Available and Unavailable Roaring Jack Lyrics

I thought it might be helpful to have the lyrics available online along with brief introductions, so I typed in what I have available. Sorry if I made any transcription mistakes.

Can anyone add the lyrics to the B Sides (Honkytonks in Heaven, Just Like Cigarettes, The Ball of Yarn, and Framed)? If so, please post them.

Does anyone know where I can find brief introductory descriptions of the songs from 'Through the Smoke of Innocence'?

A Stranger and a Friend

The creeks are frozen over now
The winter takes its toll
On the farmer and the dreamer
On the destitute and old
I’m sitting by this lamplight
With heavy heart and pen

There were no sad partings
No tears goodbye
You didn’t stop to look at me
I didn’t wonder why
They dressed you up in green and grey
And pushed you to the end
Now I’m writing you this letter
As a stranger and a friend

And when your flag is all unfurled
And flying free again
Ah come home
Not as a stranger as a friend

Now you’re in a distant land
A land of sweat and fear
You’re frightened by the border guards
By every noise you hear
With polished gun and bayonet
Whose pride do you defend?
Now I’m writing you this letter
As a stranger and a friend

The nights are so much blacker now
You’re looking at the sky
You drank your fill, you spat it out
Your talk is full of lies
I’ll wait until this river flows
I’ll meet you at the bend
Now I’m writing you this letter
As a stranger and a friend

And when your flag is all unfurled
And flying free again
Ah come home
Not as a stranger as a friend


Ballad of 1975

Not so much an endorsement of the Whitlam Labour Government as an observation on the scant regard our ruling class has for the institution of democracy.

I remember the day I was no more than a boy
Workin’ in an oxide plant at the back of North Fitzroy
Bert Gilchrist told the gaffer ‘cause 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 T.V. 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 sayin’ now maintain the rage.

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 gettin’ 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 blatant, 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 left them take democracy and stand it on its head.


Buy Us a Drink

Nothin’ like a jar o’ the electric soup fer bringin’ oot the revolutionary inye! Hey Jimmy, can ye gie us the price ae a pint? The tune at the end o’ this yin’s called Farewell tae Stirlin’.

Here’s to the soldiers that march tae the wars
With lovely tin hats and long woollen drawers.
The colonel says right lads, over the top.
Then he stands back tae watch while the poor buggers drop.
Buy us a drink and we’ll sing you a song
Of the chances you missed and the love that went wrong
If you can’t stand a schooner, stand us a ten,
We’ll knock it straight down and we’ll sing it again.

There’s girls in the parlour there’s girls in the bars.
They paint on the smile so you don’t see the scars.
They get lots of offers and not much respect
For raisin’ three kids on a government cheque.

In comes the landlord so fat and content
Comes round in his Volvo to pick up the rent.
Then off with his wad tae recline by the pool.
He leaves you tae rot in this nutsty old hole.

It’s the taste of the whiskey tae tell you the truth
Has shortened me days and wasted me youth.
Be kind tae the health, sir, do it no harm,
Put a pint o’ the black on the end of me arm.


Child’s Play

Hark, Hark, the dogs bark
The beggars are coming to town
Some in rags and some in tags
And some in silken gowns
The rich they hoard the riches
They tie us up in stitches
In oils and coal, in blood and gold
They paint their pretty pictures

Whackfola tooralydo
Whackfola tooraiay
Whackfola tooralydo
It’s child play

Buiki and Bil in search of water from the hill
They fell into a broken moon
They’re lying up there still
Some will take the white bread
Some will take the brown
Some burn up on a candle flame
And fall upon the ground

Make me sour, make me sweet
Watch me beg out in the street
Play for money, play for fun
Jump before the starving gun


Criminal Justice

Criminal justice how aptly named
Wrongly arrested, burgled and framed
And then stuck in a cell to rot there for years
While the ones who arranged it pursue their careers
But we don’t get hysterical, negative, and cynical
We’re going to change it, get political
Don’t get hysterical, negative, and cynical
We’re going to change it, get political

Criminal justice you’re up on suspicion
The next thing you know you’re down at the station
Where they bang you on the head with a telephone book
To help you recall what it was that you took
Well don’t get hysterical, negative, and cynical
We’re going to change it, get political
Don’t get hysterical, negative, and cynical
We’re going to change it, get political

We’re not a drop in the ocean
We don’t want pie in the sky
We could kick up a commotion
At least we can give it a try

Criminal justice police and the state
Frame up and burgle and incarcerate
Anyone that they think could get in the way
They’re picked up and sent for a spell in Long Bay
But we don’t get hysterical, negative, and cynical
We’re going to change it, get political
Don’t get hysterical, negative, and cynical
We’re going to change it, get political
We won’t get hysterical, negative, and cynical
We’re going to change it


Destitution Road

The first side ends with a song about the Highland Clearances. In the aftermath of the Clan Rebellion of 1745, the British ruling class launched an eviction program in the north of Scotland which decimated the highland population. Driven from their homes in the harshest of weathers, the clans folk were forced to make their way to Glasgow, to be herded like cattle onto slave ships bound for British colonies. At the time the road from Inverness to Glasgow was known as the ‘Destitution Road,’ hence the title of this song.

In the Year of the Sheep and the Burning Time
They cut our young men in their prime
The old-Scots way was a hanging crime
For the Gaels of Caledonia
There’s a den for the fox, a hedge for the hare
A nest in the tree for the birds of the air
In a’ Scotland there’s no place there
For the Gaels of Caledonia

But there’s no use getting frantic
It’s time to hump your load
Across the wild Atlantic
On the destitution road

The bailiff came with the writ and a’
And the gallant lads of the forty-twa
They drove you out in the sleet and snow
The Gaels of Caledonia
When your house was burned and your crops as well
You stood and wept in the blackened shell
And the winter moor was a living hell
For the Gaels of Caledonia

The plague and the famine they dragged ye doon
As you made your way to Glesga toon
You’d heard of a ship that was sailing soon
For the shores of Nova Scotia
So you sold your gear, you paid your fare
With your head held high though your heart was sair
And you bid farewell for ever mair
To the glens of Caledonia
The land was cleared and the deal was made
Now an English Lord in a tartan plaid
Struts and stares as the memories fade
Of the Gaels of Caledonia
And he hunts the deer in the lonely glen
That once was home to a thousand men
And the wind on the moor sings a sad refrain
For the Gaels of Caledonia


Girl on a Gate

Girl on a gate, swinging into darkness, swinging into light
A powder and a poison, handful of Dutch and a good mate
Cry on every shoulder, every corner
The city gets bigger, you get smaller

Girl on a gate, talking like a train about yesterday
Maybe change the subject, feel the reject, walk away
Eyes like coal, clothes like pitch
Walk a hundred miles never see an inch

No gods, no judge, no law
No wrong to you
Touch her sweet
The sour can belong to you
Nervous and nice
Drunken and desperate
Girl on a gate

Girl on a gate, counting up the time, turning back the tide
Bruise and a blister, a smile and a kiss and a lullaby
Walking over water, screaming up for air
A penny for the demon, a million for the dare

Girl on a gate, singing like a bird, spinning like a top
Turn round again, reach for a friend, you can’t stop
Can’t stop, won’t stop
Happiness and sympathy, bitterness and misery
Walk the fence to the perfect state
Girl on a gate


Go Leave

We conclude these matters of the heart with Steph’s lovely song ‘Go Leave.’ A farewell, not to the notion of lasting love, but to the belief that anyone outside yourself can take responsibility for your own happiness. The tune in the middle is a Scots pipe tune called ‘The Battle of the Somme,’ learned from the playing of Dave Swarbrick in the days of the Ian Campbell Soup Group.

I tried to remember your face in the light
As you moved to the beat of the band
But the smoke and the beer made it all too unclear
So I ordered another and drank

Ah whiskey’s the devil and love is the curse
When you’re battered and beaten and down
And you can’t find your feet and your head hits the street
And you lie there dreaming out loud
So go, leave, make what you can of your life
As you travel the road
With my feet planted fast I’ll forget that dark past
And stumble back into the world

There’s a noose for the hangman, a rose for the grave
And a pint to forget all you can
You curse and swear to the wretched night air
And you wake up in anger and shame

Ah whiskey’s the devil and love is the curse
When you’re battered and beaten and down
And you fight till you lose and you can’t even choose
How you’ll feel when you’re picked off the ground

The streets are empty, your money’s all spent
So you gather what’s left of your pride
You walk all alone in the direction of home
And you end up sleeping outside

Ah whiskey’s the devil and love is the curse
When you’re battered and beaten and down
And you fight till you lose and you can’t even choose
How you’ll feel when you’re picked off the ground


Her Latest Affectation

He wakes up besides himself, she’s beside the phone
Asking him to leave she says she wants to be alone
He wonders how a heart could turn so quickly into stone
That only hours before was soft and tender
No one has to tell him twice, he knows the score
He walks on down the hallway as others have before
Whose letters lie unopened on the table by the door
Each one labelled please return to sender

And she turns up the radio and tunes it off the station
And sinks into her latest affectation

Outside on the pavement beneath the fading stars
He tries to remember where it was he parked his car
It could be nearly anywhere he thinks it isn’t far
So he takes a chance and heads towards the sunrise
He reconstructs the night’s events and puts them into place
He recalls the way she moved and the look upon her face
When her senses were exploding as they locked in the embrace
Of lovers anticipating goodbyes

And she lies back and thinks about another situation
Deep into her latest affectation

He observes the patterns, he notes how they recur
How he’s always drawn to women that make him think of her
With a certain way of walking and a taste for lace and fur
And he structures different ways to treat them badly
With some he plays the father, with some he plays the child
He tells them things he once told her and remembers how she smiled
Sometimes he’s indifferent, sometimes he’s beguiled
But he leaves them when they say they love him madly

And she surrounds herself with clowns
Who watch with fascination
While she demonstrates her latest affectation

Sometimes when they meet outside office hours
To analyze the weaknesses of those who bring them flowers
The distances dissolve and they climb down from their towers
And flirt briefly with the kind of love that could be
He knows it’s just for now but for now he doesn’t care
With her head upon his shoulder and her dress upon his chair
Then he thinks about the men she loves when he’s not there
And remembers things are never what they should be

And she turns up the radio and tunes it off the station
And walks back to her latest affectation


Lads of the B.L.F.

The album ends, as their live set usually does too, with ‘Lads of the B.L.F.’ The Builders’ Labourers Federation is a militant left wing union which was deregistered in 1986 for refusing to acknowledge any difference between industrial relations and class struggle. Although they are now an illegal organisation and constantly vilified in the Murdoch press, their members continue to fight for a fair deal for ordinary Australians. Roaring Jack raises a glass to the health of those and others like them who would dare to set the Cat among the Pigeons.

Now times have changed you can’t deny
They’ve got our backs up against the wall
Workers’ power must organize
Or there’ll be no workers’ power at all
Corporations rule this land
Democracy’s a sham, sir
They rob us blind at every turn
And they don’t give a d**n, sir

Here’s to the boys in the building trade
Under the flag of the old Stockade
Down with the right and up with the left
And here’s to the lads in the B.L.F.

They bore the brunt of the bosses’ wrath
To stand for the rights of the working class
Their cause was bagged in papers
That I wouldn’t use to wipe my arse
Bob Hawke and his traitor crew
Conspired with Crabb and Cain, sir
To push through anti-union laws
For corporation’s gain, sir

The rich get richer by the day
The cancer of this nation
While workers’ wages fall behind
The spiral of inflation
Poverty and homelessness
Are not the only norm, sir
Stand up now for workers’ rights
And socialist reform, sir


Lights of Sydney Town

‘Lights of Sydney Town’ begins with a tune known in Ireland as ‘Planxty George Brabasham’ and in Scotland as ‘Twa Bonnie Maidens.’ After that it’s a boots and all Celtabilly slam out with drummer Steve Thompson overlaying a clack track on colonial Australia’s greatest contribution to the world of music, the lagerphone.

Well as I went out on a midsummer’s day
With a bellyful of bargain basement wine
I was thinking about my own true love
And the way she abused this heart of mine

Let her go, let her go, blow boys blow
Follow the ensign down
Let her go, let her go, blow boys blow
Blow out the lights of Sydney Town

She was tall and fair and I loved her with my life
I never tipped another girl the wink
But she couldn’t stop herself when the flash lads came around
She’d be lining up some fella for a drink

Now I’m sick in the head, I haven’t been to bed
Take the bottle from your gob and give it here
When a man’s on the ground and his love has broken down
Load him up with Mogadon and beer

Well tonight I’m as drunk as I was the night before
Tomorrow will be more or less the same
And I’ll drink to the girl with the dirty yellow hair
She was coming round the mountain when she came


Love in the Modern Age

On now to deeper waters with a few songs about acts of foolishness we ourselves have committed in the name of human love. ‘Love in the Modern Age’ is about confusing genuine affinity with an alliance based on the notion of getting ahead in the rat race. Rab’s guitar solo owes much to years of spotty adolescence playing Hank Marvin guitar lines in his bedroom on a cricket bat.

He was a soldier of fortune, she turns up when a fortune’s made
He’s got an eye for the main chance, she’s got her eye on a Chevrolet
He could tell by the way that she held her drink
There was more on her mind than the kitchen sink
Giving him the eye, giving him the wink
He knew he had to have her so he went and bought a mink

That’s love in the modern age
Love in the modern age
You just won’t score till you open up the door
For love in the modern age

He’s gonna eat her for breakfast, she’s gonna take him for what he’s got
No one has any illusions, it’s all above board so they know what’s what
You see, they use, he, she and it use. Give some, take some, can’t seen to be used.
Heads you win tails you lose
Use up all the readies then you wind up with the blues

Now it’s time to think about the future, now it’s time to think about a lifetime plan
They know where they want to get to, they don’t want to be an also ran
Nuclear family, mortgage, alimony
Put a bit away for a well-earned holiday
It pays to think ahead, you know it’s funny
If you get caught short ‘cause you need a bit of money
For love in the modern age


Moving On

Considering the generous investment incentives and tax reductions corporations receive in Australia, it would be reasonable to assume they would do their share of belt tightening in hard times. As our man in this song ‘Moving On’ discovered, such is seldom the case. Redundancy at the age of 52 isn’t much of an endorsement of the Quiet Achiever or the Big Australian.

Jimmy was a good man, worked all his life
In a town near Broken Hill
Loved the feel of the sun on his back
And the red, red dust that stretched to the outback
End of the day, picking up pay
News breaks, mine closed down
They’re taking his job away
And he’d felt the wind on the Mundi plain
Like a banshee in the storm
There’s no time left for looking back
And it looks like time for moving on

Jimmy despondent, Jimmy depressed
Takes his trouble to the bar
When he’s drinking out in Silverton
He can never take too much, never drive too far
Dark night, truck headlights
‘Roo buckles in fright, dead on the side
He’s been through this before

He fills his days shooting thingyatoos
Out at the reservoir
At fifty-two there’s not much to do
When you’re crippled by your age and they don’t want to know you
Back in town he can take the frowns
He can take the knocks but he can’t stand the fact
That he’s still got two strong hands

Jimmy was a good man, worked for a quid
In a town near Broken Hill
And the wind blows cruel down Argent Street
And his footsteps fall like the pounding of a heart beat
Gotta make a run, gotta get away
Gotta leave this town
It’s gonna break my soul some day

And he’s felt the wind on the Mundi plain
And he’s watched the wedge tail fly
There’s no time left for looking back
And this town’s no place to die


October Wind

Not since Lenin’s day has such a fever gripped the land
Once more the people feel they have some more power in their hand
Power to ring the changes and lay the tyrants low
The wind that shook the world has once again begun to blow

In Moscow and in Kiev and the streets of Leningrad
The people are demanding what they always should have had
A classless free democracy with neither great or small
For a communist with privilege is no communist at all

And the hunger won’t be satisfied
Till the great October wind has been revived

The revolution from above has lit a fire below
The people not the party are the ones who matter nor
Is that not the vision struggled for so many years ago
When the great October wind that shook the world began to blow

And the peoples’ will won’t be denied
When the great October wind has been revived

The people are now far beyond the point of no return
The fire of hope rekindled, may it forever burn
In the hearts of men and women who’d dare to rise and fight
All who would be masters and deny another’s rights

And the peoples’ will won’t be denied
When the great October wind is blowing
And the peoples’ will won’t be denied
When the great October wind has been revived


Playing for the Traffic

‘Playing for the Traffic’ carries on a similar theme. Old geezers picking through rubbish bins in the concrete canyons of commerce. The overlooked underbelly of uncaring capitalism.

You could have seen him any day up the back of Martin Place
In a battered Sunday suit that’s seen far better days
Blowing on a mouth harp with the kind of wit and grace
That would bring a smile to the face of a broken clock
And there was not a verse or chorus the old bugger didn’t know
From Mother Kelly’s Doorstep to The Banks of the Ohio
The typists and the tellers didn’t want to bloody know
Dealing with their dose of future shock

He was playing for the traffic and the nine to fivers
Tooraloo you’re bound for Botany Bay
And he gave more to this world than all the penny-pinching bastards
That turned around and looked the other way

Well, I stood a while to listen and he played the thing with ease
But the crowd that day was tighter than a Pom at a wine and cheese
Maybe they were hard up or just plain hard to please
But no one put a single cent his way
So I reached into my pocket to even up the score
And dropped a pile of change into the tin plate on the floor
When you work the streets they treat you like a sleeper
And no one ought to ever feel that way

He was playing when I left him, with a new crowd to convince
I often look out for him but he’s not been back there since
Did anybody notice, does anybody wince
At some old digger picking through the trash
In this land of milk and honey where there’s more than enough for all
Why did he spend his whole life with his back against the wall
Did he fight in two world wars to wind up with sweet f**k all
Working on the street for a bit of stash


Polythene Flowers

They came in their utes and their fine Sunday suits
There was brandy and whiskey and ale
For the word has gone out to the stations about
The old bastard had booted the pail
We stood round the box with a scotch on the rocks
And drank to the health of the corpse
Someone sang ‘Danny Boy’ we started to cry
Then we had a drop more of the turps

Tim, mavoureen, why did you die
And you in the height of your power
We’ll send you off drunk in a nice wooden trunk
With a big bunch of polythene flowers

Said Biddy McGee, now listen to me
He’s had more than his three score and ten
Take him off to the bar, we’ll buy him a jar
Then we’ll lug his old box back again
We picked up the cask and we set to the task
Off down the wallaby track
Said Biddy by gum he weighs half a ton
Put his old bag of bones in a sack

Tim, mavoureen, why did you die

We bought the first round, we knocked it straight down
With a chorus of ‘Isn’t It Grand’
Then a bucket or two of the old mountain dew
We’re so pissed that no bastard could stand
The priest he said Christ I’m so f**kin’ sliced
Pour me into me collar and vest
Then it’s off to the church we staggered and lurched
For to lay the old bastard to rest

Tim, mavoureen, why did you die

We stood around the grave, the sermon was gave
And we prayed to the Lord for his soul
Alright said the priest, we’ll take the deceased
And chuck him down into that hole
We looked all around but he couldn’t be found
We were all too f**ked up for the job
And we’d all got so blind we’d left him behind
Lying there on the floor of the pub

Tim, mavoureen, where are you now
Are you down at the pub after hours?
Are you lying there drunk in your nice wooden trunk
With a big bunch of polythene flowers


Shell-Shocked Crowd

We finish off with a song for ex-lovers to dance to while they’re arguing over the furniture. Once again we borrowed a traditional tune and stuck it ontae the start of the song. This one’s an Irish air with the rather embarrassing title of The Lambs on the Green Hill. Soon tae be renamed The Bampots on the Green Ginger Wine. Okay. Onyir bike!

I got the letter that you left behind you
It read like a newspaper ten days old
I could never understand the way that you could change me
I thought I had it figured now I’m left out in the cold.

I threw away the job workin’ in the factory
You’re just a piece of nuts when you’re workin’ on the floor
Thought of writing words for some foreign publication
I’m putting pen to paper now you’re walking out the door.

It’s a dull bell of change when you lose your wife and friends
To a heart that beats too loud
It’s a dull bell of change but you’ve got to make a push
Away from the shell-shocked crowd.

I sold the car, I sold the television
You took the kids and you went back home to mum.
I know for sure that you don’t understand me
But darlin’ take a look around, the struggle’s just begun.

I’ve had the time, I’ve had the time to sit and think
I’ve had the time to be a cynic and a liar.
It makes no sense when your back’s against another wall
Who needs uncertainty whilst walking on the wire.


Shot Down in Flames

Beaten half senseless with the blunt edge
Of a dozen sleepless nights
An hour can seem endless
When you’re wondering who your lover’s with tonight
It was much too complicated
To be reduced to simple terms of black and white
So tangled up in jealous love
When I talk to you I can’t even be polite

Shot down in flames
Shot down
Wondering who to blame

I recall when I first met you
I was much too self-contained to get involved
I already had my hands full
With another situation unresolved
You said my kind of love was heartless
Without possessiveness there’s just no love at all
And I took you at your word
And the feeling you belong to me evolved

Shot down in flames…

No sooner had I pledged myself
Than you began to make your distance clear
The depth of your affection
Began to look kind of like a thin veneer
You made your move I called your bluff
We sure knew how to create an atmosphere
We cut each other pretty deep
Though neither one would ever shed a tear

Shot down in flames…

I was paying off your bodyguard
With borrowed time and them my right to choose
Handcuffed to your treadmill
With my head on fire and gravel in my shoes
Till I fell wired out and helpless
On your backdoor step with no strength to refuse
I heard you whisper to your houseboy
This kind of thing is nothing I can use

Now you keep my picture in a frame
To remind you of a past we never had
Don’t send me no more letters please
The things you tell me only make me sad

Shot down in flames
Shot down
Wondering who to blame


Song of Choice

Early every year the seeds are growing
Unseen, unheard they lie beneath the ground
Would you know before the leaves are showing
With weeds all your garden will abound

If you close your eyes, stop your ears
And how can you know?
Seeds you cannot see may not be there
Seeds you cannot see may never grow

In January you’ve still got the choice
You can cut the weeds before they start to bud
If you leave them to grow high they will silence your voice
And in December you may pay with your blood

Close your eyes, stop your ears, shut your mouth
And take it slow
Let others take the lead and you bring up the rear
And later you can say you didn’t know

Every day another vulture takes flight
There’s another danger born every morning
In the darkness of your blindness the wolf will never bite
How can you fight if you can’t recognize a warning?

Today you may earn a living wage
Tomorrow you may be on the dole
Though there’s millions going hungry you needn’t disengage
For it’s them not you that’s fallen in the hole
So close your eyes…

It’s alright for you if you run with the pack
It’s alright if you agree with all they do
If fascism is slowly climbing back
It’s not here yet so what’s it got to do with you
So close your eyes…

The weeds are all around us and they’re growing
It will soon be too late for the knife
If you leave them on the wind that around the world is blowing
You may pay for your silence with your life

Or close your eyes, stop your ears, shut your mouth
And never dare
And if it happens here they’ll never come for you
Because they’ll know you really didn’t care


Take-Away Love

Trembling nights in your desperate room
No blushing bride, no lovesick groom
Make a clean sweep, get a new broom
Another pit stop on the road from the cradle to the tomb
There’s a howling wind all around my door
I’ve got electric shoes I’m a gasoline sleeper
I’d give it all up gladly for the keys to your candy store

She says don’t go singing any love songs
It’s just another Saturday night
Don’t go singing any love songs
Take what you need and leave what you think is right
This is take-away love

Trembling nights, did I say too much?
Did we get too close did we even touch?
I’m looking for an island, I don’t need a crutch
I don’t go round talking double dutch
I’ll be there for you when your luck runs out
Though I’m up to my neck in my own self doubt
One day we’ll laugh about it all
On a drinking bout

She says don’t go singing any love songs…

Trembling nights, take-away love
No one has to stay when the going gets rough
It’s just another game of blind man’s buff
Turn it off when you’ve had enough
There’s room for all in the human zoo
For the vacuum boys and the chrome dolls too
One with a glass heart winks at you
And you come back right on cue

You say don’t go singing any love songs
And don’t go putting on the bite
Don’t go singing any love songs
Everybody knows this is just another Saturday night
This is take-away love


The Bonny Wee Well

Rise at the break of day,
Thank Christ it’s Saturday
I’m going up to hike the brae
And drink at the bonny wee well
Far below you’ll see the spires
The chequered fields wi’ barns and byres
Factories hum like distant choirs
Up at the bonny wee well

Over the waste and over the wall
Through the moss and the moor
To the top of the brae and the bonny wee well
Drunk on a drop of the pure

When Tannahilll worked the weaver’s art
Beside the waters of the Cart
To make a verse he’d aye depart
Up to the bonny wee well
It was there I drank a pint of brown
Broke the bottle on the ground
Lifted up a lassies gown
Up at the bonny wee well

Over the waste and over the wall…

I’ve wandered through a summer wood
With a lass I kent was in the mood
Tried to get as far as I could
Up to the bonny wee well
In Feegie park the times where rare,
The cinder path was sweet and fair
Among them a’ there’s none compare
With a loupe at the bonny wee well

Over the waste and over the wall…


The Cat among the Pigeons

‘The Cat Among the Pigeons’ is a set of Celtic tunes prefaced by a short piece of acoustic ambience by the Roaring Jack Folk Orchestra, playing zither, guitar, dulcimer, whistle, accordion, cittern, fiddle and bodhran. Alistair rants for a bit about revolutionary socialism before the electric ensemble takes off with a medley of workers’ tunes from Brittany, America, Scotland and Ireland, with a jig nicked off Dave Pegg thrown in for good measure.

From the killing fields of Vietnam to the backstreets of old Derry Town
They ring us round with tanks and guns to keep us in our station
From the coal pits of Northumberland and down below the Rio Grande
The bind and break the workers’ hand with hardship and starvation
Oppression is the bosses’ creed and profit their religion
Where are the ones who’d dare to set the cat among the pigeons


The Day that the Boys Came Down

Deaths in police custody are all too frequent in our country. Aboriginal people and ethnic minorities are usually on the receiving end of it and the majority by its silence displays its indifference. ‘The Day that the Boys Came Down’ is set to a bluesy shuffle with a music hall feel to the tune. ‘The Baron of Brackley’ on a dog day afternoon.

They came down from the backstreet, the thingys and the flatfeet
With dogs that had nosed his things back at Long Bay
And they had a warrant, he was abhorrent
The day that the boys came down to blow him away
The neighbours were snoring or too busy scoring
Time for the boys in blue to show crime doesn’t pay
They know what they’re there for, what they get their four square for
The day that the boys came down to blow him away

And he was no fool, one of the old school
He just broke the golden rule
Topping a warder was right out of order
The day that the boys came down to blow him away

He’s in bed with his missus, he gets up and pisses
He knows that something’s up, he twigs right away
Just the flash of a torch, out there on the back porch
The day that the boys came down to blow him away
He would never take chances round a woman he fancies
So he writes a note to say every dog has its day
Then he walks down the backstairs with his hands in the air
The day that the boys came down to blow him away

And he was no fool, one of the old school
He just broke the golden rule
And the first bullet slit him ‘fore he knew what had hit him
The day that the boys came down to blow him away


The Lass behind the Beer Taps

‘The Lass Behind the Beer Taps’ uses an old Scots Jacobite tune called ‘Who’ll Be King but Charlie.’ We’ve always liked the tune but kings by any name, Charlie included, bog us right off. Save the best and piss off the rest, we thought, so we nicked the tune and wrote a new set of words. The reference in the chorus to the quare chap has nothing to do with sexual preference. Quare is Irish slang for peculiar.

I’m not the kind to vex my mind on the fickle winds of fortune
I’d rather sink another drink of brandy, wine or potheen
For life is short and I’m the sort of man to take it easy
If there’s a dram who gives a d**n if the morning finds me queasy

Some take delight in picking a fight and beating up on the quare chap
When I get pissed I want to kiss the lass behind the beer taps
Some take delight in picking a fight out on the street on a Saturday night
I’d save me strength and slip me length to the lass behind the beer taps

I’ve often woke up stoney broke and all my pay I’ve spent it
If I’ve the brass and a willing lass I’ll take me wad and dent it
For flakes of snow they come and go so why not you and I love
And e’er it’s done we’ll have some fun then go to hell and fry love

The wise man trims his wisdom and the fool pursues his folly
Give me an hour inside the bower with my sweet charming Polly
For love is pleasing, love is teasing, love is wealth and treasure
With a glass of wine I will entwine and with me lass take pleasure


The Lass from Yarrow

Under the bridge when you kissed me goodbye
I’d have kissed you right back if I wasn’t too shy
But the chance it was lost in the sweet bye and bye
And the big yin swept you away
I thought of you often when I was alone
The things I would say to make you my own
The way it came out was too close to the bone
And the big yin swept you away

Cap and scarf I’d cast away
Barefoot on a summer’s day
Picking berries on the brae
With the bonnie lass from Yarrow
Lie down on a bed of broom
Careful not to come too soon
On a Sunday afternoon
With a whiskey in the jar-o

On a Saturday night I was greased up and starched
Drunk at a dance at the Methodist church
I couldn’t say nothing I stood there and watched
And the big yin swept you away
He was smarter than me with the gift of the gob
Kicked out of school and twice round the block
I took a bus home and you went for a walk
With the big yin that swept you away

Cap and scarf I cast away…

I was taking it slow when it should have been fast
Getting it wrong when it should have been sussed
Losing my head in a bucket of piss
And watching you slipping away
I missed you like hell for a moment or two
I miss you right now but there’s nothing to do
I bid you good luck and a hell of a screw
With the big yin that swept you away


The Old Divide and Rule

In Thatcher’s Ulster, unemployment for Protestant males is currently around twenty-five per cent. In some Catholic areas, it runs as high as eighty. The sectarian animosity this creates is one example of the old British policy of Divide and Rule. The tune at the end is a Scots Strathspey called Neil Gow’s Wife.

All my life I’ve lived beside the waters that they call the Clyde.
I build the ships and watch them glide down the Broomielaw, sir.
Trudge to work in sleet and rain, labour for another’s gain,
Know yer place and don’t complain, that’s the rich man’s law, sir.
When I was young I read with pride how Scotland’s heroes fought and died,
Tae keep the nation fortified against the English crown, sir.
Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled by clerics fancy were mislead,
Fought among themselves instead and by it were brought down, sir.

When the Billy Boys are marchin’ in the sash their father’s wore,
The day they slew the Fenien crew three hundred years before,
The gentry give a smile and lift their glasses to John Bull,
Who keeps us all in poverty with the old Divide and Rule.

The pipes did play the drums did beat on heathered glen and cobbled street.
The sullen tramp of marching feet returned the call to arms, sir.
In the field where cattle grazed, brother’s hand at brother raised,
Thus the name of God was praised in the smoke of burning farms, sir.

Would that I might see the day when tyranny is swept away,
And honest work for honest pay becomes the right of all, sir.
As for Gentile so for Jew, Protestant and Catholic too,
Every race and every hue secure within four walls, sir.

And the Billy Boy and Fenien together make a stand
To raise the flag of Worker’s Power all across the land.
Declare it in the factory, the office and the school,
We’ll put an end to poverty and the old Divide and Rule.


The Swaggies Have All Waltzed Matilda Away

The second side of the album is given over to class politics, specifically those of Australia. First up is a condensed history of the white invasion, the only completely acoustic track on the record, called ‘The Swaggies Have All Waltzed Matilda Away.’ Alistair’s guitar is tuned to a modal ‘C’ tuning C G C G C C, giving it a sparse drone-like quality.

You came to this country in fetters and chains
Outlaws and rebels with numbers for names
And on the triangle were beaten and maimed
Blood stained the soil of Australia
Dookies and duchesses, flash lads and sleepers
You worked their plantations and polished their floors
Lived in their shadow and died in their wars
Blood stained the soil of Australia

Does it quicken your heart beat
To see tar and concrete
Cover the tracks of the old bullock dray
Have you grown so heartless
To christen it progress
When the swaggies have all waltzed Matilda away

Driven like dogs from your own native home
Hardship and poverty caused you to roam
Over the bracken and over the foam
Blood stained the soil of Australia
Then in the fervour for fortune and fame
You caused the poor Blacks to suffer the same
Imprisoned on missions or hunted for game
Blood stained the soil of Australia

It’s two-hundred years since you came to this land
Betrayed by the girl with the black velvet band
And still to this day you don’t understand
Blood stained the soil of Australia
Koori and White, old Australian and new
Brothers and sisters of every hue
The future is ours, take the wealth from the few
And raise the red flag in Australia

Let it quicken your heart beat
The roads at your own feet
Travel it lightly and travel it well
And don’t speak of success
Or christen it progress
Till the swaggies can all waltz Matilda as well


The Thin Red Line

As a result of his dodgy Government’s policy of flogging off uranium to anyone who’ll buy it, Prime Minister Hawke has earned himself the nickname Yellowcake Bob. But then sacrificing principle for political expediency is nothing new to the A.L.P. ‘The Thin Red Line’ is Roaring Jack’s considered opinion on the matter.

If you don’t stop and think about it twice
If you stand there and cough up the price
Then you’ll wind up like the Poms on the bones of your arse
Paying through the nose for the pomped up farce
Of a well-heeled privileged few
When the left takes a swing to the right
They smile like the angel of light
And they point to the fact of their economic growth
Saying jobs or justice, you can’t have both
We watch as they tighten the screw
Hold on fast to the thin red line
Singing Yellowcake Bob is no mate of mine

Now the B.L.F. have gone down
Bill Hartley’s been run out of town
And the workers heads are filled with the views
Of the Willesee boys and the Channel Ten news
From the halls of profit and gain

Where they killed off the Land Rights Bill
Because it didn’t put the cash in the till
And they wheel and deal with the crims at large
They nailed Big Norm on a trumped up charge
‘Cause he had more battle than brain

This government of ours is just a puppet in the bosses’ hands
Bending over backwards accommodating their demands
And the only thing that’s new about the New Right
Is they’ve taken off the jack boots and put them out of sight
But it’s the same old pile of nutse
So hold on fast to the thin red line
Singing Yellowcake Bob is no mate of mine


The Ways of a Rover

I’ve travelled east, I’ve travelled west
And I’ve been south of the border
Seldom sober, often drunk
And sometimes out of order
Sometimes I’ve been true to love
And sometimes I’ve betrayed it
But when it’s time to cop my whack
Then I’ve coughed up and paid it

And I swore by the light of the morning sun
My drinking days were over
That very night I was back in town
Following the ways of a rover

When we toast for auld lang syne
Friends absent or departed
I’ll drink to my own true love
Though she was fickle hearted
Then lay me down with another girl
Wi’ a headfu’ o’ wine and brandy
Who gives a nutse for the cutty stool
It’s a’ for houghmagandie, I swore by the light…

I was born and raised a pagan
You could call it my vocation
I hate your Christian morals
With your rules and regulations
Through the smoke of innocence
Like quaens we’ll reel and spin
All down the gorgeous avenue
They call the path of sin, and I swore by the light…


Usige Beatha

We begin in the time honoured fashion with a dram of the cratur. ‘Uisge Beatha’ is Gaelic for whisky, the water of life, no less. Between verses Rab and Steph play a fine old Celtic tune on guitar and accordion called ‘Glen Rhinries.’

A dram will drown the weather and fortify the soul
There’s more warmth in a drop of whiskey than you’ll find in a lump of coal
It puts the swagger in your step and the poet in your tongue
It makes the young men older, it keeps the old ones young

Usige Beatha, water of life
Usige Beatha, keener than a flick knife
Usige Beatha, bring me to my knees
Usige Beatha, same again please

Now Jesus was the man for turning water into wine
They put him on at weddings to perform his holy sign
Our fathers in the Gaeltacht went one better than the Lord
They turned water into whiskey and down the throat it poured

The Irish have their Jamieson’s the Scots their Johnny Red
If ya cannae get the one thing then the other’s fine instead
You can drink it from a bottle, you can drink it from a flask
If you live up in Glen Livet you can drink it from a cask


Wild Rover Again

A loaf of bread, a flask of wine an’ a bad case o’ the Willie Wimp-oot. There isnae any tune at the end o’ this but if there wiz it would be called ‘Comin’ through the Fly.

Johnny my man come throw yer leg over me
Why do you lie with your face tae the wall
It’s many’s the time ye’ve played the wild rover
Tonight you won’t play the wild rover at all

He took out his bow tae scrape on me fiddle
I cried out me love let the nightingale sing
The tune that he played was cut short in the middle
His bow wasnae able tae reach me top string

I bought him a flask of the finest malt whiskey
Tae see if it would raise his courage once more
He drank it straight down and so softly he kissed me
Then he rolled over tae sleep and tae snore

I fed him on buttermilk, oysters and garlic
I did everything that a woman could do
Alas and alack his condition was chronic
The harder I pumped him the softer he grew

After he’s sleepin’ I run from the chamber
I put on my clothes as fast as I can
While he’s in his bed and nothing the wiser
I roll in the arms of some other young man

And I says me young fella come throw yer leg over me
Where is the shame in being fond of young men
It’s many’s the time I’ve played the wild rover
Tonight I will play the wild rover again


Yuppietown

The first in a little trilogy of Antipodean compositions. This is an ode tae what is undoubtedly the most boring cult since Calvinism. This lot would make ye f**kin’ Celtabilleous!

People who live round here they don’t have that much.
They make do with things others wouldn’t even touch.
People who live round here they work in the factory.
They don’t have to choose they’re ruled by necessity.

And they better watch out
New breed taking over
Driving us out
Givin’ us the old once over
They want to tear the place down
And turn it into Yuppietown.

People who live round here remember how it used to be.
Natter to yer neighbour on the street or stop in for a cup of tea.
People who live round here they like to have a beer and all,
But since the old pub changed hands you can’t get in in overalls.

People who live round here they’re gonna have to move out west.
Funny how the powers that be always think they know what’s best.
People who live round here they’ve got the place in such a state.
People who live round here pull down the price of real estate.