A Derry on a Cove
’Twas in the felon’s dock he stood, his eyes were black and blue;
His voice with grief was broken, and his nose was broken, too;
He muttered, as that broken nose he wiped upon his cap—
‘It’s orfal when the p’leece has got a derry on a chap.
‘I am a honest workin’ cove, as any bloke can see,
‘It’s just because the p’leece has got a derry, sir, on me;
‘Oh, yes, the legal gents can grin, I say it ain’t no joke—
‘It’s cruel when the p’leece has got a derry on a bloke.’
‘Why don’t you go to work?’ he said (he muttered, ‘Why don’t you?’).
‘Yer honer knows as well as me there ain’t no work to do.
‘And when I try to find a job I’m shaddered by a trap—
‘It’s awful when the p’leece has got a derry on a chap.’
I sigh’d and shed a tearlet for that noble nature marred,
But, ah! the Bench was rough on him, and gave him six months’ hard.
He only said, ‘Beyond the grave you’ll cop it hot, by Jove!
‘There ain’t no angel p’leece to get a derry on a cove.’
poem by Henry Lawson
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Related quotes
There was an Old Derry down Derry,
Who loved to see little folks merry;
So he made them a Book,
And with laughter they shook,
At the fun of that Derry down Derry!
by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense (1846)
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The Song Of The Driver
(after Lorca)
Over ice, down hills,
Blue car, pale moon,
Love is calling me
To a fireside in Derry.
(Chorus)
Oh Derry, Derry, Derry,
My own lovely Derry
The capital of the north
West of Erin.
Sure the journey is long
But the car it is sound
As I drive over hills
And through valleys.
(Chorus)
The journey I know well
For I've covered it before
On my way to the
Oak Grove of Erin.
(Chorus)
poem by Liam ó Comáin
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The Thief And Cordelier. A Ballad
To the tune of King John and the Abbot of Canterbury.
Who has e'er been at Paris must needs know the Greve,
The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave,
Where honour and justice most oddly contribute
To ease heroes' pains by a halter and gibbet.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
There death breaks the shackles which force had put on,
And the hangman completes what the judge but begun;
There the Squire of the Pad and the Knight of the Post
Find their pains no more baulk'd and their hopes no more cross'd.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Great claims are there made, and great secrets are known,
And the king, and the law, and the thief, has his own;
But my hearers cry out, What a deuce dost thou ail?
Cut off thy reflections, and give us thy tale.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
'Twas there then in civil respect to harsh laws,
And for want of false witness to back a bad cause,
A Norman, though late, was obliged to appear,
And who to assist but a grave cordelier?
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
The Squire, whose good grace was to open the scene,
Seem'd not in great haste that the show should begin,
Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart,
And often took leave, but was loath to depart.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
What frightens you thus, my good son? says the priest?
You murder'd, are sorry, and have been confest.
O Father! my sorrow will scarce save my bacon,
For 'twas not that I murder'd but that I was taken.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Pough! pr'ythee ne'er trouble thy head with such fancies;
Rely on the aid you shall have from Saint Francis;
If the money you promis'd be brought to the chest,
You have only to die, let the Church do the rest.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And what will folks say if they see you afraid?
It reflects upon me as I knew not my trade:
Courage, Friend, for to-day is your period of sorrow,
And things will go better believe me to-morrow.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
To-morrow, our hero reply'd, in a fright,
He that's hang'd before noon ought to think of to-night;
Tell your beads, quoth the priest, and be fairly truss'd up,
For you surely to-night shall in Paradise sup.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Alas! quoth the Squire, howe'er sumptuous the treat,
Parbleu! I shall have little stomach to eat;
I should therefore esteem it great favour and grace
Would you be so kind as to go in my place.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
That I would, quoth the Father, and thank you to boot,
But our actions, you know, with our must suit;
The feast I proposed to you I cannot taste,
For this night, by our Order, is marked for a fast.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Then turning about to the hangman, he said,
Despatch me, I pr'ythee, this troublesome blade,
For thy cord and my cord both equally tie,
And we live by the gold for which other men die.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
poem by Matthew Prior
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I grew up in Derry, of course, and it was - Derry was the worst example of Northern Ireland's discrimination.
He Often Thinks Of Rosie
He often thinks of Rosie where might she be today?
Is she still back home in Derry from here long miles away
For three years they were an item but for them things did not work out
As often can happen in love affairs between one from a Northern Land and one from a Land in the far South.
He did not wish to live over there and in Melbourne she would not stay
Nostalgia won out over love or so 'twould seem that way
She went back home to Derry though he had asked her to become his wife
Young Rosie she was homesick a natural thing in life.
His wife and he have parted ways they have a year old son
The love died in their marriage he is not the first or he won't be the last one
To know of marriage failure such is life I do suppose
Yet his greatest love will always be the lovely brown haired Derry Rose.
He often thinks of Rosie they parted ways six years ago
He loved her and he always will though apart they did grow
Nostalgia won out over love in their case anyway
She went back home to Derry and home in Melbourne he did stay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Songs The Minstrel Sang
Its almost over its almost done
And you cant put the blame on anyone
Its almost easy and its almost fun
Did you get caught with your britches on
Hi derry day in the month of may
Was the song the minstrel sang
To the good of robin hood
Maid marion and all the gang
His aim was mean and his shot was clean
And his suit was the shade of evergreen
The folks he knew hadnt naught to fear
When the sheriff was there they were over here
Hi derry doon in the month of june
Was the song the minstrel sung
To the good of robin hoods
Good name and a place to run
He loved strong ale and a run down jail
Was the kind of a scene where he never failed
There was no man on the sea or land
Who could get maid marion on the trail
Hi derry day in the month of may
Was the song the minstrel sang
To the good of robin hood
Maid marion and all the gang
Its almost over its almost done
And you cant put the blame on marion
She almost made it to the friars gate
But the old wooden bridge wouldnt elevate
Hi derry doon in the month of june
Was the song the minstrel sung
To the good of robin hoods
Good name and a place to run
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thoughts Of Derry
Thoughts Of Derry
In August at mid-day on
An English building site
The air was clammy,
And office workers
Across from the site
Lay in the shade of
Ancient trees, at lunch break.
I too sat eating tomato
Sandwiches after hours
Of hudding bricks
Wondering if the sun
Was roasting the Creggan
Or were grey clouds
Sprinkling drizzle on the Foyle.
Near by, roses were
Blooming and window
Boxes flourished with
Natures glory but in
Thought recalling flowers
Mantling the grounds of
Brooke Park and St.Eugenes.
And as a tourist sought
Directions his presence
Initiated recall of past days
At Fahan and Buncrana
When the August Bank
Holidays sparked an exodus
From my native City.
Tonight, with a friend
From the Fountain, I
Shall enjoy a few pints
And then back to the
Hostel where sleep will
Prevent, unless I dream,
The constant tug of my Derry roots.
poem by Liam ó Comáin
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from: Shoemaker's Holiday, Or The Gentle Craft
Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,
Saint Hugh be our good speed ;
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,
Nor helps good hearts in need.
Troll the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl,
And here, kind mate, to thee ;
Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul,
And down it merrily.
Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down,
Hey derry derry down-a-down,
Close with the tenor, boy ;
Ho ! well done, to me let come,
Ring compass, gentle joy.
Troll the bowl, the nut-brown bowl,
And here, kind, &c. (As often as there be men to drink.)
(At last, when all have drunk, this verse.)
Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,
Saint Hugh be our good speed ;
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,
Nor helps good hearts in need.
poem by Thomas Dekker
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We have, therefore, directed the Irish Army authorities to have field hospitals established in County Donegal adjacent to Derry and at other points along the Border where they may be necessary.
quote by Jack Lynch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Down-Hall. A Ballad.
Tune. - 'King John and the Abbot of Canterbury.'
I sing not old Jason who travell'd through Greece
To kiss the fair maids and possess the rich fleece,
Nor sing I AEneas, who, led by his mother,
Got rid of one wife and went far for another.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Nor him who through Asia and Europe did roam,
Ulysses by name, who ne'er cared to go home,
But rather desired to see cities and men
Than return to his farms and converse with old Pen.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Hang Homer and Virgil; their meaning to seek,
A man must have poked into Latin and Greek;
Those who love their own tongue we have reason to hope,
Have read them translated by Dryden and Pope.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
But I sing of exploits that have lately been done
By two British heroes call'd Matthew and John,
And how they rid friendly from fine London town,
Fair Essex to see, and a place they call Down.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Now ere they went out, you may rightly suppose
How much they discoursed both in prudence and prose:
For before this great journey was thoroughly concerted,
Full often they met, and as often they parted.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And thus Matthew said, look you here my friend John,
I fairly have travell'd years thirty and one,
And though I still carried my Sovereign's warrants,
I only have gone upon other folks errands.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And now in this journey of life I would have
A place where to bait 'twixt the court and the grave,
Where joyful to live, not unwilling to die -
Gadzooks, I had just a place in my eye.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
There are gardens so stately, and arbours so thick,
A portal of stone, and a fabric of brick;
The matter next week shall be all in your power;
But the money, Gadzooks, must be paid in an hour.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
For things in this world must by law be made certain;
We both must repair unto Oliver Martin,
For he is a lawyer of worthy renown,
I'll bring you to see he must fix you at Down.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Quoth Matthew, I know that from Berwick to Dover
You've sold all our premises over and over;
And now if your buyers and sellers agree
You may throw all our acres into the South-sea.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
But a word to the purpose; to-morrow, dear friend,
We'll sea what to-night you so highly commend,
And if with a garden and house I am bless'd,
Let the devil and Coningsby go with the rest.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Then answer'd Squire Morley, pray get a calash,
That in summer may burn, in winter may splash;
I love dirt and dust; and 'tis always my pleasure
To take with me much of the soil that I measure.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
But Matthew thought better, for Matthew thought right,
And hired a chariot so trim and so tight,
That extremes both of winter and summer might pass,
For one window was canvas, the other was glass.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Draw up, quoth friend Matthew; pull down, quoth friend John,
We shall be both hotter and colder anon:
Thus talking and scolding they forward did speed,
And Ralpho paced by under Newman the Swede.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Into an old inn did this equipage roll,
At a town they call Hodsdon, the sign of the Bull,
Near a nymph with an urn, that divides the highway,
And into a puddle throws mother of tea.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Come here, my sweet landlady, pray, how d'ye do?
Where is Cicily so cleanly, and Prudence, and Sue?
And where is the widow that dwelt here below?
And the ostler that sung about eight years ago?
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And where is your sister, so mild and so dear?
Whose voice to her maids like a trumpet was clear.
By my troth, she replies, you grow younger I think;
And pray, Sir, what wine does the gentleman drink?
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Why now let me die, Sir, or live upon trust,
If I know to which question to answer you first:
Why things since I saw you most strangely have varied?
The ostler is hang'd, and the widow is married.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And Prue left a child for the parish to nurse,
And Cicily went off with a gentleman's purse;
And as to my sister, so mild and so dear,
She has lain in the churchyard full many a year.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Well, peace to her ashes; what signifies grief?
She roasted red veal, and she powder'd lean beef;
Full nicely she knew to cook up a fine dish,
For tough were her pullets and tender her fish.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
For that matter, Sir, be ye 'squire, knight, or lord,
I'll give you whate'er a good inn can afford:
I should look on myself as unhappily sped
Did I yield a sister or living or dead.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Of mutton a delicate neck and a breast,
Shall swim in the water in which they were dress'd;
And because you great folks are with rarities taken,
Addle-eggs shall be next course, tost up with rank bacon.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Then supper was served, and the sheets they were laid,
And Morley most lovingly whisper'd the maid.
The maid! was she handsome? why, truly so so;
But what Morley whisper'd we never shall know,
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Then up rose these heroes as brisk as the sun,
And their horses, like his, were prepared to run:
Now when in the morning Matt ask'd for the score,
John kindly had paid it the evening before.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Their breakfast so warm, to be sure they did eat,
A custom in travellers mighty discreet:
And thus with great friendship and glee they went on
To find out the place you shall hear of anon,
Called Down, Down, hey derry down.
But what did they talk of from morning till noon?
Why, of spots in the sun, and the man in the moon;
Of the Czar's gentle temper, the stocks in the city,
The wise men of Greece, and the secret Committee.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
So to Harlow they came; and hey, where are you all?
Show us into the parlour, and mind when I call:
Why, your maids have no motion, your men have no life:
Well Master, I hear you have buried your wife,
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Come this very instant, take care to provide
Tea, sugar, and toast, and a hoarse and a guide.
Are the Harrisons here, both the old and the young?
And where stands fair Down, the delight of my song.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
O 'squire, to the grief of my heart I may say
I have buried two wives since you travell'd this way;
And the Harrisons both may be presently here;
And Down stands, I think, where it stood the last year.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Then Joan brought the tea-pot, and Caleb the toast,
And the wine was frothed out by the hand of mine host;
But we clear'd our extempore banquet so fast,
That the Harrisons both were forgot in the haste.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Now hey or Down-Hall; for the guide he was got;
The chariot was mounted, the horses did trot;
The guide he did bring us a dozen miles round;
But, oh! all in vain, for no Down could be found.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
O thou Popish guide, thou hast led us astray,
Says he, How the devil should I know the way?
I never yet travell'd this road in my life;
But Down lies on the left I was told by my wife.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Thy wife, answer'd Matthew, when she went abroad,
Ne'er told thee of half the by-ways she had trod;
Perhaps she met friends, and brought pence to thy house,
But thou shalt go home without ever a sous.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
What is this thing, Morley, and how can you mean it?
We have lost our estate here before we have seen it;
Have patience, soft Morley in anger replied;
To find out our way let us send off our guide.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
O here I spy Down: cast your eye to the west,
Where a windmill so stately stands plainly confess'd.
On the west! replied Matthew, no windmill I find;
As well thou may'st tell me I see the west wind.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Now pardon me, Morley, the windmill I spy,
But faithful Achates, no house is there nigh:
Look again, says mild Morley, Gadzooks, you are blind;
The mill stands before and the house lies behind,
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
O now a low ruin'd white shed I discern,
Untiled and unglazed, I believe 'tis a barn.
A barn! why you have rave; 'tis a house for a 'squire,
A justice of peace, or a knight of our shire.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
A house should be built or with brick or with stone,
Why, 'tis plaster and lath, and I think that's all one;
And such as it is it has stood with great fame,
Been called a Hall, and has given its name,
To Down, Down, hey derry down.
O Morley, O Morley, if that be a hall,
The same with a building will suddenly fall -
With your friend Jemmy Gibbs about buildings agree,
My business is land, and it matters not me.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
I wish you could tell what a deuce your head ails;
I show'd you Down-Hall, did you look for Versailles?
Then take house and farm as John Ballet will let ye,
For better for worse, as I took my dame Betty.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
And now, Sir, a word to the wise is enough;
You'll make very little of all your old stuff;
And to build at your age, by my troth, you grow simple,
Are you young and rich, like the master of Wimple?
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
If you have these whims of apartments and gardens,
From twice fifty acres you'll ne'er see five farthings;
And in your's I shall find the true gentleman's fate,
Ere you finish your house you'll have spent your estate.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
Now let us touch thumb, and be friends ere we part,
Here, John, is my thumb, and here, Mat, is heart;
To Halstead I speed, and you go back to town;
Thus ends the first part of the ballad of Down.
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
poem by Matthew Prior
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To The Boys Who Took The Count
See, I'm writin' to Mick as a bloke to a bloke
To a cobber o' mine at the front
An' I'm gittin' full up uv the mullock they poke
At the cove that is bearin' the brunt.
Fer 'e mus'n't do this an' 'e shouldn't do that,
An' 'e's crook if 'e looks a bit shick,
An' 'e's gittin' too uppish, an' don't touch 'is 'at
But 'ere's 'ow I puts it to Mick.
Now it's dickin to style if yer playin' the game.
If it's marbles, or shinty, or war;
I've seen 'em lob 'ome 'ere, the 'alt an' the lame,
That wus fine 'efty fellers before.
They wus toughs, they wus crooks, they wus ev'ry bad thing,
But they mixed it as gentlemen should.
So 'ere's to the coot wiv 'is eye in a sling,
An' a smile in the one that is good.
It wus playin' the game in the oval an' ring
An' playin' fer orl it wus worth
That give 'em the knack uv a punch wiv a sting
When they fought fer the land uv their birth.
They wus pebs, they wus narks, they wus reel naughty boys,
But they didn't need no second 'int,
So ere's to the bloke wiv 'is swearin' an' noise,
An' 'is foot in a fathom uv lint.
There wus fellers I knoo in the soft days uv peace;
An' I didn't know much to their good;
An' they give more 'ard graft to the overworked p'leece
Than a reel puffick gentleman should.
They wus lookin' fer lash long before it wus doo;
When it come, they wus into it, straight.
So 'ere's to the bloke wiv 'is shoulder shot thro'
'Oo is cursin' the days 'e's to wait.
Ar, dickin to swank! when it comes to a mill,
It's the bloke wiv a punch 'oo's yer friend.
An' a coarse, narsty man wiv the moniker Bill
Earns the thanks uv the crowd in the end.
(An' when I sez 'earns' I am 'opin' no stint
Will be charged agin us by-an'-bye.)
So 'ere's to the boy wiv 'is arm in a splint
An' a 'don't-care-a-dam' in 'is eye.
'Cos the fightin's too far fer to give us a grip
Of the 'ell full uv slaughter an' noise,
There's a breed that gives me the particular pip
Be the way that they torks uv the boys.
0, they're coarse, an' they're rude, an' it's awful to liv
Wiv their cursin' an' shoutin' an' fuss.
Dam it! 'Ere's to the bloke wiv the bad-lookin' chiv
That 'e poked inter trouble fer us!
0, it's dead agin etikit, dead agin style
Fer to swear an' to swagger an' skite;
But a battle ain't won wiv a drorin'-room smile,
An' yeh 'ave to be rude in a fight.
An' it's bein' reel rude to enemy blokes
That'll earn yeh that 'ero-like touch,
So 'ere's to the boy wiv 'is curses an' jokes
'Oo is 'oppin' about on a crutch.
Now, the Turk is a gent, an' they greets 'im as such,
An' they gives doo respect to 'is Nibs;
But 'e never 'eld orf to apolergise much
When 'e slid 'is cold steel in their ribs.
An' our boys won the name that they give 'em of late
'Cos they fought like a jugful uv crooks,
So 'ere's to the bloke wiv the swaggerin' gait
An' a bullet mark spoilin' 'is looks.
So, the bloke wiv the scoff, an' the bloke wiv the sneer,
An' the coot wiv the sensitive soul,
'E 'as got to sit back, an' jist change 'is idear
Uv the stuffin' that makes a man whole.
Fer the polish an' gilt that's a win wiv the skirts
It wears thin wiv the friction uv war.
So 'ere's to the cove 'oo is nursin' 'is 'urts
Wiv an oath in the set uv 'is jor.
When yeh've stripped a cove clean an' got down to the buff
Yeh come to the meat that's the man.
If yeh want to find grit an' sich similar stuff,
Yeh've to strip on a similar plan.
Fer there's nothin' like scrappin' to bare a man's soul,
If it's Billo, or Percy, or Gus.
So 'ere's to the bloke 'oo 'ops round on a pole
An' 'owls songs goin' 'ome on the bus.
Spare me days! When a bloke takes the count in a scrap
That 'e's fightin' fer you an' fer me,
Is it fair that a snob 'as the nerve fer to snout
Any swad 'cos 'is manners is free?
They're deservin' our thanks, frum the best to the worst -
An' there's some is reel rorty, I own
But 'ere's to the coot wiv the 'ang-over thirst
'Oo sprags a stray toff fer a loan.
So I'm writin' to Mick; an' I'm feelin' reel wet
Wiv the sort o' superior nark,
'Oo tilts up 'is conk an' gits orl the boys set,
'Oo are out fer a bit uv a lark.
So I puts it to Mick, as I sez when I starts,
An' I ends wiv the solemest toast:
'Ere's to 'im - (raise yer glass) - 'oo left pride in our 'earts
An' 'is bones on Gallipoli coast.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If I Only Had A Brain (feat. Jewel, Images, Ry Cooder & David Sanborn)
(from the soundtrack album The Wizard of Oz in Concert: Dreams Do Come True; performed by Jackson Browne backed by Ry Cooder & David Sanborn)
See, I can't scare anybody.
They come from miles around
To laugh in my face and eat in my field.
Said a scarecrow swinging on a pole,
To some blackbirds sittin' on a fence,
"Oh, the Lord gave me a soul,
But, forgot to give me common sense."
Said the blackbirds, "Well, well, well.
What the thunder would you do with common sense?"
Said the scarecrow,"Would be pleasin'
just to reason out the reason
of the wishes and the whyness and the whence"
If I had an once of common sense...
(If he had an ounce of common sense)
(Well, what would you do Scarecrow?")
I would while away the hours
Conferin' with the flowers
Consultin' with the rain
And my head I'd be scratchin'
While my thoughts were busy hatchin'
If I only had a brain.
I'd unravel every riddle,
For every individle,
In trouble or in pain.
With the thoughts I'd be thinkin',
I could be another Lincoln,
If I only had a brain.
Oh I-- could tell you why,
The ocean's near the shore.
I could think of things I never thought before,
Then I'd sit-- and think some more.
I would not be just a nothin',
my head all full of stuffin',
My heart all full of pain.
I would dance and be merry,
Life would be a dingle derry,
If I only had a brain.
If I only had a brain--
(If he only had a brain.)
I could tell you why
The ocean's near the shore.
I could think of things I never thought before
And then I'd sit-- and think some more.
Ya, it would be kind of pleasin'
To reason out the reason,
for the things I can't explain.
Then perhaps I'd deserve you,
and be even worthy of you,
If I only had a brain.
I could dance and by merry,
Life would be a dingle derry,
If I only had a brain.
If I only had a brain.
(If he only had a brain.)
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Only Had A Brain
(from the soundtrack album the wizard of oz in concert: dreams do come true; performed by jackson browne backed by ry cooder & david sanborn)
See, I cant scare anybody.
They come from miles around
To laugh in my face and eat in my field.
Said a scarecrow swinging on a pole,
To some blackbirds sittin on a fence,
Oh, the lord gave me a soul,
But, forgot to give me common sense.
Said the blackbirds, well, well, well.
What the thunder would you do with common sense?
Said the scarecrow,would be pleasin
Just to reason out the reason
Of the wishes and the whyness and the whence
If I had an once of common sense...
(if he had an ounce of common sense)
(well, what would you do scarecrow? )
I would while away the hours
Conferin with the flowers
Consultin with the rain
And my head Id be scratchin
While my thoughts were busy hatchin
If I only had a brain.
Id unravel every riddle,
For every individle,
In trouble or in pain.
With the thoughts Id be thinkin,
I could be another lincoln,
If I only had a brain.
Oh i-- could tell you why,
The oceans near the shore.
I could think of things I never thought before,
Then Id sit-- and think some more.
I would not be just a nothin,
My head all full of stuffin,
My heart all full of pain.
I would dance and by merry,
Life would be a dingle derry,
If I only had a brain.
If I only had a brain--
(if he only had a brain.)
I could tell you why
The oceans near the shore.
I could think of things I never thought before
And then Id sit-- and think some more.
Ya, it would be kind of pleasin
To reason out the reason,
For the things I cant explain.
Then perhaps Id deserve you,
And be even worthy of you,
If I only had a brain.
I could dance and by merry,
Life would be a dingle derry,
If I only had a brain.
If I only had a brain.
(if he only had a brain.)
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Star Of The County Down
In banbridge town in the county down
One morning last july,
From a boreen green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by.
She looked so sweet fronn her two bare feet
To the sheen of her nut brown hair.
Such a coaxing elf, sure I shook myself
For to see I was really there.
Chorus:
From bantry bay up to derry quay and
From galway to dublin town,
No maid Ive seen like the brown colleen
That I met in the county down.
As she onward sped, sure I scratched my head,
And I looked with a feelin rare,
And I says, says i, to a passer-by,
Whose the maid with the nut brown hair?
He smiled at me and he sayss, says he,
Thats the gem of irelands crown.
Its rosie mccann from the banks of the bann,
Shes the star of the county down.
Chorus:
From bantry bay up to derry ouay and
From galway to dublin town,
No maid Ive seen like the brown colleen
That I met in the county down.
At the harvest fair shell be surely there
And Ill dress in my sunday clothes,
With my shoes shone bright and my hat cocked
Right for a smile from my nut brown rose.
No pipe Ill smoke, no horse Ill yoke
Till my plough turns rust coloured brown.
Till a smiling bride, by my own fireside
Sits the star of the county down.
Chorus / repeat
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring Sun Risen
In keeping with tradition the elders watched the sky
Around the last days before, the Winter Sun would die:
Like her Mother before her, she'd send the children up
To the highest point on Derry Hill west of Currahsceach:
And true to form - they'd bid the Winter Sun farewell
Knowing that - all the alignments were now set.
That was always one day before the arrival of Spring Sun
A shadow cast Winter aside, new life had begun.
© Calac.
poem by Chris Lane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ill Be Your Lover, Too
Ill be your man
Ill understand
And do my best to take good care of you
Yes I will
Youll be my queen
Ill be your king
And Ill be your lover too
Derry down green
Colors my dream
A dream thats daily coming true
When day is through
I will come to you
And tell you of your many charms
Youll look at me
With eyes that see
And melt into my waiting arms
And so I come
To be the one
Whos always standing close to you
Reach out for me
So I can be
The one whos always reaching out for you
Ill be your king
Youll be my queen
And Ill be your lover too.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Horse and Cart Ferry
It was old Jerry Brown,
Who’d an office in town,
And he used to get jocular, very;
And he’d go to the Shore
When they’d serve him no more,
And, of course, by the passenger ferry,
A sight on the passenger ferry.
Now this is a song of the ferry,
And a lay of the juice of the berry;
’Tis the ballad of Brown,
Who’d a business in town,
And commenced to go down
Very slow,
Don’t you know?
By coming home just a bit merry.
By the Drunks’ Boat—that’s right—
On a Saturday night
He would often be past being merry;
With his back teeth afloat,
On the twelve o’clock boat,
And a spectacle there on the ferry
(A picture to all on the ferry).
In the mornings, ashamed—
’Twas the last drink he blamed,
Though the first was the matter with Jerry,
With his nerve out of joint,
He’d sneak down to Blue’s Point,
And he’d cross by the horse-and-cart ferry,
Like a thief—by the horse-and-cart ferry.
But long before night
He’d most likely be tight,
And a subject and theme for George Perry;
And he’d cross to the Shore,
Somewhat worse than before,
And a nuisance to all on the ferry;
Singing-drunk on the passenger ferry.
And so it went on
Till his reason seemed gone,
And the Law, so it seemed, got a derry
On Brown. He went down,
And they sent him to town
One day, by “the trap,” on the ferry—
The Government trap on the ferry.
He was sober and sane
When he came back again,
And the past he’d determined to bury—
Or, I mean, live it down—
And he crossed from the town
Like a man, on the passenger ferry.
(There were sceptical souls on that ferry.)
They say ’twas the jaw
Of his mother-in-law
Drove him back to the juice of the berry;
But he soon got afloat
On the passenger boat
Or adrift on the horse-and-cart ferry
(Wrongly called the ve-hic-ular ferry).
The drink had him fast,
And he drank till at last
He dried up—a withered old cherry;
And they thought him no loss
When they sent him across
In a box, on the cart-and-horse ferry—
In a low, covered trap on the ferry.
Which I rise to explain—
If the moral ain’t plain,
And if you’re a cove that gets merry—
Always stick, when “afloat,”
To the passenger boat;
Or else to the cart-and-horse ferry,
Or you’ll make matters worse, like old Jerry.
But this is the song of the ferry,
And the lay of the juice of the berry;
And you will not deny—
If you read by-and-bye—
That the casual eye
Of the Tight
At first sight
Misses much in the song of the ferry.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A GIRL IN DERRY June 19th,2011
A girl in Derry long ago said that I was full of lust,
She was probably right as she left me in the dust,
Said she was going to join a convent the very next week,
I often wonder if that experience was completely unique.
And if perchance she’s still alive, would she remember me,
A Canadian sailor from across the Atlantic sea,
But that was very long ago, even long before the pill,
Before many lovely ladies went crazy but some don’t still.
Is there something I may have missed somewhere along the way?
Lots of things forgotten so I should have kept a dossier,
Or wrote a book about the many people and events,
Could have been a best seller because of the contents.
poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bloke Is Broke
The bloke is broke
Takes a coke and lots of smoke
Stroke a joke and leaves the yoke
Spoke and poke and went back folk
Remembering baroque
With a golf stroke
Scrubs an oak with
Another sick joke
Woke and evoke
And even provoke
A gun smoke
Goes amok
With a butterfly stroke
Wild with a James Knox
Towards valley oak
spoke a practical joke
Ending with a choke
that broken bloke
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Are you the Cove?
“Are you the Cove?” he spoke the words
As swagmen only can;
The Squatter freezingly inquired,
“What do you mean, my man?”
“Are you the Cove?” his voice was stern,
His look was firm and keen;
Again the Squatter made reply,
"I don’t know what you mean."
“0! dash my rags! let’s have some sense –
You ain’t a fool, by Jove,
Gammon you dunno what I mean;
I mean – are you the Cove?’
‘Yes, I'm the Cove,” the Squatter said;
The Swagman answered, "Right,
I thought as much: show me some place
Where I can doss tonight."
poem by Joseph Furphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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