The Rakes Of Mallow Beauing, belleing, dancing, drinking, Breaking windows, swearing, sinking, Ever raking, never thinking, Live the Rakes of Mallow.
Living short but merry lives, Going where the devil drives, Having sweethearts, but no wives, Live the Rakes of Mallow.
Spending faster than it comes, Beating waiters, bailiffs, duns, Bacchus’ true begotten sons, Live the Rakes of Mallow.
Racking tenants, stewards teasing, Swiftly spending, slowly raising, Wishing thus to spend their days in Raking, as at Mallow.
One time nought but claret drinking, Then like politicians, thinking Raising funds when funds are sinking, Live the Rakes of Mallow.
Then to end this raking life, They get sober, take a wife, Ever after live in strife, Wishing e’er for Mallow.
arr. Desmond Earley The Parting Glass Oh, all the money that e’er I had, I spent it in good company, And of all the harm that e’er I’ve done, alas it was to none but me,
But since it falls unto my lot that I should rise and you should not, I’ll gently rise an’ softly call, Good night and joy be with you all.
And all I’ve done for want of wit to my mem’ry now I can’t recall; So fill to me your parting glass, Goodnight and joy be with you all.
A man may drink an’ not be drunk; A man may fight an’ not be slain; A man may court a pretty girl, and perhaps be welcom’d home again.
Of all the comrades that e’er I had, they’re sorry now for my goin’ away; And of all the sweethearts that e’er I had they wish me one more day to stay.
But since it has so order’d been a time to rise an’ a time to fall, Fill to me your parting glass, Goodnight and joy be with you all.
Hoss Brock, tenor soloist arr. Erik Jones I’ll Tell My Ma (Irish Children’s Song) I’ll tell my ma when I get home, the boys won’t leave the girls alone. They pull my hair, and they steal my comb, but that’s alright, ‘till I get home.
Then out she comes as white as snow, rings on her fingers and bells on her toes. Our Jenny Murry says she’ll die if she don’t get the fellow with the rovin’ eye.
She is handsome, she is pretty, she is the belle of Belfast city. She is courtin’ one, two, three, please won’t you tell me who is she?
Oh, let the wind and the rain and the hail go high with the snow come a-tumblin’ down from the sky. Oh she’s as sweet as my ma’s apple pie and she’ll soon get a new fellow by and by.
Albert Mooney says he loves her, All the boys are fightin’ for her. Knock at the door and ring the bell, hey, my true love are you well? Michael Folker, bodhrán
When she gets a lad of her own she won’t tell her ma when she gets home. Let them all come as they will, it’s Albert Mooney she loves still.
Week 6
11
