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Dropkick Murphys - Worker’s Song
Yeh, this one’s for the workers who toil night and day
By hand and by brain to earn your pay
Who for centuries long past for no more than your bread
Have bled for your countries and counted your dead
In the factories and mills, in the shipyards and mines
We’ve often been told to keep up with the times
For our skills are not needed, they’ve streamlined the job
And with sliderule and stopwatch our pride they have robbed
[Chorus:]
We’re the first ones to starve, we’re the first ones to die
The first ones in line for that pie-in-the-sky
And we’re always the last when the cream is shared out
For the worker is working when the fat cat’s about
And when the sky darkens and the prospect is war
Who’s given a gun and then pushed to the fore
And expected to die for the land of our birth
Though we’ve never owned one lousy handful of earth?
[Chorus x3]
All of these things the worker has done
From tilling the fields to carrying the gun
We’ve been yoked to the plough since time first began
And always expected to carry the can
Whiskey in the Jar
As I was going over the far famed Kerry mountains
I met with Captain Farrell and his money he was counting
I first produced my pistol, and I then produced my rapier
Said stand and deliver, for he were a bold deceiver
(Chorus)
Musha ring dumma do damma da
Whack for the daddy ‘ol
Whack for the daddy ‘ol
There’s whiskey in the jar
I counted out his money, and it made a pretty penny
I put it in me pocket and I took it home to Jenny
She sighed and she swore that she never would deceive me
but the devil take the women, for they never can be easy
(Chorus)
I went into my chamber, all for to take a slumber
I dreamt of gold and jewels and for sure it was no wonder
But Jenny drew me charges and she filled them up with water
Then sent for Captain Farrell to be ready for the slaughter
(Chorus)
It was early in the morning, just before I rose to travel
Up comes a pack of footmen and likewise Captain Farrell
I first produced my pistol, for she stole away my rapier
But I couldn’t shoot the water so a prisoner I was taken
(Chorus)
Now some men take delight in the drinking and the roving
And others take delight in the hurley and the bowling
But I take delight in the juice of the barley,
And courting pretty fair maids in the morning bright and early
(Chorus)
If anyone can aid me, tis my brother in the army
If I can find his station, in Cork or in Killarney
And if he’ll go with me, we’ll go roving near Kilkenny
And I sure he’d treat me better than my own lass sporting Jenny
(Chorus)
It’ll Make You Slap Somebody…
now it needs a loud, annoying trance tune to go with it.
someday I might even figure out why I took the time…
right-click and click on “Play” to make it stop.
a random mammal
this little guy fell from a tree in our backyard, we brought him in thinking maybe he got hurt in the fall.
just sitting there:
I have her attention:
and now she’s screaming/growling at me (cute as hell, but I’m sure it’s very intimidating to other tiny mammals):
she’s starting sh*t with something 225 (rough guess) times her mass, I think she’ll be just fine.
after several calls a “qualified someone” was found and we left to deliver the animal, my daughter holding the cage.
and delivered her safe and sound. apparently there is at least one other squirrel in the “qualified someone”’s care, so she won’t be lonely.
I like happy endings.
Pagans…
The Pagan Hierarchy, version 5…
“Wiccans who Self-Initiated after Watching The Craft” only ever so slightly below “Crystal Healers”, but “Ayn Randroids” just above “Drunks” and “Stoners”.
I love it.
via seapagan.org
historical ignorance
I was watching family guy (I think) and dozed off, and when I woke up there was a stand up comedy show on. dave chappel I think, but one of his rants went on about george washington “writing the constitution”, so there’s me at some random time in the morning yelling at the tv about how madison wrote the constitution, and jefferson wrote the declaration of independance.
I hope nobody heard that.
flawed
we seemed to have been born knowing the dark underworld,
the slow moving current with vicious riptides and random whirlpools.
we know and see the grunting, seeking, pleading desperation of most who don’t, won’t, can’t see it in themselves.
but it’s not within us, never within us, cover that thought right up. stuff it into a canvas bag with a brick and let it sink.
standing still amid the flurry of activity, the currents of humanity, the unfocused river, wondering how in the hell someone can muster that level of frantic aimless energy when it’s all we can do to simply summon the will to create a reason to move.
yes, ms. shamaya, perfectly flawed…
