LYRICS:

JOHN BARLEYCORN
from Hamer, Fred Garnerís Gay.

There were three men come out of the west, their fortunes for to try
And they have made a solemn vow John Barleycorn should the

(Chorus): Fol-lol-lol-lol is a lovely day
 Fol-lol-lol-lol-lay-O
 Fol-lol-lol-lol is a lovely day,
 Sing fol-lol-lol-lol-lay

They ploughed him in three furrows deep, laid clods all on his head
And they have made a solemn vow John Barleycorn was dead

Well, then there came a shower of rain which from the clouds did fall
John Barleycorn sprang up again and he did amaze them all

Well, then came men with great sharp scythes to cut him off at the knee
They bashed his head against a stone and they used him barbarously

Well, then came men with great long flails to cut him skin from bone
And they have used him worse than that, they ground him between two stones

They wheeled him here, they wheeled him there, they wheeled him into the barn
And they have used him worse than that, they bunged him in a vat

They worked their will upon John Barleycorn but he lives to tell the tale
We pour him into an old brown jug and we call him home-brewed ale
 

THE MAN THAT WATERS THE WORKERS' BEER
by Paddy Ryan (Dr. R. E. W. Fisher) 1938

(Chorus)
I am the man, the very fat man, that waters the
 workers' beer
I am the man, the very fat man, that waters the
 workers' beer
And what do I care if it makes them ill, if it makes them terribly queer
I've a car, a yacht, and an aeroplane, and I waters the workers' beer

Now when I waters the workers' beer, I puts in strychnine
Some methylated spirits, and a can of kerosene
Ah, but such a brew so terribly strong, it would make them terribly queer
So I reaches my hand for the watering-can and I
 waters the workers' beer

Now a drop of good beer is good for a am when he's tired, thirsty and hot
And I sometimes have a drop myself, from a very special pot
For a strong and healthy working class is the thing that I most fear
So I reaches my hand for the watering-can and I
 waters the workers' beer

Now ladies fair, beyond compare, be you maiden or wi fe
Spare a thought for such a man who leads such a lonely life
For the water rates are frightfully high, and the meths is terribly dear
And there ain't the profit there used to be in watering the workers' beer
 

GARNERS GAY
from Hamer, Fred Garnerís Gay.
N. B. ìGarnerî is dialect for ìGardenerî.

Come all you Garners Gay, that are just now in your prime
I wish I was in that bonny girl's arms where I've
 been many a time
Where I've been many a time, where I've been many a time
I wish I was in that bonny girl's arms where I've been many a time

Green willows they will twist, green willows they will twine
I wish I was in that bonny girl's azms where I've
 been many a time

Well it's very nice drinking ale, but it's much better drinking wine
And it's far better sleeping in that bonny girl's arm where I I ve been many a tine

Once I had thyme enough to flourish night and day
Until that girl, that bonny, bonny girl come and stole all my thyme away

So now my whole thyme is gone, and I cannot plant
 any new
For the very same place where the old thyme grew, it's all over running, running rue

Oh the rue, that running, running rue, that's not
 the flower for me
I will pluck up all that running, running rue and
 plant down the sturdy oak tree

Stand you fast, stand you fast sturdy oak, stand you fast, don't ever the
I will prove as true to my own true love as the
 stars prove true to the sky
 

THREE DRUNKEN MAIDENS
learned from the singing of A. L. Lloyd.

There were three drunken maidens came from the Isle of Wight
They drank from Monday morning, nor stopped till Saturday night
When Saturday night did come, my boys, they wouldn't then go out
And these three drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about

Then in comes bouncing Sally, her cheeks as red as a bloom
Move up, my jolly sisters, and give young Sally some room
For I'll be your equal before the night is out
And these four drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about

There's woodcock and pheasant, there's partridge and hare
There's all sorts of dainties, no scarcity was there
There's forty quarts of beer, my boys, they fairly drunk them out
And these four drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about

Then in comes the landlord, he's asking for his pay
There's a forty-pound bill, my boys, these girls has got to pay
That's ten pounds apiece, my boys, but still they wouldn't go out
And these four drunken maidens, they pushed the jug about

Oh, where are your feathered hats, your mantles rich and fine?
They've all been swallowed up, my lads, in tankards of good wine
And where are your maidenheads, you maidens brisk and gay?
We left them in the alhouse, we drank them clean
 away

BONNY BLACK HARE
learned from the singing of A. L. Lloyd.

On the Fourteenth of May  at the dawn of the day
With my gun on my shoulder to the woods I did stray
In search of some game, if the weather prove fair
To see could I get a shot at the bonny black hare

Well I met a fair maid there with her face as a rose
her skin was as fair as the lily that grows
I says, ìmy fair maiden, why ramble you so?
Can you tell me where the bonny  black hare do go?î

Well the answer she gave me O her answer was ìNo.
But under my apron, O they say some do grow
And if youíll not deceive me I vow and declare
Weíll both go together to shoot the bonny black hare.î

So I laid this girl down with her face to the skies
I took out my ramrod and my bullets likewise
I says, ìlock your legs around me and dig in with your heels
For the closer we get, love, the better it feels.î

Well the birds they was singing in the bushes and trees
the song that they sang was, ìO sheís easy to please.î
I felt her heart quiver and I knew what Iíd done
Says I, ìHave you had enough of my old sporting gun?î

But the answer she gave me, O her answeer was, ìNay!
Itís not often young sportsmen like you come this way
So if your powder is good and your bullets play fair
Why donít you keep firing at the bonny black hare?î

ìWell my powder is wasted and my bullets all gone
My ramrod is limber and I cannot fire on
But Iíll be back in the morning and if you are still there
Iíll be delighted to take another sholt at the bonny black hare.î

CONGLETON BEAR
by John Tams
N. B. ìWakes Weekî  was the annual summer holiday when all industry shut down.

The Wakes coming on and the bear he took ill
We tried him with potion, with brandy and pill
He died in his sleep at the eve of the Wakes
The cause, it was said, was strong ale and sweet cakes

(Chorus)
The cheeses of Cheshire are famed, but beware
Of stories they tell of the Congleton Bear
Congleton Bear, Congleton Bear
They sold the Church Bible to buy a new bear
 

Heíd served the town well and held served the town true
To lie him in state was the least they could do
The old bear was dead, a successor they'd need
A new bear was wanted, and that at great speed

Now a parson is useful in times of great need
And imbibed with strong porter he quickly agreed
The parson, his Bible he gave then and there
We sold it in Nantwich to buy a new bear.

The new bear, a she-bear, was toast of the town
To music and laughter she danced up and down
So loudly the cheering would waken the dead
It caused the old bear for to rise from his bed

Pills, potion and brandy induced a deep trance
And refreshed by the music he began for to dance
He danced down the road causing many a gaze
And word quickly spread that the old bear was raised

He rolled his dark eye as he spied the she-bear
And with an embrace they danced jigs pair-andpair
The cheeses of Cheshire are famed but beware
Of stories they tell of the Congleton Bear.

THE ROLLING MILLS OF NEW JERSEY
by John Roberts and Tony Barrand

(Chorus)
When I die, bury me low, where I can hear the petroleum flow
A sweeter sound I never did know, The Rolling Mills of New Jersey

In Hoboken, there will be trash as far as the eye
 can see
Enough for you, enough for me, the garbage cans of New Jersey
 

Down In Trenton, there is a bar, where the bums come from near and far
They come by truck, they come by car, the lousy bums of New Jersey
 

When first I started to roam, I travelled far away from Bayonne
Then I sat down and wrote this poem, I wrote an ode to New Jersey.
 

THREE HAíPENCE A FOOT
Marriott Edgar, with last verse by Mike Harding
As recited by Tony Barrand

I'll tell you an old-fashioned story
That Grandfather used to relate,
Of a building and joining contractor;
'is name, it were Sam Oglethwaite.

In a shop on the banks of the Irwell,
Old Sam used to follow 'is trade,
In a place you'll have 'eard of, called Bury;
You know, where black puddings is made.

One day, Sam were filling a knot-hole
Wi' putty, when in thro'the door
Come an old feller fair wreathed i'whiskers;
T'ould chap said "Good morning, I'm Noah."

Well Sam asked Noah what was 'is business,
And tíould chap went on to remark,
That not liking the look of the weather,
'E were thinking of building an Ark.

'E'd gotten the wood for the bulwarks,
And all tíother shipbuilding junk,
And he wanted some nice Bird's Eye Maple
To panel the side of 'is bunk.

Now Maple were Sam's Mon-o-po-ly
That means tíwere all 'is to cut,
And nobody else 'adn't got none;
So 'e asked Noah three ha'pence a foot.

ìHa'penny too much,î replied Noah.
ìPenny a foot's more the mark ;
Penny a foot, and when rain comes,
I'll give you a ride in me Ark."

But neither would budge in the bargain ;
The whole daft thing seemed kind of a jam,
So Sam put 'is tongue out at Noah,
And Noah made ìLong Baconî at Sam.

In wrath and ill-feeling they parted,
Not knowing when they'd meet again,
And Sam heíd forgot all about it,
'Til one day it started to rain.

It rained and it rained for a fortnight,
It flooded the whole countryside.
It rained and it kep' on raining,
'Til the Irwell were fifty miles wide.

Well, the 'ouses was soon under water,
Folks to the roof 'ad to climb.
They said 'twas the rottenest summer
That Bury 'ad 'ad for some time.

Well, the rain showed no sign of abating,
And the water rose hour by hour,
'Til the only dry land were at Blackpool,
And that were on top of the Tower.

So Sam started swimming to Blackpool;
It took 'im best part of a week.
'is clothes were wet through when 'e got there,
And 'is boots were beginning to leak.

'E stood to 'is watch-chain in tíwater,
On Tower top, just before dark,
When who should come sailing towards 'im
But old Noah, steering 'is Ark.

They glared at each other in silence,
ëTil Ark were alongside all but,
Then Noah said: ìWhat price yer Maple?"
And Sam answered: ìThree ha'pence a foot.î

Noah said, ìNay. I'll make thee an offer,
Same as I did tíother day.
Penny a foot and a free ride.
Now, come on, lad, what does thou say ?î

ìThree ha'pence a foot," came the answer.
So Noah 'is sail 'ad to hoist,
And he steered off again in a dudgeon,
While Sam stood determined, but moist.

Noah sailed around, flying 'is pigeons,
'Til fortieth day of the wet,
And on 'is way back, passing Blackpool,
'E saw old Sam standing there yet.

'is chin just stuck out of the water
A comical figure 'e cut.
Noah said: ìNow what price yer Maple?î
Sam answered: ìThree ha'pence a foot."

Said Noah ìYe'd best take my offer
It's last time I'll be hereabouts;
And if water comes half an inch higher,
I'll happen get Maple for nought."

ìThree ha'pence a foot it'll cost yer,
And as fer me," Sam said, ìdon't fret
Sky's took a turn since this morning:
I think it'll brighten up yet."

ìNay, lad, thou art wrong,î said Noah,
Itíll rain  a lot more, Iíll be bound.
Come on, lad! Sell us your Maple!î
ìBugger off,î said Sam, and then drowned.

JOHNNY SANDS
from the Frank Kidson collection via Ewan MacColl and Peggy Seeger

A man whose name was Johnny Sands
Had married Betsy Hague
And though she brought him gold and lands
She proved a terrible plague

(Chorus)
Whack fal-lol- de-ladd-ity
Whjack fal-lol-de-lay
Whack fal-lol- de-ladd-ity
Whack-fal-lol-de-ler-o-lay

For oh she was a scolding wife
Full of caprice and whim
She said that he was tired of life
And she was tired of him

Says he, ìI think Iíll drown myself
The river runs below.î
Say she, ìPray do you silly old man
I wished it long ago.î

Say he, ìUpon the brink Iíll stand
While you run down the hill
And push me in with all your might.î
She says, ìMy love, I will.î

ìBut for fear that I should courage lack
And try to save my lie
Oh tie my hands behind my back.î
ìI will,î replied his wife.

She tied them fast as you may think
And when securely done
He stood there upon the brink
While she prepared to run.

Then down the hill his loving bride
She ran with all her force
To push him in. He stepped aside
And she fell in, of course.

Itís splashing, dashing like  fish
ìOh save me Johnny Sands.î
ìI canít, my dear, though much I wish
For you have tied my hands.î

THE GERMAN MUSICIANER
learned from the singing of Harry Cox

Iím a poor married man and Iím near broken-harted
My wife she has left me and sheís gone away
We had some misfortune so she and I parted
Iíll tell you what happened to her the other day

Now women are weak they should mind their posessions
I think now with grief mad me it will send
For sheís gone away with a German musicianer
Who goes around crying ìPianos to mend!î

(Chorus)
Fol de rol fol de rol fol de rol laddie
All sorts of musical things he could play
ìThereísÝmany a good tune played on an old fiddleî
And this to my wife the old German did say

Now it happened one day that this Germman muusicianer
Came through our streets crying  ìPianos to mend!î
My wifeís piano being out of condition
Straightway my wife for the old German did send

He knocked on the door and he said most politely
ìI think Maíam itís here that youíreÝneeding repairs
Please Maíam Iíve called to mend your piano.î
ìAlright,î said my wife, ìwonít you please come upstairs.î

She took him upstairs and showed him her piano
At whjch the old German seemed greatly amused
And when he had seen it he said to my Hannah
ìI think Maíam you musicís not very much used.î

He touched it, he handled it both over and under
Sharp as a needle and light as a cork
With all sorts of tunes he pulled it asunder
And rattled away with his old tuning fork

(Chorus)
Fol de rol fol de rol fol de rol laddie
All sorts of musical things he could play
ìThereísÝmany a good tune played on an old fiddleî
And this to my wife the old German did say

Now when I came home my wife told me the story
Said the old German had been there all day
Heíd tried very hard to mend her piano
But do what she could heíd not take any pay

Now I thought it was strange when she told me the story
And said the old German was ever so kind
But could you believe that this old German sausage
Before going away left his trademark behind

Well I swore and I tore at my darling wife, Hannah
With grief and with rage Iím sure no one could tell
I told her to hop it and take her piano
And likewise to take the old Geman as well

So come all young married men donít you take too much spooning
For all women want is handle your pelf
If ever your wifeís piano needs tuning
Just take my advice, boys, and tune it yourself

JOLLY ROVING TAR
from the Frank and Anne Warner collection (singing of Lena Bourne Fish of Jaffrey, NH) via Peter Bellamy.

Well, ships may come and ships may go, just as long as the seas do run,
And a sailor lad, likewise his dad, enjoys his pork and rum.
Now a lass ashore he do adore, one that is plump and round:

(Chorus)
But when your money's gone, it's the same old song,
ìGet up.Jack, John sit down.î
Come along, come along, my jolly brave boys,
There's plenty more grog in the jar,
We'll plow the briny ocean with a jolly roving tar.

When Jack's ashore, he'll make his way to some old boarding house,
He's welcomed in with rum and gin, likewise with pork and scouse,
And he'll spend and he'll spend, and he'll never offend,
Until he lies drunk on the ground

Jack then will slip aboard some ship bound for India or Japan,
For in Asia there, the ladies fair, they all love a sailor man,
And he'll go ashore, and he won't scorn to buy some maid a gown:

When Jack is old and weatherbeat, too old to sail about,
They'll let him stop in some grog shop till eight bells do ring out,
Then he'll raise his hands high, and loud he'll cry:
ìGreat God! I'm homeward bound:î

HERRINíS HEAD
learned mostly from Louis Killen.

Ah whatíll we do with a herrrinís head?
Ah whatíll we do with a herrrinís head?
Weíll make it into loaves of bread
HerrinísÝhead, loaves of bread
And all manner of things
And of all the fish that swim in the sea
The herriní is the one for me
How are you the day? How are you the day?
How are you the day, my hinnie O?

Successively:
Herrinís eyes, puddings and pies
Herriníscales, a ship wií sails
Herrinís fins, needles and pins
Herrinís guts, a pair oí boots
Herrinís tail, Newcastle Brown Ale
Herrinís belly, a color telly

EAT BERTHA'S MUSSELS
by John Roberts

(Chorus)
Eat Bertha's Mussels, theyíre the best there is by far
You can eat them in the dining room, you can eat them in the bar
So when you're ashore in Baltimore, and you fancy a bite to eat
Just follow your nose to Bertha's, you'll be in for a rare old treat
 

Now a sailor came to Bertha's with a problem most severe
His manly pride was atrophied, from a voyage of fourteen years
A couple of plates of mussels, now he sings in a different key
His jib-boom set right, he'll be in there tonight, and he'll never go back to sea

Now a lady came to Bertha's, who wanted a daughter or son
The doctors had said, with a shake of the head, that she couldn't have either one
So she ate a plate of mussels, and went back home to her husband dear
She tuned up his crwth, and Iíll tell you the truth, she had triplets the very same year

They'll cure your diarrhea, cure your constipation too
Just swallow a box for the chicken-pox, for the measles or the flu
So if you fancy a healthy life, get your daily dosage straight
A plate a day of Bertha's mussels, and you'll live till you're ninety-eight

BOOZING

Now what are the joys of a single young man?
Why, boozing, bloody well boozing
And what is he doing whenever he can?
Why, boozing, bloody well boozing
You may think Iím wrong or you may think Iím right
I'm not going to argue, I know you can fight
But what do you think we are doing tonight?
Why boozing, bloody well boozing.

And what are the joys of a poor married man?
And what is he doing whenever he can?
He comes home at night and he gives his wife all
He goes out a-shopping, makes many a call
But what brings him home hanging on to the wall?
 

And what do the Moral Majority run down?
And what are they banning in every town?
They go on TV, they rave and they shout
They shout about things they know nothing about
But what are they doing when the lights are turned out?

THE BALLAD OF THE COWPUNCHER
by Genny Haley

I am an old cowpuncher, I punch them cows so hard
I have me a cowpunching bag, set up in my back yard
This bag is made of leather, and so are cows, of course
When I get tired of punching cows, I go and punch a horse

One day as I was punching upon my leathern cow
An Indian walked up to me, and first he asked me, ìHow.î
I said it was quite simple, and gave him quite a slug
The very next words that Indian said to me that day were, ìUgh!î

I went back to my punching, as all good cowboys do
Wen a well-known band of rustlers came rustling into view
I said, ìHello, how are you, and what might bring you here?î
They said, ìIf it's all right we'd like to rustle up some steer.î

I said, ìOh no kind sirs, that should never be
For I am the best cowpuncher out on the whole prairie
But if you will sit down a spell, I'll rustle up some lunch
Then maybe in the afternoon you'll get to watch me punch.î

ìIíve been lonesome in the saddle ever since my old horse died
And sometimes, when it's late at night, I dream she's by my side
So If you'll pay attention, and listen to my song
I am an old cowpuncher and a long, long way from home.î
 

NEWMAN'S ALE
from William Chappellís Music of the Olden Times.
Newmanís Ale is an Albany area microbrew.

When Venus, the goddess of beauty and love
Arose from the froth that swam on the sea
Minerva sprang out of the cranium of Jove
A coy. sullen dame as most mortals agree
But Bacchus, they tell us, that prince of good fellows
Was Jupiter's son, pray attend to my tale
They who thus chatter mistake quite the matter
He sprang from a barrel of Newmanís Ale
Newmanís Ale, boys, Newmanís Ale,
He sprang from a barrel of Newmanís Ale
Newmanís Ale  Ale, boys, Newmanís Ale
No liquor on earth like Newman's Ale

You bishops and curates, priests, deacons and vicars
When once you have tasted, you'll own it is true
Newmanís Ale is the best of all liquors
And none understand what is good, like to you
It dispels every vapor, saves pen, ink and paper
For when you've a mind in your pulpit to rail
Open your throats, you may preach without notes
When inspired with a bumper of Newmanís Ale
Newmanís Ale, boys, Newmanís Ale,
When inspired with a bumper of Newmanís Ale
Newmanís Ale  Ale, boys, Newmanís Ale
No liquor on earth like Newman's Ale

And you doctors, who more execution have done
With powder and potion and bolus and pill
Than hangman with halter, soldier with gun
Miser with famine, or lawyer with quill
To dispatch us the quicker, you forbid us malt liquor
Till our bodies grow thin and our faces grow pale
Let him mind you, who pleases, what cures all disease is
A comforting glass of good Newman's Ale
Newmanís Ale, boys, Newmanís Ale,
A comforting glass of good Newman's Ale
Newmanís Ale  Ale, boys, Newmanís Ale
No liquor on earth like Newman's Ale

THE MAN AT THE NORE
learned from Cyril Tawney

Now my father was the keeper of the Eddystone light
And he married a mermaid one fine night
From this union there came three
Two of them were fishes and the other was me
Now when I was but a bit of a slip
I was put in charge of the Nore lightship
I kept my lamps in very fine style
Doing of the work according to Hoyle

(Chorus)
Oh the raging Nore, the rolling Nore
The waves they tunble o'er and o'er
There's no such a life to be had on shore
As the one that's led by the Man at the Nore

Well, one evening as I was a-trimming of the glim
Singing a verse from the Evening hymn
I spied by the light of my signal lamp
The form of my mother looking awfully damp
Just then a voice cried out, ìAhoy!î
And there she was just a-sitting on a buoy
That's meaning a buoy for the ships that sail
And not a boy that's a juvenile male

Says I to my mother, ìNow how do you do
And how's my father and my sisters two?î
Says she, ìIt's an orph-i-an you are
You've only one sister and you've got no pa
Your father was drowned with sever-i-al pals
And digested by the cannibals
Of your sisters, one was cooked in a dish
The other one is kept as a talking fishî

Well, at that I wept like a soft-eyed scamp
My tears, they made the waters danp
Says I to my mother, ìWon't you step within
You look so wet, just to dry your skin?î
Says she, ìI likes the wet, my dear.î
Says I, ìLet me offer you the cabin chair.î
And mother, she looks at me with a frown
ìIt's owing to my nature that I can't sit down.î

Says my mother, ìNow never you go on shore
But always remain the Man at the Nore.î
With that, I caught a glittering scale
And that was the end of my mother's tale
Now in deference to this maternal wish
I can't visit my sister, the talking fish
So if you sees her when you gets on shore
Give her the regards of the Man at the More

THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS
by  Marriott Edgar
As recited by Tony Barrand

I will tell of the Battle of Hastings,
As happened in days long gone by,
When Duke William became King England,
And 'Arold got shot in the eye.

It were this way one day in October
The Duke, who were always a toff,
And having no battles on at moment,
Had given his lads the day off.

They'd all taken boats and gone fishing,
When someone in t' Conqueror's ear,
Said " Let's go and put breeze up the Saxons";
Bill Said, ìBy gum, that's an idea."

Then turning around to his soldiers,
He lifted his big Norman voice,
He said " Hands up who's coming to England."
That was swank 'cos they hadn't no choice.

They started away about tea-time
The sea was so calm and so still,
And at quarter to ten the next morning
They arrived at a place called Bexhill.

King 'Arold came up when they landed
His face full of venom and 'ate
He said ìIf you've come for Regatta
You've got here just six weeks too late."

At this William rose, cool but 'aughty,
And said- ìLetís ëave none of your cheek;
You'd best have your throne reupholstered,
I'll be wanting to use it next week."

When 'Arold heard this 'ere defiance,
With rage he turned purple and blue,
And he shouted some rude words in Saxon,
To which William answered: "And you."

'Twere a beautiful day for a battle
The Normans set off with a will,
And when both sides was duly assembled,
They tossed for the top of the hill.

King 'Arold he won the advantage,
On the hill-top he took up his stand,
With his knaves and his cads all around him,
On his 'orse with his 'awk in his 'and.

The Normans had nowt in their favor,
Their chance of a victory seemed small,
For the slope of the field were against them,
And the wind in their faces and all.

Kick-off were sharp at two-thirty,
And soon as the whistle had went
Both sides started banging each other
Till swineherds could hear them in Kent.

Well the Saxons had best line of forwards,
Well-armed both with buckler and sword-
But the Normans had best combination,
So when half-time came neither had scored.

So the Duke called together his cohorts
And said- "Let's pretend that we're beat,
When we get Saxons down on tílevel
We'll cut off their means of retreat."

So they ran, and the Saxons ran after,
Just exactly as William had planned,
Leaving 'Arold alone on the hill-top
On his 'orse with his 'awk in his 'and.

When William he saw what had happened,
A bow and an arrow he drew;
He went right up to 'Arold and shot him.
He were off-side, but what could they do?

The Normans turned round in a fury,
And gave back both parry and thrust,
Till fight were all over bar shouting,
 And you couldn't see Saxons for dust

And after battle were over
They found 'Arold so stately and grand,
Sitting there with an eye-full of arrow
On his 'orse with his 'awk in his 'and.

THE BARLEY MOW

Here's good luck to the pint pot good luck to the Barley Mow
Jolly good luck to the pint pot, good luck to the Barley Mow
Here's the pint pot, half-a-pint, gill pot, half-a-gill,
quarter-gill, nipperkin and the brown bowl
Here's good luck, good luck, good luck to the Barley Mow

Here's good luck to the quart pot, etc. Here's the quart pot, pint pot, half-a-pint, etc.

(Add incrementally up to)

Here's good luck to the company, Here's the company, the slavey, the drayer, the brewer, the daughter, the landlady, the landlord, the barrel, the half-barrel, the gallon, the half-gallon, quart pot, pint pot, half-apint, gill pot, half-a-gill, quarter-gill, nipperkin and the brown bowl
Here's good luck, good luck, good luck to the Barley Mow
 

© 2000 Golden Hind Music