1. |
Dark Eyed Gypsies
04:15
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Dark Eyed Gypsies
There lived three gypsies in the east,
They sang so light and so gaily-o,
They sang so sweet and so very, very sweet
That they charmed the heart of a lady-o.
Now Charlie he came home one night,
Inquiring for his lady-o,
She’s gone, she’s gone said the old servant man.
She’s following the dark eyed gypsies-o.
Then saddle me my milk white steed,
And go fetch me my pony-o
,
I’ll ride until I seek my bride
Who is following the dark eyed gypsies-o.
Now Charlie rode through the length of the night,
Until next morning early-o,
It was there he met with his only wedded wife,
While she was following the dark eyed gypsies-o.
What do you care for your house and your land,
And what do you care for your money-o?
And what do you care for your only wedded lord,
While you’re following the dark eyed gypsies-o?
Now what do I care for my house and my land,
And what do I care for my money-o?
I’ll eat of the grass and I’ll drink of the snow,
While I’m following the dark eyed gypsies-o.
Last night you slept on a goose feather bed,
Between your husband and baby-o;
But tonight you sleep on the cold cold ground,
While you’re following the dark eyed gypsies-o.
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2. |
Bill from Erskineville
04:10
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Bill from Erskineville (John Dengate)
I'm pleased to meet you, my name's Bill,
I'm working in a factory in Erskinville.
You have to crawl and conditions are a crime
But you get a few dollars worth of overtime.
Hooray, ain't life grand;
I'm saving the deposit on a block of land.
I met a young fellow selling real estate -
He's running from the coppers in another state.
And he's the friend of a generous gent
Who's lending money at twenty percent.
Hooray, life's a lark;
I'm swimmin' in the water with a finance shark.
I had a couple of dollars on a short-priced horse
Running in a welter on the Rosehill course
But too much weight and too little pace
And the bugger finished twelfth in a twelve-horse race.
Hooray, faithful nag;
Ferryin' the money to the bookie's bag.
I had a little flutter on the poker machines
And I won a dollar forty when it paid three Queens,
So I chases the aces around the wheels
Now I can't afford the money for to pay for meals.
Hooray, feed the slot;
Push upon the button till you lose the lot.
Lottery tickets have me up shit creek;
I was twenty off a five-dollar prize last week.
The tyres on my car are all worn through
And the registration's overdue.
Hooray, hip-hurrah
For a worn-out, second-hand Holden car.
I said to my wife, "We've reached the stage
Where we cannot manage on a single wage."
Now she pulls beer in the pub saloon
And the kids run wild in the afternoon.
Hooray, name your brand,
I'm drinkin' the deposit for a block of land.
I'm pleased to meet you, my name's Bill
I'm working in a factory in Erskineville
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3. |
No Half Measures
04:05
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No Half Measures (Alistair Hulett)
My old man has a heart that is warm
As a breeze on a summer's afternoon.
He is clever with his hands;
You should see his fingers dance.
And when he laughs,
He's as crazy as the moon.
I've been with him now for nearly sixteen years,
But I can't tell you how for I've cried so many tears.
Chorus:
He can't seem to lay off the bottle;
He just doesn't know when to stop.
Something snaps in his head,
And he won't come to bed
Till he's finished every drop.
My old man has been in and out of work
For as long as I can recall.
It is all for his grog so he can't hold down a job,
And we've nothing much to show for it all.
It's not things that I need;
I am not that way inclined.
It just makes my heart bleed
To see him get so blind.
Well, I think I'll send the kids
For a spell with me mum,
And I'll just take some time on my own.
We could talk, but I doubt
That we'd ever work it out.
But I'm not sure that I could live alone.
It's been so many years;
Christ, it's almost half me life.
But he's married to his beer, And I don't feel much like a wife.
Now my old man had a heart that was warm
As a breeze on a summer's afternoon.
He was clever with his hands;
You should have seen his fingers dance.
But now he's living in a rented room.
We meet from time to time,
But there's nothing much to say.
We once had something fine,
but there's nothing left today.
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4. |
Down and Out
02:58
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Down and Out – Henry Lawson (1912)
You will often hear them mutter –
Fellow men and brother men –
When he’s down and in the gutter:
“Oh, he’ll never rise agen!”
And they turn aside and beckon
To the trainers of their pride:
He is one the less to reckon
In the selfish race they ride.
‘Tis the old, deep-down survival
Of the savage in mankind:
In the triumph o’er a rival
Whom his weakness left behind.
Weakness, or a vice resulting
From a hell we never knew,
And we go our ways exulting
That our “strength” has pulled us through.
Though we never learned to labour,
Love, or hate, or hope, or doubt,
We seem better than our neighbour
When our neighbour’s down and out!
We, in our pretended meekness,
Sorrow, pity, help and all,
We feel stronger for his weakness,
We feel nobler for his fall.
(Yes – Hypocrisy resenteth
Its own self in tale and song,
While the prodigal repenteth,
And the godly son goes wrong.
But I know the Shadow stealing
Where Ambition broods and smarts –
Jealousy – The deep down feeling
In our secret heart of hearts!)
While we pass in pride before him,
Sullen in his misery,
There’s a woman bending o’er him,
Seeing things we cannot see!
Though we walk in highest places,
Seeming honest, straight, and true,
She is saying to our faces:
“He’s a better man than you.”
Let us not be sure of any
Of our rival fellow men!
I have witnessed far too many
Rise and fall and rise agen.
And the prostitute and liar
Rise to heaven out of hell,
And the drunkard rising higher
Than the man who never fell!
For the love of those who love him,
And the contempt of those who hate:
For his God – or gods above him
And the mastery of his fate!
And for those brave few friends who are
Ever saying, staunch and true:
“He’s a better man than you are –
He’s a better man than you!”
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5. |
Bertha
04:04
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Bertha
Words: Henry Lawson (1902) / Tune: Chris Kempster (1984)
Wide solemn eyes that question me, wee hand that pats my head –
Where only two have stroked before, and both of them are dead.
‘A, poo-ah Daddy mine’, she says, with wondrous sympathy –
Oh, baby girl, you don’t know how you break the heart in me.
Let friends and kinsfolk work their worst, let all say what they will,
Your baby arms go round my neck – I’m your own Daddy still!
And you kiss me and I kiss you, fresh kisses frank and free –
Ah, baby girl, you don’t know how you break the heart in me!
When I was good I dreamed that when the snow showed in my hair
A household angel in her teens would flit about my chair,
To comfort me as I grew old; but that shall never be –
Ah, baby girl, you don’t know how you break the heart in me!
But one shall love me while I live, and soothe my troubled head,
And never brook an unkind word of me when I am dead.
Her eyes shall light to hear my name howe’er disgraced it be –
Ah, baby girl, you don’t know how you help the heart in me!
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6. |
Tablelands Mazurka Set
03:47
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7. |
The Shame of Going Back
04:12
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The Shame of Going Back
Poem by Henry Lawson
When you've come to make your fortune, and you haven't made your salt,
And the reason of your failure isn't anybody's fault-
When you haven't got a billet, and the times are very slack,
There is nothing that can spur you like the shame of going back;
Chorus:
Crawling home with empty pockets, Going back hard-up;
Oh! it's then you learn the meaning of "humiliation's cup".
When the place and you are strangers and you struggle all alone,
And you have a mighty longing for the town where you are known;
When your clothes are very shabby, and the future's very black,
There is nothing that can hurt you like the shame of going back
When we've fought the battle bravely and are beaten to the wall,
'Tis the sneer of man, not conscience, that makes cowards of us all;
And while you are returning, oh! your brain is on the rack,
And your heart is in the shadow of the shame of going back.
When a beaten man's discovered with a bullet in his brain,
They post-mortem him, and try him, and they say he was insane;
But it very often happens that he'd lately got the sack,
And his onward move was owing to the shame of going back.
Ah! my friend, you call it nonsense, and your upper lip is curled--
You have had no real trouble in your passage through the world;
But when fortune rounds upon you and the rain is on the track,
You will learn the bitter meaning of the shame of going back;
Going home with empty pockets, Going back hard-up;
Oh! it's then you taste the poison in "humiliation's cup".
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8. |
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The Lost City of Solferino
By Ilona Harker
There’s gold in the streams
That sings to poverty’s dreams
But the hard granite seams
Breaks men
Tired foreigners arrive
Their hopes still alive
Till the toil and strive
Ruptures them
It’s the lost city of Solferino
Their graves are now shrouded in green
And the lives of the wives where no children survived
Are hidden beneath engraved memories
Yet gold it once flowed
But the slog did erode
And rust did corrode
The best of them.
The lights of the town
Have all flickered down
On the king and his crown
And all his men
Chorus
Inst
In the deep of the bush
The old ones look
At the greed and the hook
Of white men
The rum and the brawls
They always want more
The peace they ignore
For their sins
Chorus
The city’s crumbled down
Fallen to the ground
Now the bush it surrounds
the dead dreams
Now the trees all consume
The hunger that was doomed
The wild flowers swoon
And then fall
Chorus
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9. |
Kate Kelly
05:39
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Kate Kelly - Traditional
Come all you Australians forget not your braves,
Bring wild forest flowers to strew o'er the graves
Of four noble outlaws who's race it is run -
Find a place in their tombs for the laurels they've won.
To the Bank of Australia they made their first push;
They cleared out the gold then they steered for the bush.
Black trackers and troopers they did them pursue -
But they cast out their anchors when near them they drew
The noble Kate Kelly, so noble of mien,
As she sits on her horse like a true born queen.
She rides through the bush with revolver in hand,
Well guarded from danger, a David she stands.
May the angels protect this lady so bold,
May her name be regarded in letters of gold;
Though her brothers were outlaws she loved them full dear,
And she hastened to tell them when danger was near.
Like true sons of Ishmael brought up in the wild,
Mid forests and mountains and rocky defiles,
These four noble fellows could not be controlled
They fought ten to one until death I am told.
One night at Glenrowan, how awful the doom,
Steve Hart and Dan Kelly were burnt in a room.
A trooper named Johnson set their house all aflame -
To burn these bold outlaws it was a great shame.
The daring Kate Kelly stepped out from the crowd
And for her bold brother she shouted aloud,
"Come Ned, dear brother, come fight while you can,
For the flames they have taken the life of poor Dan."
The daring Ned Kelly stepped out from the bush,
Well clad in steel armour his way he did push.
To gain his bold comrades it was his desire -
But the troopers soon spied him and they opened fire.
The bullets glanced off him as off a stone wall,
His fiendish appearance soon did them appal,
But his legs unprotected a trooper soon found
And a ball well directed brought Ned to the ground.
This hero was captured and stripped of his mail,
Well guarded by troopers and landed in jail,
Convicted of murder which grieved him full sore,
And his friends and relations for his life did implore.
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10. |
Those Bould Bushrangers
03:33
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THOSE BOULD BUSHRANGERS "Paddy the Poet"
Oh to be taken and hung like bacon,
If I’m not mistaken is an awful job,
Just like bold Paisley, which I think was beastly,
Or poor young Manns who ne'er a soul did rob.
Sure I think Cockatoo, sir, would very well do, sir,
For all the deeds of our highway knights—
They're no worse than our Members, those devil's embers
Who rob the people of all their rights.
Sure, they braved all dangers, those bould bushrangers,
And many's the trap did they double up;
And for days and nights, sure, them hardy wights, sure
Patrolled the bush without bite or sup.
But our brave Ben Hall, sir, eclipsed them all, sir,
And in his last moments, with his flag unfurled;
If it weren’t for the possum that jumped across him
The traps wouldn't have catched him in this blessed world.
Sure, ten shots they fired, sir, before they got tired, sir,
And the last one hit Ben all in the head,
Saying, as he expired, "Boys, I'm glad yez fired, boys,
For I wouldn’t be taken any way but dead."
To conclude and finish, my song I’ll diminish,
With a health to Dunn and brave Thunderbolt;
Who is an old stager, I'll lay a wager,
Though young Dunn, they tell me, is only a colt.
May they get away, sir, from Bot'ny Bay, sir,
To some foreign shore all beyond the seas,
Where they'll live on bacon, and no shot be quakin',
And die quite peaceful and all at ease.
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11. |
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When the Army Prays for Wattie
When the kindly hours of darkness, save for light of moon and star,
Hide the picture on the signboard over Doughty's Horse Bazaar;
When the last rose-tint is fading on the distant mulga scrub,
Then the Army prays for Watty at the entrance of his pub.
Now, I often sit at Watty's when the night is very near,
With a head that's full of jingles and the fumes of bottled beer,
For I always have a fancy that, if I am over there
When the Army prays for Watty, I'm included in the prayer.
Watty lounges in his arm-chair, in its old accustomed place,
With a fatherly expression on his round and passive face;
And his arms are clasped before him in a calm, contented way,
And he nods his head and dozes when he hears the Army pray.
And I wonder does he ponder on the distant years and dim,
Or his chances over yonder, when the Army prays for him?
Has he not a fear connected with the warm place down below,
Where, according to good Christians, all the publicans should go?
But his features give no token of a feeling in his breast,
Save of peace that is unbroken and a conscience well at rest;
And we guzzle as we guzzled long before the Army came,
And the loafers wait for 'shouters' and — they get there just the same.
It would take a lot of praying — lots of thumping on the drum —
To prepare our sinful, straying, erring souls for Kingdom Come;
But I love my fellow-sinners, and I hope, upon the whole,
That the Army gets a hearing when it prays for Watty's soul.
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12. |
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The Female Rambling Sailor (Traditional)
Come all ye maidens far and near, come listen to my ditty,
It was near Gravesend there lived a maid, she was both young and pretty.
Her true love he was pressed away and drownded in some foreign sea,
Which caused this fair maid for to say, "I'll be a female sailor."
With jacket blue and trousers white, just like a sailor neat and tight,
Sure the sea it was the heart's delight of the female rambling sailor.
When in storm upon the raging sea she was ready at her station,
And her mind was as calm as calm could be, she loved her occupation.
When in the calm this damsel young, she charmed the sailors with her tongue,
She walked the deck and swiftly sang, the female rambling sailor.
This maiden gay a wager lay, she would go aloft with any,
From stem to stern she freely went, where times she had been many.
From stem to stern she freely goes, she braves all dangers, fears no foes,
And soon you'll hear of the overthrow of the female rambling sailor.
From stem to stern she freely went, where times she had been many,
Her hold it slipped and down she fell, she calmly bid this world farewell.
When a snowy-white breast in sight it came, it appeared to be a female's frame,
And Rebecca Young it was the name of the female rambling sailor.
O come all ye maidens far and near, come listen to my story,
Her body's anchored in the ground, let's hope her soul's in glory.
May the willows wave around her grave, and around the laurels planted.
May the roses sweet grow at the feet of the one that was undaunted.
May a marble stone there inscribed upon, how here lies one that's lately gone
As fair a maid as the sun shone on was the female rambling sailor.
On the river Fame she was known well, few sailors there could her excel,
One tear let fall for the last farewell of a female rambling sailor.
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13. |
The Ballad of '75
03:47
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The Ballad of '75
By Alistair Hulett
I remember the day I was no more than a boy
Working in an oxide plant at the back of North Fitzroy
Bert Gilchrist told the gaffer because Bert Gilchrist had the clout
He said, "They've given Gough the bullet and the lads are walking out"
And we walked right off that job while the gaffer held the door
And watched it on the telly in a TV rental store
It was one hell of a situation, the kind you just can't gauge
There was Gough on the steps of parliament house saying now maintain the rage
Chorus
In the year of the double dissolution
Drinking in the streets gave way to doubt
Australia voted in a revolution
Then stood back and let the fat cats push it out
There was violence in the air as I walked back home that night
Everyone you'd meet was getting ready for the fight
Saying "If they're out for trouble then trouble's what they'll get
We started out a colony do they think we're a colony yet?"
But as the weeks went by the anger turned to mild relief
Locks were freed like magic and I watched in disbelief
To see a scam so blatent so jacked up and full of holes
And the people in their thousands endorsed it at the polls
Some said they had it coming some were closer to the mark
Who spoke about conspiracy sinister and dark
But history records it and the story will be read
How we let them take democracy and stand it on its head
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14. |
Tablelands Reel Set
02:55
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15. |
Behind Barbed Wire
04:42
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Behind Barbed Wire (Alistair Hulett)
From the moment we open our eyes the new day
Puts us back in the vice of reality
A curious blend of boredom and tension
Fuelled by relentless uncertainty
We watch our children grow
They ask if they can go outside to play
We always answer no
Maybe in a month or so but not today
Behind barbed wire
Our days turn slowly into months then months to years
All things conspire
To grind us down till we grow weary being here
Time goes blindly marching on while we stand and wait
Gazing at democracy from behind padlocked gate
Then we retire behind barbed wire
A candle flickers in the night then disappears
Sometimes at night I lie there awake
Trying to fathom what sparked this insanity
Why are we locked up like rats in a cage
And treated like dregs of humanity
We learned our lesson well
You bombed us into hell and made hell freeze
Now the same self-serving crew
Say we’re jumpers of the queue not refugees
Behind barbed wire
We watch your city lights spread out like a sea of stars
Behind barbed wire
You call us aliens as if we came from Mars
Borders drawn to keep us over here and out of there
While capital unfettered chases profit everywhere
Behind barbed wire
Men and women just like you is all we are
The walls and the wires of the camp
Where they lock up our hopes and chain our dreams
Are the government’s approval stamp
When the hostel burns and the migrant screams
And the thugs take to the streets legitimised
Spreading the hatred that breeds in the squalor of slums
March to the drum
Live under the thumb
Behind barbed wire
We take the blame for what the system can’t provide
Behind barbed wire
Used like a curtain to conceal the class divide
The common threat that binds the nation and maintains the status quo
Protecting power and privilege at the expense of those below
When we retire behind barbed wire
Another fence goes up around the ones outside
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16. |
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TIME FOR A LAUGH AND A SONG
Lyrics and Music: Harry Robertson
In the dark of the morning — where day seldom comes
And the night time is long and it’s dark
Where your world is a cluster of huts upon ice
And the climate is cruel and it’s stark.
Chorus
Then it’s time for a drop of the juice from the still
Then it’s time for a laugh and a song
You sing and you fight and you drink through the night
’Til the last of the home brew has gone.
Long months on an island — with nowhere to go
And loneliness filling your head
So you put on a front — let a joke take the brunt
While some stay alive — but they’re dead.
Chorus
Some people are different — take Pat or take Jim
The pair of them couldn’t agree
For Pat he would slaughter the truth with a tale
The funny side Jim couldn’t see.
On islands — in cities — you’ll find it’s the same
Where thinking has somehow gone wrong
Where a man with a lot — he behaves like a clot
And the man who is broke sings a song.
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Chloe & Jason Roweth Millthorpe, Australia
Drawing their inspiration from the warmth of old-style bush entertainment and folklore, the Roweths work with vibrant
arrangements of new and old traditional Australian ballads and work songs, early country music, original music, poetry, yarns, and dance tunes, weaving together and carrying forward many threads of the Australian tradition.
For more info wander over to
rowethmusic.com.au
... more
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