairt till the beat kept time
Tae the tappin o my tae
Oh I've nae gowd tae offer ye
For I've gaithered little gear
But we'll hae love an freedom
Gin ye'll follow me my dear
There's gowd in the broom o the Sidlaw Hills
Honey frae the heather sweet
There's a speckled troot in the purlin tarn
A velvet carpet 'neath oor feet
Syne he blew up his chanter
An sic a spring he plays
That I chose love an freedom
Now ah wander a' my days
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6. |
Secret Room
05:58
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7. |
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7. Who Will Sing Me Lullabies?
Words and music by Kate Rusby
Lay me down gently, lay me down low.
I fear I am broken and won't mend, I know.
One thing I ask when the stars light the skies:
who now will sing me lullabies?
Oh, who now will sing me lullabies?
In this big world I'm lonely, for I am but small.
Oh, angels in heaven, don't you care for me at all?
You heard my heart breaking, for it rang through the skies.
So why don't you sing me lullabies?
Oh, why don't you sing me lullabies?
I lay here; I'm weeping for the stars they have come.
I lay here not sleeping, now the long night has begun.
The man in the moon, oh he can't help but cry,
for there's no one to sing me lullabies.
Oh, there's no one to sing me lullabies.
So lay me down gently, oh lay me down low.
I fear I am broken and won't mend, I know .
One thing I ask when the stars light the skies:
who now will sing me lullabies?
Oh, who now will sing me lullabies?
Who will sing me to sleep?
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8. |
Meriweather
02:47
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9. |
Bronwyn Leigh
06:01
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10. |
Loughrask
05:07
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10. Loughrask
Words and music by Danny Carnahan
I was just seventeen when to West Clare I came,
to serve Lord O’Loughlainn and fight in his name.
He gave me a sword, and he promised me fame
if I’d lay down my life for the Burren.
But worries we’d none through the westering year,
and I courted my maiden and hunted the deer.
And my sword gathered dust, as we’d nothing to fear,
'til the snows brought a messenger riding.
And he cried, "A fierce army crosses o’er the far hill,
our land to despoil and our cattle to kill."
So we took up the banner and marched with a will
to beat them away from our border.
So certain of glory, we marched with the tide,
through snow-covered stones where the wild rabbits hide,
and we stopped where Loughrask lay so peaceful and wide,
And a cry echoed over the water.
And the grey hag she rose, where no foothold could be,
from the heart of the lake, with her back to the sea,
and she thrust out her hand as her eyes turned to me,
saying, "Soldier of Loughlainn: take warning!"
"Get you home, Lord O’Loughlainn, return while you may,
for your fate is decreed if you march on your way.
And no man may fight with you and live out the day,
and a cold wind will blow on the Burren."
O’Loughlainn just smiled as he raised up his hand,
"I hark not to vision nor bow to demand,
and there’s no one on earth, be he devil or man
can lure me to faithless surrender."
"And the cursed outlanders who march to the fore
will rue the cruel fate that has tempted them o’er,
for we go in God’s name as we march on to war.
So, take Heaven or Hell as it please you!"
And I wanted to run, but I didn’t dare try.
And the Hag she just stood as our army marched by.
And I wish now I’d spit in my Lord Loughlainn’s eye,
for a cold wind did blow on the Burren.
Oh, the foe fell upon us with scarcely a sound,
and we froze in confusion, fair feast for the hounds.
And quickly and cruelly, they cut Loughlainn down,
and they harvested us like ripe barley.
And now, wounded I lie, though my warning was clear.
And scarce was the glory awaiting me here,
and this heart, that beat only to comfort my dear,
now stains the white snows of the evening.
And were we true to our duty? Well, God only knows.
And it won’t even matter to Him, I suppose.
When we all melt away with the last winter’s snows,
and the wildflowers bloom on the Burren.
And this heart, that beat only to comfort my dear,
now stains the white snows of the evening.
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11. |
Will You Marry Me?
03:58
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12. |
The Very Last Straw
04:36
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Syncopaths Culver City, California
From dance floors to concert halls, the Syncopaths bring a fresh, contemporary spin to music and songs rooted in the Scottish, Irish, and American folk traditions. The exuberant joy they derive from the music and each other is palpable and contagious. "The Syncopaths are nothing short of a Celtic supergroup." — Irish Herald, July 2011 ... more
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