Celtic Roots

The Number of the Beast

The Blacksmith

Scarborough Fair

Ny Kirree Fo Niaghtey

She Moved Through The Fair

The Saint of Kings Cross

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The Number of the Beast
Tam o’ Shanter - excerpt
Warlocks and witches in a dance;

Nae cotillion brent-new frae France, 
But hornpipes, jigs

Strathspeys, and reels,

Put life and mettle in their heels. 
A winnock-bunker in the east,

There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast;
 

Even Satan glowr'd, and fidg'd fu' fain,

And hotch'd and blew wi' might and main; 
Till first ae caper, syne anither,

Tam tint his reason 'thegither, 
And roars out, "Weel done, Cutty-sark!"

And in an instant all was dark:
Written by Robert Burns

The Number of the Beast
Written by Stephen Percy Harris
Copyright © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.,

Universal Music Publishing Group

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The Blacksmith
A Blacksmith courted me

Nine months and better

He fairly won my heart,

Wrote me a letter
With his hammer in his hand

He looked quite clever

And if I was with my love

It would be forever
 

But where has my love gone

With his lips like roses

And his good black billycock on,

Dressed around with primroses
I’m afraid the scorching sun

Will shine and burn his beauty

And if I was with my love

I would do my duty
 

Strange news has come to town,

Strange news is carried

Strange news flies up and down

That my love is married
I wish them both much joy,

Though they can’t hear me

And may God reward him well

For the slighting of me
 

Do you remember when

You lay beside me

And you said you’d marry me

And not deny me?
“If I said I’d marry you

It was only for to try you
So bring your witness love

And I’ll not deny you”
 

Oh! Witness have I none,

Save God almighty
And may he reward you well

Ffor the slighting of me
He lips grew pale and wan,

It made her poor heart to tremble
To think she loved a one

And he proved deceitful
Trad. Arr Stu Tyrrell
 

 

Scarborough Fair
Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
She once was a lover of mine
 

Tell her to make me cambric shirt
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Without no seam nor fine needle work
Then she’ll be a lover of mine
 

Tell her to wash it in yonder well
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
We no spring water nor rain ever fell
Then she’ll be a lover of mine
 

Tell him to buy me an acre of land
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Between salt water and the sea sand
Then he’ll be a lover of mine
 

Tell him to plough it with a ram’s horn
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
And sow it all over with one peppercorn
Then he’ll be a lover of mine
 

Tell him to reap it with a sickle of leather
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
And wrap it all up in fine peacock feather
Then he’ll be a lover of mine
 

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there
They’ll never be a lover of mine 
Trad. Arr Stu Tyrrell
 

 

 
Ny Kirree Fo Niaghtey
After winter of snowfall

And springtime of frost
The young lambs were living

But the old sheep were lost
Thus spoke Nicholas Raby

And he sick at home
“The sheep are beneath snow

In Braid Farrane-fing”
 

Thus spoke The Raby

Going up to the loft
“On my 2000 wethers

Be my seven blessings tossed.
There are sheep on the Laggan,

Goats and sheep on Clieau Rea
Wild sheep in Coan-y-Chistey

That will never come away”
 

Oh! irree shiu boch'llyn

As gow shiu da'n chlieau
Ta ny kirree fo niaghtey

Cha dowin as v'ad rleau
O rise up my shepherds,

And go to the hill
The sheep are beneath snow

As deep as can be
 

The Lonan folk rose

And so soon they did go
And they found the dead sheep

In the Laggan Varoole
The Lonan folk rose

And the folk of Lezayre
And they found the young sheep

In the Laggan Agneash
 

Chorus
 

The wethers were in front

And the rams in between
And the sheep heavy in lamb

Behind them were seen
“There's a wether for Christmas

And for Easter there's two
And two or three more for

The time when I'm through”
 

Chorus 
Trad. Arr Stu Tyrrell

 

 

 
She Moved Through The Fair
My young love said to me

My Mother won’t mind
And my Father won’t slight you

For your lack of kine
And she lay her hand on me

And this she did say:
“Oh! It won’t be long love

Till our wedding day”
 

She lay her hand on me

And she moved through the fair
And so fondly I watched her

Move here and move there
And she lay her hand on me

And this she did say:
“Oh! It won’t be long love

Till our wedding day”
 

Last night she came to me,

My true love came in
And so softly she came

Her feet made no din
And she lay her hand on me

And this she did say:
“Oh! It won’t be long love

Till our wedding day” 
Trad. Arr Stu Tyrrell

 

 

 
The Saint of Kings Cross
Outcast from a broken mould,

Raised by Christ’s Gestapo
The apprentice jackaroo

Known only as Animal
Swapped flesh for iron steed,

Cold steel and gasoline
Boundless plains for dark heart Sydney
 

Knocking around with a different crew,

Beneath the shadow
Of Bluestone College

Once more to return again
With strippers and band in toe,

The underdogs’ hero
Thundered in a lifelong campaign
 

Providence guides

The sick and the lost
The addicted and frail

That society forgot
The hand of God

Recovers the cost
The Saint of Kings Cross
 

Founded in ’89,

Sin city’s bastard child
Established Kings Cross Bikers

Social and Welfare Club
They dreamt for their club to grow,

Animal, Ferral and Steptoe
To help those left by the wayside
 

When they roar in with a Xmas cheer,

Jingle-bells disappears
Replaced by twin pipes

Howling all through the city streets
Hospitals, hospices,

Orphanages all know
Fallen Angels’ have halos
 

Chorus
 

Flesh alone can’t sustain legend immortal
God calls his soldier home,

Released from this mortal coil
Brothers in arms mourn

As Angels weep welcoming
Their fallen angel on broken wings
 

Outcast from a broken mould,

Raised by Christ’s Gestapo
The underdogs’ hero

Known only as Animal
Swapped flesh for iron steed,

Cold steel and gasoline
Boundless plains for dark heart Sydney
 

Chorus 
Written by Stu Tyrrell