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"Wow, that rocks Phat"
Bubba Hernandez, Grammy-Winner with Brave Combo, Grammy Nominee with Polka Freak out and he played in The Simpsons
"Your new album is great, it is
the great album the world was waiting for!"
Gian Marco Pietrasanta, who wrote The Great Tune the World was waiting for!
Congrats on getting a Hole in 1 and double congratulations on spitting out all the words in The Ranter!
Chris Foster, from whom I learned The Ranter
"Great Ralf ,
One day we'll meet up and I'll do the
harmony with you !!!!!
My wife even liked what she heard - and she
is hard to please ."
Pete Betts, Writer of "They dont Write em´like That anymore"
"It is very good ! "
Rod Stradling, English Melodeon Guru
"Just listened to your CD tracks. British song with a subtle German influence sounds really good. I enjoyed it."
Ken of Ken`s Folk Page
Liedtitel für den Soundclip anklicken/ Click to listen
1. Grian Ri/ Dinky`s/ The South Shore
2. The Bedmaking
3. The Turfman FromArdee
4. Nelly, the Milkmaid
5. They don`t write ´em like that anymore
6. The Unfortunate Tailor (Feat. Dr. Ring Ding)
7. The Foxhunt
8. The Silver Wedding
9. The Wanton Seed
10. A Roving on a Winter`s Night
11. The Ranter
12. Great Tune the World was waiting for
The Bedmaking
Father he was a good old man
He put me to service when I was very young
My mistress and me we never could agree
Because that my master he would love me.
Well she sent me upstairs to the lof
To make up a bed so neat and soft
Master followed after with a gay gold ring
Saying "Betty have this for your bed making."
All through the kitchen and down through the hall
All through the parlour among the women all
Master followed after with a gay gold ring
Saying "Betty have this for your bed making."
Mistress come upstairs in a great haste
Caught the master there with his arm round my waist
From the top to the bottom stair she did him fling
Saying "Mister have that for your bedmaking."
All through the kitchen and down through the hall
All through the parlour among the women all
Everybody asked me wherever I had been
And they laughed when I said "At the bed making."
Mistress she flung me out of the door
She called me a nasty cheeky little whore
The weather being wet and my clothes being thin
How I wished I was back at the bed making.
Six month over and seven month
past
Pretty fair maid grew thick about the waist
Her stays wouldn't meet nor her pinafore pin
She cried when she thought of the bedmaking.
Eight month over and nine month gone
Pretty fair maid had a beautiful son
She's took him to the church she him christened John
And she took him back again to the dear old man.
She cursed him through the kitchen and down through the hall
Cursed him through the parlour among the women all
Saying "If you won't pay me, take your little son John
Cos he never cost you nothing but a bedmaking
The Turfman from Ardee
For the sake of health I took a walk One day at early
dawn.
I met a jolly turfman as I slowly jogged
along.
The kindest salutations passed between
himself and me
When first I got acquainted with the
turfman from Ardee.
We chatted very freely as we jogged along
the road.
Said he 'Me ass is tired, and I want to
sell my load,
For I've had no refreshment since I left
home you see,
I'm wearied out with traveling.' said the
Turfman from Ardee.
'Your cart is racked and worn, my friend,
your ass is very old,
It must be twenty summers since that animal
was foaled.'
'He was yoked in a trap when I was born,
September '83,
And he cantered for the midwife.' said
the Turfman from Ardee.
'I own my cart, it must be made of the
very best of wood.
I believe it was in use in the time of
Noah's flood,
The axle never wanted grease but one year
out of three.
It's a real old Carrick axle.' said the
Turfman from Ardee.
'I often do abuse the beast with this old
hazel rod,
Although I own I never did drive poor old
Jack unshod.
The harness now that's on his back was
made by John Magee
Who's dead these two and forty years.'
said the Turfman from Ardee.
We talked about our country's woes and
how we were repressed
The man we sent to Parliament to get our
wrongs redressed
'Sure all these politicians are nothing
else you see
but led by bloomin' humbug.' said the
Turfman from Ardee.
Just then I heard a female voice that I
knew very well,
Politely asking this old man his load of
turf to sell.
I shook that horny hand of his and bowed
respectfully,
In hopes to meet some future day the
Turfman from Ardee
| Nelly, The Milkmaid
Nellie was a milkmaid bonny, brisk and gay,
She always took delight with young Roger for to play.
One day she decided some pleasure for to take
And asked her missus leave for to go to the wake.
Nellie toraloo, Nellie toraloo,
Fair lovely
Nelly, to the wake she did go
"Nelly," said her
missus, "I'd have you to take care
And of that young Roger I'd have you to beware.
So Nellie, you may go but this promise you must make,
Don't frolic with young Roger coming home from the wake."
So dressed in her best,
young Nellie did repair
And as the expected young Roger he was there.
They danced and they sang, they had wine, beer and cake,
And many were the pleasures that they had at the wake.
The day being over, they
homeward went their way,
Until they had come to the new cocks of hay.
And Roger kissed young Nell and her promise she did break,
She froliced with young Roger coming home from the wake.
When seven months were over
and nine being come,
Young Nellie was the mother of a fine lovely son.
"I will call it," she said, "I will call it for his sake,
I'll call it young Roger coming home from the wake.
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THEY
DON'T WRITE 'EM LIKE THAT ANYMORE
('EE HOW WE COULD SING)
(words and music by Pete Betts)
Dad's drunk again and he's brought lots of men,
And their wives, home from the club,
There's a shortage of beer but you need have no fear ,
Bert's gone round the back door of the pub,
Someone's playing the piana as if using a sledge hammer,
Crucifying "There Goes My Heart",
Then a burst through the door - it's Bert and what's-more,
He's got the beer, so we're ready to start.
Chorus
'Ee how we could sing, what fun those nights would bring,
Singing for hours on end,
Once we'd found a key - oh! What harmony!
Those boozy voices could lend,
"Heart-of-my-Heart" just for a start,
Or "Walking My Baby Back Home".
When it comes to an end, it's -let's sing it again!,
They don't write 'em like that anymore
Our mam's in the kitchen trying to knock-up a snack,
From the chicken we had this afternoon,
Jack sez "where's the toilet" dad sez "down the back"
By the looks, not a minute too soon!
A laugh goes round the whole house, Jack fell in the coal-house,
Man! He's as drunk as a newt,
But with his face covered black, - he's not taken aback,
He sings "Mammy", and the rest follow suit.
Half past one in the morning, our dad's started yawning,
He's got to be working at six,
A bored audience is watching, while Kenny is botching,
And messing - up easy card tricks,
Still it's time to go now, and dad's got somehow,
To get them all to go home,
And when you're all full of beer, the last thing you'd want to hear,
Is, a tune on his paper and comb!
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The Unfortunate Tailor
Oh list, oh list to my
sorrowful lay
And attention give to my song I pray
When you have heard it, you will say
Is that I´m an unfortunate Tailor
He spent his money both fast
and free,
With his tales of the land and his songs from the sea
And he stole my Sarah's heart from me,
And he left me here to bewail her
Oh once I was as happy as a bird in a tree
My Sarah was all the world to me
Now I'm cut out by a son of the sea,
And she's left me here to bewail her
Avast" he cried,
"You land-lubber swab!
Without guessing my love in came that Cobb
" If you don't knock it off, I'll scuttle
your knob!"
And Sarah smiled at the sailor
Now my days were honey and my
nights were the same
Till a man called Cobb from the ocean came
Long grey beard and his mighty frame
Captain on board of a whaler
Ring Ding:
Bway what a shame when di
salorman come
Try hide fi yuh galfren
from dat son of a gun
Or him steal it away and gwain
leff yuh wid none
An' a laugh inna yuh face,
dat's how tings a run
Big bold bad man, him come
from abroad
Ya so pon shore leave, him a
enter fi yuh yard
Him tall and him strong and
yuh draw bad card
Den di going get tuff and di
times get hard
So yuh fe wise-up bway, and
listen to me
If yuh waan get yuh gal back
and done misery
Den forget about di needle and
di thread already
Get yuhself on a ship and a
travel di sea
So now I'll cross the raging sea
For Sarah's proved untrue to me
My heart's locked up and she's the key,
Such a very unfeeling gaoler
Oh why did my Sarah serve so?
No more will I stitch, no more will I sew
My thimble and my needle to the winds I'll throw
And I'll go and list for a sailor
So now, kind friends, I'll bid
you adieu
No more my woes'll trouble you
I'll travel the country through and through
And I'll go and list for a sailor
My Sarah was the Daughter of a
Publican
A generous kind good sort of
Man
Who spoke very plain, what he
thought of a man
And he never looked Crow at a
tailor.
Ring Ding:
Watch out, watch out fi di bad
pirate!
Watch out, watch out before it
is too late
Sailorman a trouble, misery
him create
So watch out fi di barnacle
when him pon di gate
Sailor a Rambo, sailor a
ruff
Sailor a strongman, sailor a
tuff
Sailor him greedy, him waan
everyting
And a tailor have nuttn but
sad songs fi sing
So all yute man, sey yuh betta
tek warn
Better find di right job, do
it good and den gwarn
B
ecome a sailorman, and get
data an' corn
And dis a di end a fi we
likkle yarn...
| The Foxhunt
Ye
gentlemen of high renown, come listen unto me
That takes delight in fox hunting by every degree
A story here I`ll tell to you, concerning of a fox
Near Royston Hills and mountains high and over stony rocks.
Bold
Reynard, being in his hole and hearing of these hounds
Which made him for to prick his ears and tread upon the ground
"Methinks me hears some jubal hounds pressing upon me life
Before that they to me shall come, I'll tread upon the ground"
We
hunted full four hours or more through parishes sixteen
We hunted full four hours or more and came by Parkworth Green
"Oh, if you'll only spare my life, I promise and fulfil
To touch no more your feathered fowl or lambs in yonder fold.
Bold
Reynard, beat and out of breath and dreading of these grounds
Thinking he must give up his life before these jubal hounds
"So here's adieu to ducks and geese, likewise to lambs also"
They've got poor Reynard by the brush and will not let them go.
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The Wanton Seed
Oh, As I walked out one morning fair,
To view the fields and to take the air,
Spied a young maid making her complaint
All that she wanted was the chiefest grain, the chiefest grain.
All she wanted was the chiefest grain.
I stepped up to this fair young maid
And unto her these words I said
I said, "My young maid, do you stand in need"
Of the grain that's called the wanton seed, oh, the wanton seed
A grain that's called the wanton seed
"Oh yes kind sir I stand in need,
Of a grain that's called the wanton seed
If you are the man that can do the deed
Come and sow my meadow with the wanton seed, the wanton seed,
Come and sow my meadow with the wanton seed."
So I sowed high and I sowed low
And it's under her apron the seed did grow
Grew up so neatly without any weed
She always commended me wanton seed, oh me wanton seed
She always commended me wanton seed.
Now when the fourty long weeks they were over and past
She came back to me with a slender waist
She came back to me and how she did complain
she wanted some more of my chiefest grain, oh my chiefest grain
she wanted some more of my chiefest grain.
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A Roving on a Winter`s Night
A-roving on a winter's night
And a-drinking good old wine
Thinking about that pretty little girl
She broke this heart of mine
She is just like a bud of rose
That blooms in the month of June
Or like some musical instrument
That's just been lately tuned
Well, perhaps it's a trip to some foreign land
A trip to France or Spain
But if I should go ten thousand miles
I'm coming home again
And it's who's gonna shoe your pretty little foot
And who's gonna glove your little hand
And who's gonna kiss your red ruby lips
Who's gonna be your man
I love you till the sea runs dry
And the rocks all melt with the sun
I love you till the day I die
Though you'll never be my own
A-roving on a winter's night
And a-drinking good old wine
Thinking about that pretty little girl
She broke this heart of mine
The Ranter
It's of a sly ranting parson, for preaching he
lived in great fame;
In the town of Rover did dwell, though I dare not to mention his name.
Likewise a jolly young farmer, a neighbour living close by;
Soon on the wife of the Farmer the Ranter he cast a quick eye.
While the Farmer was minding his business and
rose with the lark in the morning,
The Ranter was forming a plan how to crown the young Farmer with horns;
And he oft to the farmer's did go, to pray for the good of his soul,
But when you have heard of the joke, I warrant you'll say it was droll.
The Ranter if you had but seen you would think
he was free from evil;
As pure as snow-driven without, but within was as black as the Devil.
One day when the Farmer was out he said, "I will have my desire",
And straight to the house he did go and he sat himself down by the fire.
Then he said, "My good woman, I'm told
that your husband won't be home tonight;
I value not silver or gold if I could but enjoy my delight".
Then she replied with a smile, "My husband is gone for a week",
And little the Ranter did think how she meant to play him a trick.
When all things were silent at night, she
whispered these words in his ear:
"The best bed it stands in the parlour, and you must go to it my dear;
When you are safe up to bed, my dear, I will come with all speed."
"Alright", said the Ranter, "Make haste"; and so was the bargain
agreed
And the Ranter got into bed and he lay there as
snug as you please
And the lady went into the garden and fetched back a fine hive of bees.
And she carried them into the parlour and put them down slap on the floor;
So nimbly then she ran out and on him she lockèd the door
And the bees began buzzing about and the Ranter
he jumped on the floor,
So sweetly he capered and danced as they stung him behind and before;
And then he got out of the window, since no other way could he find;
His clothes he ne'er stopped for to take, but was glad for to leave them
behind.
All smarting and sore with the stings, he ran
home to his wife in his shirt,
Such a figure of fun for to see, all besmeared with mud and with dirt;
And the Farmer came home the next morning and after the truth had been told,
In one of the Ranter's side pockets found thirty bright guineas in gold.
And the Ranter got into disgrace and the farmer
he laughed at the joke,
To think how the Ranter would look without trousers, waistcoat or cloak.
The Ranter he frets and he pines all for the loss of his money;
The Farmer, though he lost his bees, thinks he is well paid for his honey.
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