Sault Antlers' Song Book

9 • BRENNAN ON THE MOOR
It is of a brave young highwayman this story we will tell.
His name was Willy Brennan and in Ireland he did dwell.
‘Twas on the Kilworth Mountains he commenced his wild career.
And many a wealthy nobleman before him shook with fear.
And it’s Brennan on the moor, Brennan on the moor.
Bold, brave and undaunted was young Brennan on the moor.
One day upon the highway as Willy he went down.
He met the mayor of Cashel, a mile outside the town.
The mayor he knew his features, and he said young man said he
Your name is Willy Brennan. You must come along with me.
Now Brennan’s wife had gone to town, provisions for to buy.
And when she saw her Willy, she commenced to weep and cry.
Said hand to me that ten penny as soon as Willy spoke.
She handed him a blunderbuss from underneath her cloak.
Now with this loaded blunderbuss, the truth I will unfold.
He set the mayor to tremblin’ and he robbed him of his gold.
One hundred pounds was offered for his apprehension there.
And Willy with horse and saddle to the mountains did repair.
Now Brennan was an outlaw upon the mountains high.
With Calvary and infantry to take him they did try.
He laughed at them with scorn until at last ‘twas said,
By a false hearted woman he was cruelly betrayed.
10 • THE JUG OF PUNCH
One pleasant evening in the month of June, as I was sitting with my glass & spoon,
A small bird sat on an ivy bunch and the song he sang was a jug of punch.
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay,
(Repeat last line of verse)
What more diversion can a man desire, than to sit him down by an ale house fire
Upon his knee a pretty wench and on the table a jug of punch.
Let the doctors come with all their art. They’ll make no impression upon my heart.
Even the Crather forgets his lunch when he’s snug outside a jug of punch.
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Oh the color is wore out, and the front is knocked about
Now the tail is looking out for better weather.
And where is me wench, me lovin’, lovin’ wench?
She’s all gone for beer and tobacco.
Oh her lips are all wore out, and her front is knocked about
Now her arse is looking out for better weather.
And where is me bed, me lovin’, lovin’ bed?
It’s all gone for beer and tobacco.
Oh I lent it to a whore, now the sheets they are all tore
And the springs are looking out for better weather.
I’m sick in the head, ‘cause I haven’t been to bed
Since first I come ashore with me plunder.
Oh I seen the bees and snakes, and I’m full of pains and aches
So I think I’ll take a trip out over yonder.
42 • ALL ABOUT TURDS
There was an old lady who lived on our street.
Her stomach was stopped, she had too much to eat.
She took liver pills without reading the box.
Before she could turn turds were flying like rocks.
Too rah la, too rah lay. A rolling stone gathers no moss so they say.
Sing along with the birds. It’s a wonderful song, but it’s all about turds.
She ran to the window and thrust out her ass.
And just at that moment a cowboy did pass.
He heard the loud noise, he looked up on high
And a bloody big turd caught him right in the eye.
He looked to the East, he looked to the West.
A fast flying turd caught him right in the chest.
He looked to the North, he looked to the South.
And a bloody big turd caught him right in the mouth.
So if ever you ride on the flat river bridge
Look out for a cowboy asleep on the ridge.
On his chest is a sign where on writ are these words,
“Be kind to a cowboy blinded by turds.”
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