Songs Page




An Rógaire Dubh

(The Black Rogue)

Sung like the tune of the same name




Tá mo stoca is mo bhróga ag an rógaire dubh, (3 times)

Mo naipicín póca le bliain sa lá inniu.

The black rogue has taken my socks and shoes (3 times)

And my pocket handkerchief, a year ago today.

Portaireacht (Chorus)

Hi diddle di diddle hi diddle diddle dum

Hi diddle di diddle hi diddle do

Ta rum diddle dum diddle dum diddle dum do

Ta riddle dum diddle dum diddle dum do



Tá nead insa sliabh ag an rógaire dubh, (3 times)

Ní ghabhfaidh sé an bóthar ach cóngar an chnoic.

The black rogue has a nest in the mountain (3 times)

He won't travel by road, but takes the shorcut over the hill.

Portaireacht Portaireacht
Dá bhfeicteása Máire taobh eile den tsruth, (3 times)
Is a dhá chois in airde ag an rógaire dubh!

If you were to see Máire on the far side of the stream (3 times)

And the Black Rogue's two legs high up in the air

Portaireacht Portaireacht


The Bogs of Shanaveever

Listen to the 1st verse

(sung by Johnny Mháirtín Learaí)


My young life has passed, which makes me feel dreary
For in exile I'm cast on the wilds of the prairie.
There to watch the Red Man, hunt the panther and the beaver
But my thoughts wander back to the Bogs of Shanaheever.

Tommy, Andy and Eoin in my absence get ready
By the early morning moon have the dogs out and ready
And make no delay, but be fast and clever
And we'll have a fine days coursing o'er the Bogs of Shanaheever.

In London for years, Ryan spoke of Susannah
And young Willie Ayer, he would boast of Diana
But the truth to you I'll tell , there is none of them I'd favour
I'd give Victor the sway, o'er the Bogs of Shanaheever.

From the shores of Lough Annagh to the plains of Benbricken
And beneath the red sun, my poor heart was ticking
Went to make for Letterdean, but the boys they did'nt favour
So we crossed by the hill to the Bogs of Shanaheever.

The course it was rough and the dogs they were strong winded
And how fierce every stride, oh the hunting it was splendid.
Those 2-year old dogs so lanky swift and clever.
But the next sight I saw, was a death in Shanaheever.

The day that Victor died, my coursing days were over.
I sat down and cried, like a heartbroken lover.
We dug Victor his grave and we left him there forever.
Paid my passage to New York, from the Bogs of Shanaheever.

Ireland, my love, I will think of you forever.
There is no place on Earth that men love with such great fervour.
And when She is free, I'll come back again to see Her
Then we'll spend our days a hunting on the Bogs of Shanaheever.














Willie McBride?

Oh, you know that big long song about Willie McBride

Well, to tell you the God’s truth, it turns me inside.

You’ll hear it on the Shankhill, you’ll hear it on the Falls,

And mostly from people who can’t sing at all.

You go out to the pub on a Saturday night,

For a pint and the crack, a-and things are all right.

‘Till some boy with his shirt out,

Slumps down by your side, - and says:

"Zing-zzz z’wunn zbouzz Wlle Mmm – ride"


Ah, you say you don’t know it (but this will not do)

For his plan all along, has been, to sing it to you.

He knocks over your drink, and takes off in a key

That was not constructed to suit you or me.

And with the lines grinding on, Oh, the horror gets worse

As it slowly sinks in- that he knows every verse.

With his arm round your shoulder, by now he’s your friend- and

He’s determined to sing this damm thing to the end.


Did he sing the song badly?

Did they gulp their pints madly?

Did we all fall asleep, before we’d finished our round?

Did the bar staff cry "Last drinks" to stir us?

Did the punters cry "Thank God it’s o-o-o-ver?


You escape to the jacks for a quart’r of an hour

You kill time at the TV out in the Bar.

And then you sneak back thinking he might have tired

But he’s still chocking on gas, tangled up in barbed wire.

And for ten minutes more he continues this rant.

Again, and again, and again till you can’t –

Care-that he’s up to his oxters in gutters in trench-es, or give

Two tupp’ny damms where the red poppies dance.


Oh, Willie McBride, why the hell did you die?

The trouble you’d-have saved, if you’d came back alive.

If you’d got a good job, or signed on the b’roo –

We wouldn’t have-to endure this auld mush about you.

Aye but maybe it’s better, for you that you’re dead

With the green Fields of France, piled up over your head.

For the trouble you’ve caused us since that day you died

Oh, rusty shrapnel’s too good for you , Willie McBride












The Green Fields of Canada

Farewell to the groves of Shillelagh and Shamrock
Farewell to the girls of old Ireland all round.
May their hearts be as merry, as ever I could wish them
when far away on the ocean I’m bound.
My Mother is old and my Father quite feeble.
To leave their own country, it grieves them full sore.
Oh the tears down their cheeks, in great drops they are rolling.
To think they must die upon a foreign shore


So its pack up your sea store, consider no longer
Twelve dollars a week isn’t very bad pay.
With no taxes or tithes to devour up your wages.
When your on the Green Fields of Americay

The lint dams are dry and the looms all lie broken.
The coopers are gone and the winders of creels.
Away o’er the ocean go journeymen tailors
and fiddlers who flaked out the old mountain reels.
But I mind the time when old Ireland was flourishing
when lots of her tradesmen did work for good pay.
But since our manufacturers have crossed the Atlantic.
Sure now we must follow unto Americay.


Farewell to the dances in homes now deserted.
When tips struck the lightening in splanks from the floor
The paving and crigging of hobnails on flagstones.
The tears of the old folks and shouts of encore.
For the landlords and bailiff’s in vile combination
have forced us from hearthstones and homestead away
My the crowbar brigade be all doomed to damnation.
When we’re on the Green Fields of Americay.













Another Man’s Wedding
(A Nobleman’s Wedding)
as sung by Rosie Stewart

Listen to the 1st verse


I was invited to another man’s wedding
All by a fair one that proved so unkind.
And aye as she thought on her old former lover,
The thoughts of her darling still ran through her mind.


When dinner was over and all things were completed
It fell each young man’s lot to sing a love song.
And it happened to fall on her own former lover,
To sing these few verses, it will nae take you long.


It’s many’s the Lord was seven years from his Lady.
And many’s the Lord he never came back again.
But I was but one year away from my darling
When an unconstant lover to me she became


How can you sit at another man’s table?
How can you drink of another man’s wine?
How can you lie in the arms of another?
You that was so long a true lover of mine


The bride she was seated at the head of the table
And every word she remembered it well
To bear it in mind this young maid she was not able
And down at the Groom’s feet she instantly fell


"There is one request and I will ask you no other
The first and the last love perhaps it may be
Only this one night to stay with my mother
The rest of my time I will share it all with you"


The request it was asked and just immediately answered
Sighing and sobbing she went to her bed.
And early next morning when the young Groom awoken
He went to her chamber and found that she was dead.


He lifted her up from her soft and downy pillow.
He carried her out into the garden so green.
With sheets and fine pillows, oh soon he did surround her.
Hoping that his young wife she might come to life again.


"Oh Sally, lovely Sally, when you and I were courting.
You vowed and declared that you loved none but me.
But them that depends on a fair maiden’s folly
Their love it will decay like a bark of a tree.


All around my hat, I will wear the weeping willow
All around my hat until death comes over me.
And if anybody ask me why I wear the willow
It’s all for my true love that I never more shall see















A Dhroimin Donn Dílis

(Mick Furey sent me the words for this song)


A dhroimin donn dílis, the landlord has come,

Like a cold blast of death he has swept o’er our home.

He has weathered the rooftree beneath the dark sky,

And houseless and homeless this night we must lie.


My heart is as cold as the white winter snow,

My blood is on fire and my heart’s in a glow.

A dhroimin donn dílis, ‘tis hard to forgive

When a robber denies us the right we should live.


For they racked and they ground us with tax and with rent,

Till our souls they were seared and our life’s blood was spent;

And now they have finished and on the wide world,

To the mocking of fiends from my home I was hurled.


I knelt down three times for to utter a prayer,

But my soul it was seared and the words were not there.

Oh wild thoughts and words to my dizzy head came,

Like the rushing of winds through a forest aflame.


I bid you old comrade, a last fond farewell,

For the gaunt hand of famine has touched us too well;

It has severed the master from you, my brown cow,

With a mark on his soul and a brand on his brow.