It was June and it was hot, when on board the ship we got
With shot and powder for the guns and a hogshead full of rum
And salt cod to last until the winter squalls
We made for the southwest where the hunting would be best
Where the Spanish ships of trade down with Aztec silver laden
Were the fairest game for gentlemen of fortune
Chorus
And with tar on our pigtails and blood on our rapiers
We'll fly the skull and crossbones and by God we'll take no prisoners
It's hiho away boys, we'll sail from Traighli Bay boys
Hoist the Jolly Roger at the break of day
From up the crowsnest then, called the third mate, Mr. Flynn
"Set the course and hold 'er steady and for action make 'er ready
There's a Spanish merchant off the starbord bow"
We raised the black flag high, fast the Spaniard turned to fly
We followed in her wake until we could overtake
And dismasted her with chain from cannon fired
Chorus
We pulled up alongside with our grappling hooks and lines
Guns and cutlasses in hand on the gunwales we did stand
Every hand from the Captain to the cabin boy
Saw three dead the chains had flayed, then we raised and crossed our blades
To their mates we gave our best as the sun set in the west
With pikes and swords, pistols, fists and feet
Chorus
From the darkness till the dawn as the battle raged on
We fought with manly fitness as we meant to leave no witness
We lost Mr. Flynn and one leg from the cabin boy
But with their treasure we retired and we set a canvas fire
Left her sinking to the deep where their silent bones will sleep
And we forged a leg of gold for the cabin boy
Chorus
It was August and still warm when to Traighli we returned
Fifty-eight days on the main and we've no need to sail again
We've gold and silver more than we could spend
Now half a century has passed and of that crew I am the last
Fifty years I've roamed these docks and when I get a chance to talk
I tell of how I got this golden leg.
Chorus
Motherlode
written by: Joe Grant and Steve Ritchie
Ebenezer Johnstone was not the kind of guy
To dance with the hurdy-gurdy girls, Oh! he was just too shy
But Flossy Krentsch that pretty wench
One day caught his eye
His jaw hung down right to the ground, Oh! he began to cry
"Flossy darlin' Flossy, won't you take my name?
It's all I have to offer, except my mining claim"
She pinched his cheek and kissed him and kindly let him know
The only chance for sweet romance was to find that Motherlode
Chorus
The hurdy girls were dancin', Ebenezer stumbled in
A heavy sack upon his back, his face was all a-grin
He threw the sack at Flossy's feet, "Oh! Flossy stop your dancin'
We're headed down to New York town gonna buy ourselves a mansion
They got as far as Winnipeg, the money was all spent
Poor old Ebenezer can't figure where it went
But Flossy stuck right with him, she's quite content, you see
She says, "In fact, he's a pretty good catch for a girl of 53!"
Chorus
Renovated chorus:
Motherlode, that Cariboo gold, every miner's pride
Bringing home that Cariboo gold to my hurdy gurdy bride.
The Last
Breakdown
Music and Lyrics: Joe Grant
Out by the driveshed, behind the parked cars,
I can still see the moonlight on Billy's old guitar,
And me, just a young kid, listenin' for the groove,
Watching as he changed the chords, see how fingers moved
Chorus
Don't let the old songs slip away
Remember how we danced when the old folks used to play
Saturday Night in Hardwood Lake,
The fiddle and the old guitar would make
The floorboards bounce, the room go 'round,
One more couple for the Last Breakdown
Don't let that music slip away
A teenaged kid from the city, I spent my summers in these hills
Pick-up trucks and pretty girls, all the teenage thrills
But for me the real romance was out on the old dance floor
Kickin' up our heels while the fiddle squealed until we couldn't dance no more
Chorus
So here I am, I'm a one-man band, I've been singing for twenty
years
I play my guitar in the downtown bars and nobody really hears
Sometimes I slip in an old song, if no one's looking my way
And then I'm back once more on the old dance floor and I can hear the fiddle
play
Chorus
Jones 1/4 Line
Music and no lyrics: Bob Wagar
(Ever heard pipers discussing or teaching each other tunes? We thought we'd
use that method here.)
Da dum da deedelee dum...... dahyeeee...
Dee deedle eedlee dum dum dum dah deedlee da dah dumm
Pling
(You get the idea - if you speak the language, you can probably get the rest
on your own)
No Smoke, No
Baloney
Music: Joe Grant, Lyrics: Joe Grant and David Stone
Down by the fires, I've worked all my life
Seen more of this furnace than my children or wife
Through slowdowns and shut-downs, trouble and strife
Makin' the steel down on Cape Breton Isle
Through rumours of closures the days have gone by
As fathers and sons here all put in their time
With families to feed and homes for to buy
Makin' the steel down on Cape Breton Isle
Chorus
No Smoke, No Baloney the old timers say
If you don't breathe the dirt, you'll be gettin' no pay
Coke fires and chimneys, dusty old Sydney
I'll take what you give me, no need to complain
Forty long years I passed through these gates
I've taken back home in my lunch can each day
The dust that I breathe, the sulphur I ate
The damned smell of steel just won't go away
Each dollar I've earned by the blast-furnace door
Has been for my family and still we're damned poor
And my days lie like dust on the old Sysco floor
Makin' the steel till I can't work no more
Chorus
The skies over Sydney, once red with the haze
Have cleared in the hopes of far better days
And the fires of old forge our children's new ways
Making the steel on Cape Breton to stay
Chorus
Immigrant's
Tears
Music and Lyrics: Steve Ritchie
Young Evelyn Tretheway bade me stop a while to see her
With such a simple cast of eyes I wondered if 'twas true
Before that day I'd never raised my head from out the furrow
But from that day my hand and heart were hers till I was through
Came word of land in Canada, mere shillings for the acre
I'd build her there a grander home than else she'd ever see
Two years to clear and settle and then I promised her I'd fetch her
From family and home, three thousand miles to be with me
Weeks and months of trying not to think too much about her
I felled and brushed and cleared and fought a war with stump and stone
Good neighbours, saws and axes, now a draughty little shanty
Ten minutes spare at sundown and my thoughts return to home
The soft goodbye at Liverpool, the rough and stormy voyage
My faithful wife in Cornwall still, how dark must be her days
How terrible to spend the months in fearful expectation
Of news that her new husband met his end so far away
Chorus
Will the meadows lend you comfort? Will the woodlands bring you light?
Will the rivers drown your sorrows? Will the mountains set you right?
Will another thousand miles take you further from your pain?
Or will another year of labour finally bring you home again?
Eighteen months; no word from home, but none to be expected
Until a note from my good brother finds me well
"I pray this letter finds you well and grieving less a fraction
Than when you first heard of the news it pained us so to tell."
So hard for one like me to reckon up the frightful distance
The miles between my home and here of wilderness and sea
Six weeks by sail, then weeks again on road more stump than highway
Through bush and wood more wild than tame where men still scarcely be
Fraught with so many perils, what chance had one small letter
From Evelyn's dear father bearing word of my dear girl?
Taken of a fever not a week from my departing
With me scarce off the wharf the bloody fever laid her low
By the time I learn of it she's long been in her coffin
Less alive than this small lock of hair she bade me keep
A year and six months cold but still as warm to me as sunlight
My brother's letter trembles as I bow my head and weep
Chorus
Walls of Pine
Music and Lyrics: Joe Grant
Gineen MacTyre had raven hair, a tongue so quick few men would dare
To seek her heart, but Jamie Brash knew well her wit his own would match
Chorus
Walls of pine and floors of oak, within these walls he's built his hope
To bring her home through the stormy blast, within these walls to sleep at last
Her father is an ugly crust, all dried and bent and full of lust
For what small power he still can wield; his daughter shall obey and yield
Chorus
He's risen from his moldy bed, he wears his years like a cloak
of lead
With the voice of a crow and a trembling hand he vows she'll never wed this
man
James Brash is a living curse. In shadowed grief he's lived
since birth
By his own father disposessed. His bastard soul can find no rest
"Oh, Father, calm your jealous heart! When all is new true
love imparts
The joy to live with one so dear, to share his lot and taste his tears"
Chorus
Gineen and Jamie joined at last. Within her arms he's learned
to trust
A heart that's bold enough to stand against a father's stern command
Chorus
The
Drunken Dummer Survey
Music: Al Parrish, Lyrics: Joe Grant
Now here's a tale that's best forgot by you and me and this
whole lot
A brave adventure it was not, a crooked road was all we got
On the Dummer Township survey
Surveying's such a thankless task and if my meaning you should
grasp
The flies conspire to skin your back, your only recourse is the flask
On the Dummer Township survey
Chorus
Curse the flies and rue the sun, raise the flask and quaff the rum
Drink until your skin goes numb on the Drunken Dummer Survey
Our clothes were full of ticks and mites it must have been a
wicked sight
Our eyes were swollen shut with bites, we could not see to sleep at night
On the Dummer Township Survey
'Twas by the shore of Rotten Lake we blindly made a small mistake
We lost our way and had to fake the blazes and the corner stakes
On the Dummer Township Survey
Chorus
Our shoddy work we'll now confess. Were we mistaken I'd say,
"YES"
While some were cheated some were bless'd; a hundred acres "more or less"
On the Dummer Township survey
The concessions they got skewed that summer
'Twixt flies and rum, well it's no wonder
Now the Eighth Line's not in line with others
But they say, "That's close enough for Dummer"
On the Drunken Dummer Survey
Chorus
Fire and Guns
Music and Lyrics: Joe Grant
Fire and Guns; revolution; New York this my last good-bye
Tonight I left it all behind for Upper Canada
Forest night; fire light; smoke filled eyes that want to cry
Tonight I left it all behind for Upper Canada
Chorus
Watch your footsteps, don't fall in the forest
Keep your head down and don't make a sound
Watch your footsteps, don't fall in the forest
Keep your head down and don't make a sound
Watch your footsteps, don't fall in the forest
Keep your head down and don't make a sound
Keep on runnin', keep on runnin', keep your head down and don't make a sound
Keep on runnin', keep on runnin', keep your head down and don't make a sound
I had some friends, I trusted them just when life was full and sweet
I heard the drums and the marching feet; turned us into enemies
Split us like an iron spike, tore our hearts, ripped our lives apart
"God Save The King": such a simple thing. Burned our homes took everything
Chorus
Fire and Guns; confusion; New York this my last good-bye
Tonight I left it all behind for Upper Canada
Tonight I left old friends behind
Didn't even say, "Good-bye"
Losing
Sight
Music and Lyrics: Joe Grant
There's an old dusty fiddler playing down by the docks
He used to be a sailor but he'll go no more to sea
Too many times he's stared into the sunset
His blue eyes are bleary and he says he cannot see
Chorus 1
He'll tell you we're Losing Sight of the shoreline
Drifting down the channel to the wide-open sea
Losing Sight of the hard work and the good times
Losing Sight of the dreams that used to bring us home from sea
And he talks about the old time, talks about the people
Talks about a village on the wild rocky shore
You've never heard the name so you ask him where to find it
All he'll say is, "Nobody lives there anymore."
Chorus 1
And he's playing Soldier's Joy the way they used to play it
A hundred years ago on the wild Atlantic sea
You hope he never dies, 'cause you think that he's a poet
The keeper of a vision you wish we all could see
Chorus 2
You wonder if we're Losing Sight of the shoreline
Drifting down the channel to the wide-open sea
You wonder 'bout the old man, is he wise or is he crazy
And you wonder if his dreams could bring us home from sea
Chorus 1
Paddy's Finger
Music and *lyrics: Joe Grant and Steve Ritchie
'Twas near the town of Pelham one dark and dreary day
The local lads were in the tavern sippin' time away
When in there walked a stranger who disturbed their contemplation
So they decided that his facial features needed rearranging
"Now, what's your name fair stranger? We've not seen you
in town."
He answers, "David Disher; I'm a man of some renown"
Says Patrick, "Well now, Disher, lest yoiu think we've been remiss
They call me 'Scrappin' Paddy' and this here is me fist!"
Chorus 1
Fight like a wildcat, learn your lesson, up jumps Paddy with a finger missin'
Poor wee fist: one finger less; for seven-pound-ten 'twill scarce be missed
Fight like a wildcat, learn your lesson, up jumps Paddy with a finger missin'
Poor wee fist: great bloody mess; for seven-pound-ten 'twill scarce be missed
Paddy's Finger will scarce be missed
A room of rowdy roisterers swinging aft and fore
Disher takes a nasty knock and sprawls upon the floor
Paddy pounces all too slow and for one second lingers
Disher grabs his hand and sets his teeth to Paddy's Finger
Chorus 1
Now Paddy seeks out legal council down in Muddy York
Fighting may be Paddy's line but missing parts is lawyers' work
So Disher is persuaded for fear of disputation
To compensate in full poor Paddy's disindigitation*
Now Paddy gets his seven-pound-ten, a compensation which
Convinces him that losing fights will make him filthy-rich
Chorus 2
Fight like a wildcat, learn your lesson, up jumps Paddy with a finger missin'
Poor wee fist: great bloody mess; for seven-pound-ten 'twill scarce be missed
Paddy's Finger will NOT BE MISSED!
* Because SOCAN will not allow for royalties to be divided into slices of less
than 10%,
there is no writer's credit given here to Al Parrish (you may have heard the
name) who created,
singlehandedly, the word "Disindigitation" without which, this song
would be 15 letters shorter.
Thank you...thank you very much.
Blow to the Heart
Music and lyrics: Joe Grant and Steve Ritchie
For five generations we've cared for this soil
For five generations nothing has spoiled
Our deep dedication, our labour and toil
Working the land with our hearts and our hands
For five generations these fields have been green
For five generations the children have seen
The harvest each fall, the planting each spring
Working the land with our hearts and our hands
Chorus
It's a Blow to the Heart, it's a bloody disgrace
To put down a farm that's seen so many days
When the green turns to filth and the farmland decays
It's a Blow to the Heart, it's a God damned disgrace
Horses and hay rakes, tractors and ploughs
It takes half a lifetime just to learn how
To care for the fields but where are we now?
Leaving the land, the work of our hands
Chorus
After five generations it happens too fast
They've taken your living and you won't get it back
Don't ask any questions; just take the cash
So try to forget all the years you worked hard
The pride that you took in a good working farm
The lay of the fields, the good solid barns
When they bulldoze the land, the work of your hands
Chorus
It's a Blow to the Heart