Pogues : Misc

From Shane McGowan's album: The Snake

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See the moon is once still rising

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Above its land of black and green

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Hear the rebels voices calling

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I shall not die, though you bury me Hear the aunt in bed crying Why has he forsaken me? Faded pictures in the hallway Which one of them brown ghosts is he?

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Fare thee well, me black-haired diamond

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Fare thee well, me own Aisling

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Dreams and thoughts of you still haunt me

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'Til I come back home to thee

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And the wind it blows from the North and South

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And blows to the East and to the West

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I'll be just like wind my love

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For I will know no rest

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'Til I return to thee Bless the hand that shakes the barley Curse the spade and curse the plough I still wake in the morning early And I wish to hell that I was with you now One, two, three telegraph poles Give me a drink of that sweet poteen Madness from the mountains crawling When I first saw you, my own Aisling Fare thee well, me black-haired diamond Fare thee well, me own Aisling Dreams and thoughts of you will haunt me 'Til I come back home to thee

From the EP: Poguetry in Motion

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I've been loving you a long time Down all the years, down all the days And I've cried for all your troubles Smiled at your funny little ways We watched our friends grow up together And we saw them as they fell Some of them fell into Heaven Some of them fell into Hell I took a shelter from a shower And I stepped into your arms On a rainy night in Soho The wind was whistling all its charms I sand you all my sorrows You told me all your joys Whatever happened to that old song To all those little girls and boys

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x3

Sometimes I wake up in the morning The gingerlady by my bed Covered in a cloak of silence I hear you talking in my head I'm not singing for the future I'm not dreaming of the past I'm not talking of the first time I never think about the last Now the song is nearly over We may never find out what it means Still there's a light I hold before me And you're the measure of my dreams The measure of my dreams

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...

Recorded with the Dubliners

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On the Fourth of July, eighteen hundred and six

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We set sail from the sweet cove of Cork

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We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks

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For the Grand City Hall in New York

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'Twas an elegant craft, rigged fore and aft

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And oh, how the wild wind drove her

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She could stand a great blast, she had twenty seven masts

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And they called her The Irish Rover We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags We had two million barrels of stone We had three million sides of old blind horses hides We had four million barrels of bone We had five million hogs, and six million dogs Seven million barrels of porter We had eight million bails of old nanny goats' tails In the hold of the Irish Rover There was awl Mickey Coote who played hard on his flute When the ladies lined up for a set He was tootin' with skill for each sparkling quadrille Though the dancers were fluthered and bet With his smart witty talk he was cock of the walk And he rolled the dames under and over They all knew at a glance when he took up his stance That he sailed in The Irish Rover There was Barney McGee from the banks of the Lee There was Hogan from County Tyrone There was Johnny McGurk who was scared stiff of work And a chap from Westmeath called Malone There was Slugger O'Toole, drunk as a rule Fighting Bill Treacy from Dover And your man, Mick MacCann from the banks of the Bann Was the skipper of the Irish Rover We had sailed seven years when the measles broke out And our ship lost its way in the fog And that whale of a crew was reduced down to two Just myself and the Captain's old dog Then the ship struck a rock, oh Lord! what a shock The boat it flipped right over Turned nine times around, and the poor old dog was drowned I'm the last of the The Irish Rover

Pogues : Misc

Aisling 1994

A Rainy Night In Soho 1986

The Irish Rover 1987