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
