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I'm Leavin' It Up To You - Dale & Grace

I'm leavin' it all up to you-ooh-ooh
You decide what you're gonna do
Now do you want my lo-o-ove
Or are we through

That's why I'm leaving it up to you-ooh-ooh
You decide what you're gonna do
Now do you want my lo-o-ove
Or are we through

I've got my heart in my hand
I-I don't understand
Baby, what, what have I done wrong
You know I worship the ground you walk on

That's why I'm leavin' it up to you-ooh-ooh
You decide what you're gonna do
Now do you want my lo-o-ove
Or are we through

Or are we through

Sally Go 'Round The Roses - The Jaynetts

Sally go round the roses
(Sally go round the roses)
Sally go round the roses
(Sally go round the pretty roses)

Hope this place can't hurt you
(Hope this place can't hurt you)
Roses they can't hurt you
(Roses they can't hurt you)
Sally don't you go, don't you go downtown
Sally don't you go-o, don't you go downtown
Saddest thing in the whole wide world
Is see your baby with another girl
Sally go round, oh Sally don't you go
Sally don't you go, Don't you go downtown
Oh, don't you go downtown
Saddest thing in the whole wide world
See your baby with another girl

Sally go round the roses
(Sally go round the roses)
Sally go round the roses
(Sally go round the pretty roses)

They won't tell your secret
(They won't tell your secret)
They won't tell your secret
Oh no, won't tell your secret
Sally baby cry, let your hair hang down
Sally baby cry, let your hair hang down
Sit and cry with the door closed
Sit and cry so no one knows
Sally baby cry, let your hair hang down
Sally baby cry, let your hair hang down
Saddest thing in the whole wide world
See your baby with another girl

Sally go round the roses
(Sally

Getting plenty of Irish from you, Letty. Methinks you have a soft spot for the Emerald Isle.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/4356341.stm

Eireann go Bragh! And a happy St Paddy's Day to you all.

Loved the song of the talking seaweed. Where do you get that stuff? (in the sea, whispers Letty)

Don't know much about history
Don't know much biology
Don't know much about a science book
Don't know much about the French I took
But I do know one and one makes two
And if this one could be with you
What a wonderful world this would be.

Just a primer for those of you who'll use this special day to skip work.

Why Paddy's Not At Work (Excuse Note)
(Pat Cooksey)

Dear Sir I write this note to inform you of my plight
And at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight
My body is all black and blue, my face a deathly gray
I write this note to tell why Paddy's not at work today

While working on the fourteenth floor, some bricks I had to clear
And to throw them down from off the top seemed quite a good idea
But the gaffer wasn't very pleased, he was an awful sod
He said I had to cart them down the ladder in me hod.

Well clearing all those bricks by hand, it seemed so very slow
So I hoisted up a barrel and secured the rope below
But in my haste to do the job, I was too blind to see
That a barrel full of building bricks is heavier than me.

So when I had untied the rope, the barrel fell like lead
And clinging tightly to the rope I started up instead
I took off like a rocket and to my dismay I found
That half way up I met the bloody barrel coming down.

Well the barrel broke my shoulder as on to the ground it sped
And when I reached the top I banged the pulley with me head
I held on tight, though numb with shock from this almighty blow
And the barrel spilled out half its load fourteen floors below

Now when those building bricks fell from the barrel to the floor
I then outweighed the barrel so I started down once more
I held on tightly to the rope as I flew to the ground
And I landed on those building bricks that were scattered all
around.

Now as I lay there on the deck I thought I'd passed the worst
But when the barrel reached the top, that's when the bottom burst
A shower of bricks came down on me, I knew I had no hope
In all of this confusion, I let go the bloody rope.

The barrel being heavier, it started down once more
And landed right on top of me as I lay on the floor
It broke three ribs and my left arm, and I can only say
That I hope you'll understand why Paddy's not at work today.

happy st. patricks day

Beer Beer Beer
Traditional

A long time ago, way back in history,
when all there was to drink was nothin but cups of tea.
Along came a man by the name of Charlie Mops,
and he invented a wonderful drink and he made it out of hops.

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
and to his praises we shall always sing.
Look what he has done for us he's filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
tiddly beer beer beer.

The Curtis bar, the James' Pub, the Hole in the Wall as well
one thing you can be sure of, its Charlie's beer they sell
so all ye lads a lasses at eleven O'clock ye stop
for five short seconds, remember Charlie Mops 1 2 3 4 5

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
and to his praises we shall always sing.
Look what he has done for us he's filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
tiddly beer beer beer.

A barrel of malt, a bushel of hops, you stir it around with a stick,
the kind of lubrication to make your engine tick.
40 pints of wallop a day will keep away the quacks.
Its only eight pence hapenny and one and six in tax, 1 2 3 4 5

He must have been an admiral a sultan or a king,
and to his praises we shall always sing.
Look what he has done for us he's filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented beer beer beer
tiddly beer beer beer.

The Lord bless Charlie Mops!


Drink It Up Men
Traditional

At the pub on the crossroads there's whiskey and beer
There's brandy from cognac that's fragrant but dear
But for killing the thirst and for raising the gout
There's nothing at all beats a pint of good stout
Drink it up men, it's long after ten

At the pub on the crossroads I first went astray
There I drank enough drink for to fill Galway Bay
Going up to the mourning I wore out me shoes
Going up to the cross for the best of good booze
Drink it up men, it's long after ten

Some folk o'er the water think bitter is fine
And others they swear by the juice of the wine
But there's nothing that's squeezed from the grape or the hop
Like the black liquidation with the froth on the top
Drink it up men, it's long after ten

I've travelled in England, I've travelled in France
At the sound of good music I'll sing or I'll dance
So hear me then mister and pour me one more
If I cannot drink it up then throw me out the door
Drink it up men, it's long after ten

It's Guinness's porter that has me this way
For it's sweeter than buttermilk and stronger than tea
But when in the morning I feel kind of rough
Me cursin' lord I be who brews the damned stuff
Drink it up men, it's long after ten
Drink it up men, it's long after ten


A Jug Of Punch
Traditional

One pleasant evening in the month of June
As I was sitting with my glass and spoon
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was "The Jug Of Punch"

Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay, too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch
And the song he sang was "The Jug Of Punch"

What more diversion can a man desire?
Than to sit him down by an alehouse fire
Upon his knee a pretty wench
And on the table a jug of punch

Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay, too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
Upon his knee a pretty wench
And on the table a jug of punch

Let the doctors come with all their art
They'll make no impression upon my heart
Even a cripple forgets his hunch
When he's snug outside of a jug of punch

Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay, too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
Even a cripple forgets his hunch
When he's snug outside of a jug of punch

And if I get drunk, well, the money's me own
And if them don't like me they can leave me alone
I'll chung me fiddle and I'll rosin me bow
And I'll be welcome wherever I go

Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay, too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
I'll chung me fiddle and I'll rosin me bow
And I'll be welcome wherever I go

And when I'm dead and in my grave
No costly tombstone will I have
Just lay me down in my native peat
With a jug of punch at my head and feet

Too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay, too ra loo ra loo, too ra loo ra lay
Just lay me down in my native peat
With a jug of punch at my head and feet


Finnegans Wake
Traditional

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 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 around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you? 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

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake

His friends assembled at the wake, and Mrs 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 avourneen, why did you die?", "Will ye hould your gob?" said Paddy McGee

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake

Then Maggie O'Connor took up the job, "Biddy" says she "you're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy gave her a belt in the gob and left 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

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake

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
Bedad he revives, see how he rises, Timothy rising from the bed
Saying "Whittle your whiskey around like blazes, t'underin' Jaysus, do ye think I'm dead?"

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer partner around the flure yer trotters shake
Wasn't it the truth I told you? Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake


All For Me Grog
Unknown

And it's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the western ocean I must wander

Where are me boots, me noggin, noggin boots
they're all gone for beer and tobacco
For the heels they are worn out and the toes are kicked about
And the soles are looking for better weather

And it's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the western ocean I must wander

Where is me shirt me noggin, noggin shirt
It's all gone for beer and tobacco
For the collar is all worn and the sleeves they are all torn
And the tail is looking for better weather

And it's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the western ocean I must wander

I'm sick in the head and I haven't gone to bed
Since I first came ashore from me slumber
For I spent all me dough on the lassies don't you know
Far across the western ocean I must wander

And it's all for me grog, me jolly, jolly grog
All for me beer and tobacco
Well I spent all me tin on the lassies drinking gin
Across the western ocean I must wander


Mountain Dew
Traditional

Chorus:
Ah didlee ay dum
ah diddlee ay dum
Ah doo ray diddlee ai ay
Ah didlee ay dum
ah diddlee ay dum
Ah doo ray diddlee ai ay

Let grasses grow and waters flow
In a free and easy way
Just give me enough of that fine old stuff
that's made near Galway Bay
The police men from old Donegal
Sligo and Lietrin too
We'll give them the slip and we'll take a sip
Of that real old Mountain Dew

At the foot of the hill there's a neat little still
Where the smoke curls up to the sky
By the smoke and the smell you can plainly tell
There's poitin brewin near by
It fills the air with a perfume rare
But betwixt both me and you
When home we go you can take a bowl
Or a bucket of the Mountain Dew

Now learned men who use a pen
Have wrote your praises high
That sweet poitin from Ireland green
is stilled from wheat and rye
Put away your pills, it'll cure all ills
Be ye Christian, pagan or Jew
Take off your coat and grease your throat
With a bucket of the Mountain Dew

Waterloo Bridge got its name on account of the fact its right beside Waterloo Station.

T' owd Duke of Wellington, he was at Waterloo, and as far as I know he is the only member of the British aristocracy to be called after an item of footwear.

The Minstrel Boy
- Thomas Moore, 1779-1852

The minstrel boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His father's sword he hath girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;

"Land of Song!" cried the warrior bard,
"Tho' all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy right shall guard,
One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel fell! But the foeman's steel
Could not bring that proud soul under;
The harp he lov'd ne'er spoke again,
For he tore its chords asunder;

And said "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and brav'ry!
Thy songs were made for the pure and free
They shall never sound in slavery!

Who's gonna throw that minstrel boy a coin?
Who's gonna let it roll?
Who's gonna throw that minstrel boy a coin?
Who's gonna let it down easy to save his soul?

Oh, Lucky's been drivin' a long, long time
And now he's stuck on top of the hill.
With twelve forward gears, it's been a long hard climb,
And with all of them ladies, though, he's lonely still.

Who's gonna throw that minstrel boy a coin?
Who's gonna let it roll?
Who's gonna throw that minstrel boy a coin?
Who's gonna let it down easy to save his soul?

Well, he deep in number and heavy in toil,
Mighty Mockingbird, he still has such a heavy load.
Beneath his bound'ries, what more can I tell,
With all of his trav'lin', but I'm still on that road.

Who's gonna throw that minstrel boy a coin?
Who's gonna let it roll?
Who's gonna throw that minstrel boy a coin?
Who's gonna let it down easy to save his soul?

Good morning WA2K. Whole lot of singing going on here proving that it is, indeed, a great day for the Irish.

Thanks to edgar, dj, Bob, and McTag, we have a virtual repository of words with import and history.

McTag, the original intent of this thread was to include many countries from our planet. I have a soft spot in my heart, not only for the sea, but for all who in here dwell. Sooooo, the Duke of Wellington spawned not only a bridge but boots. <smile> I also heard that the bridge was a subject of some levity in that the water closet in England and the loo were synonymous. Love that!

Confession: My friend from Northern Ireland, smokingunne, put me on to the song that I posted earlier, and the le Mer song I heard in the background while the TV was playing rather loudly. I think the name of the show was Lost, but I have never watched it.

Inspiration comes from odd places, my friends.

There are those of you here that have been fortunate enough to travel all over. Since I am not among those, I absorb it through reading and learning and listening.

Thank you all, my friends.

Now that the Prince has done Toronto and met so many Canucks, perhaps he will have something to report upon his return.

Happy St Patrick's Day to all

Well, I pulled out of Pittsburgh,
Rollin' down the Eastern Seaboard.
I've got my diesel wound up,
And she's running like never before.
There's a speed zone ahead, all right,
I don't see a cop in sight.
Six days on the road and I'm gonna make it home tonight.

I got ten forward gears,
And a Georgia overdrive.
I'm taking little white pills,
And my eyes are open wide.
I just passed a 'Jimmy' and a 'White':
I've been passin' everything in sight.
Six days on the road and I'm gonna make it home tonight.

Well, it seems like a month,
Since I kissed my baby good-bye.
I could have a lot of women,
But I'm not like some other guys.
I could find one to hold me tight,
But I could never believe that it's right.
Six days on the road and I'm gonna make it home tonight.

I.C.C. is checking on down the line.
I'm a little overweight and my log's three days behind.
But nothing bothers me tonight.
I can dodge all the scales all right,
Six days on the road and I'm gonna make it home tonight.

Well my rig's a little old,
But that don't mean she's slow.
There's a flame from her stack,
And the smoke's rolling black as coal.
My hometown's coming in sight,
If you think I'm happy your right.
Six days on the road and I'm gonna make it home tonight.
Six days on the road and I'm gonna make it home tonight.
Six days on the road and I'm gonna make it home tonight.

And there're George and dys, listeners.

"The Minstrel Boy has gone to war" is sobering, isn't it; complete with dys' response it reminds me of a quote from long ago.

"War takes man's best to do man's worst." Sorry, but I can't recall the author at the moment.

My word, look at George's avatar. Fantastic!

Back later, listeners, with more news, music, and items of interest connecting us all.

LARK IN THE MORNING

The lark in the morning she arises from her nest
And she ascends all in the air with the dew upon her breast
And with the pretty ploughboy she'll whistle and she'll sing
And at night she'll return to her own nest again

When his day's work is over, oh what then will he do
Perhaps then into some country wake he'll go
And with his pretty sweetheart, he'll dance and he'll sing
And at night he'll return with his love back again

And as they returned from the wake unto the town
The meadows they are mowed and the grass it is cut down
The nightingale she whistles upon the hawthorn spray
And the moon it is a shining upon the new mown hay

Good luck unto the ploughboys wherever they may be
They will take a winsome lass for to sit upon their knee
And with a jug of beer boys, they'll whistle and they'll sing
And the ploughboy is as happy as a prince or a king

Happy St. Patrick's All.

One of my all-time favorites:

If you ever go across the sea to Ireland,
Then maybe at the closing of your day;
You will sit and watch the moonrise over Claddagh,
And see the sun go down on Galway Bay,
Just to hear again the ripple of the trout stream,
The women in the meadows making hay;
And to sit beside a turf fire in the cabin,
And watch the barefoot gossoons at their play,
For the breezes blowing o'er the seas from Ireland,
Are perfum'd by the heather as they blow;
And the women in the uplands diggin' praties,
Speak a language that the strangers do not know,

For the strangers came and tried to teach us their way,
They scorn'd us just for being what we are;
But they might as well go chasing after moonbeams,
Or light a penny candle from a star.

And if there is going to be a life hereafter,
And somehow I am sure there's going to be;
I will ask my God to let me make my heaven,
In that dear land across the Irish sea.

And here are some St. Patrick's Birthday celebs:

1777 Roger B. Taney, chief justice of the Supreme Court (Calvert County, MD; died 1864)
1787 Edmund Kean, actor (Britain; died 1833)
1846 Kate Greenaway, children's illustrator (Britain; died 1901)
1888 Frank Buck actor (Bring 'em Back Alive)(Africa Screams, Tiger Queen, Tiger Fangs) (died 1950)
1899 Gloria Swanson Chicago IL, actress (Sadie Thompson, Killer Bees, Sunset Blvd.) (Died 1983)
1900 Alfred Newman New Haven, composer (Love is a Many Splendored Thing and many great movie scores including Wuthering Heights, All About Eve, How the West Was Won) (died 1970)
1902 Bobby Jones, golfer (Atlanta, GA; died 1971)
1910 Bayard Rustin, civil rights leader (West Chester, PA; died 1987)
1918 Mercedes McCambridge, actress (Joliet, IL)
1919 Nat "King" Cole, singer (Montgomery, AL; died 1965)
1938 Rudolf Nureyev, ballet dancer (Siberia, USSR; died 1993)
1941 Gene Pitney Hartford CT, rock singer (Town without Pity)
1944 Danny DeVito Neptune NJ, actor (Louie-Taxi, Twins)
John Sebastian New York NY, singer (Loving Spoonful, Welcome Back Kotter)
Pat McCauley N Ireland, rock drummer (Them)
1949 Patrick Duffy, actor (Townsend, MT)
1951 Kurt Russell, actor (Springfield, MA)
1955 Gary Sinise actor (Apollo 13, Forrest Gump)
1964 Rob Lowe, actor (Charlottesville, VA)
1972 Mia Hamm, champion soccer player (Selma, AL)
1976 Stephen Gately ,Dublin Ireland, Irish singer (Boyzone)

Thank you so much, Raggedy, for the song and the celebs update. I, too, like Galway Bay.

I do believe that most of us recognize every actor/actress that you have listed. I had no idea that Rob Lowe was born in Charlottesville, Virginia.

Well, there are things that I must do here in overcast Florida.

This is cyberspace, WA2K.

Thank you so much, Raggedy, for the song and the celebs update. I, too, like Galway Bay.

I do believe that most of us recognize every actor/actress that you have listed. I had no idea that Rob Lowe was born in Charlottesville, Virginia.

Well, there are things that I must do here in overcast Florida.

This is cyberspace, WA2K.

Ode to the Critical error.
Could not connect to database.
This time I blame it on hamsters,
Who really don't quite know their proper place.

With dial up and overload problems,
We learn to have patience and calm.
We sing to the powers that remedy,
And gilead our posts with a balm.

Bob, the lark and the bluebird. One represents freedom; the other happiness. What a fantastic twosome.

Steve O'Donnell's Wake
(Traditional)

Steve O'Donnell was a gentleman, so everybody said,
He was loved by all his friends both rich and poor,
And everyone felt sorry when they heard that Steve was dead,
And they saw the black crepe paper 'round the door.

The barber came to shave the Galway slugger's face and throat,
And cut his hair an a la pompadour,
A red necktie and button-hole bouquet were in his coat,
And a bunch of shamrocks in his hands he wore.

Chorus:
And there were fighters, and blighters, and Irish dynamiters,
There was beer, gin, whiskey, wine and cake;
They were men of high position, they were Irish politicians
And they all got drunk at Steve O'Donnell's Wake.

Now undertaker Feeney had a job to lay him out,
In a casket of the very finest make,
He dressed the corpse in broadcloths, sayin,' "Boys, there'll be no doubt,
They'll all be sad at Steve O'Donnell's wake."

There were fifty candles at his head and twenty at his feet,
And plenty flowers sent for friendship's sake.
"Oh, Stevie boy, why didya die?" the weeping widow cried,
And they all felt sad at Steve O'Donnell's wake.

[Chorus]

Now Mick McGovern said of Steve, "He was an awful bum,"
Of course he only meant it as a joke;
But Paddy Mack got off his back and made McGovern run,
When he hit him in the eye an awful poke.

All joined in the fighting then, 'cause everyone was mad,
And blood enough was shed to flood a lake;
They knocked the corpse down to the floor and busted all the lights,
There was holy war at Steve O'Donnell's wake.

[Chorus]

Now the cops came in to stop the brawl and make them understand,
The corpse was picked up by his brother Dan;
When someone stole the necktie from around O'Donnell's throat,
Mick McGovern said O'Reilly was the man.

O'Reilly and his friends got mad and swore they'd have his life,
McGovern swore they'd made a great mistake;
They fought and fought and drank all night 'til the cops came back again,
And arrested all at Steve O'Donnell's wake.

[Chorus]

Mush Mush

Oh, 'twas there I learned readin' and writin',
At Bill Brackett's where I went to school,
And 'twas there I learned howlin' and fightin'
With me schoolmaster, Mister O'Toole.
Him and me we had many a scrimmage,
An' divil a copy I wrote;
There was ne'er a gossoon in the village
Dared tread on the tail o' me...

cho: Mush, mush, mush toor-i-li-ady
Mush, mush, mush toor-i-li-ay
There was ne'er a gossoon in the village
Dared tread on the tail o' me coat.

Oh, 'twas there that I learned all me courtin'
O the lessons I took in the art!
Till Cupid, the blackguard, while sportin'
An arrow drove straight through my heart.
Miss Judy, she lived just forinst me,
And tender lines to her I wrote,
If ye dare say one hard word agin her
I'll tread on the tail o' yer...

cho:

But a blackguard called Mickey Maloney,
Came an' stole her affections away
For he'd money and I hadn't any,
So I sent him a challenge next day.
In the evenin' we met at the Woodbine
The Shannon we crossed in a boat,
An' I lathered him with me shillelagh
For he trod on the tail o' me...

cho:

Oh, me fame went abroad through the nation,
An' folks came a-flockin' to see
An' they cried out, without hesitation
"You're a fightin' man, Billy McGhee!"
Oh, I've cleaned out the Finnegan faction
An' I've licked all the Murphys afloat,
If you're in for a row or a ruction,
Just tread on the tail o' me...

cho:

Recorded by Patric Galvin, Clancys (I think), featured in film
"The Quiet Man"