Lyrics and vocals: American singer-songwriter Bob Dylan(legally Robert Dylan & born Robert Allen Zimmerman).
The song raises a series of rhetorical questions asked regarding future Peace, War and Freedoms.
Blowin’ In The Wind
“Son of Man, thou dwellest in the midst of a rebellious house, which have eyes to see and see not; they have ears to hear and hear not”. [Ezekiel* Chapter 12: Verses 1–2; one of the major prophetical books of the Old Testament].
Ezekiel* The prophet Ezekiel, before his death around 570 BCE, prophesied the eventual restoration of the Jewish people back again to the land of Israel.
How many roads must a man walk down, Before you call him a man? How many seas must a white dove sail, Before she sleeps in the sand? Yes, and how many times must a cannonballs fly, Before they’re forever banned? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind, The answer is blowin’ in the wind. Yes, and how many years can a mountain exist, Before it is washed to the sea? Yea, and how many years can some people exist, Before they’re allowed to be free? Yes, and how many times can a man turn his head, And pretend that he just doesn’t see? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind, The answer is blowin’ in the wind. Yes, and how many times must a man look up, Before he can see the sky? And how many ears must one man have, Before he can hear people cry? Yes, and how many deaths will it take ’til he knows, That too many people have died? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind, The answer is blowin’ in the wind. END
Lyrics:American country music songwriter and recording artist Sonny Throckmorton and American songwriter and musician Casey Kelly. Vocals:American country music singer, songwriter, actor, and music producer George Strait.
The Cowboy Rides Away.
I knew the stakes were high right from the start, When she dealt the cards, I dealt my heart. Now I just found a game that I can’t play, And this is where the cowboy rides away. And my heart is sinking like the setting sun, Setting on the things I wish I’d done. It’s time to say goodbye to yesterday, This is where the cowboy rides away. We’ve been in and out of love and in-between, And now we play the final showdown scene, As the credits roll, a sad song starts to play, And this is where the cowboy rides away. And my heart is sinking like the setting sun, Setting on the things I wish I’d done. Oh, the last goodbye’s the hardest one to say, This is where the cowboy rides away. Oh, the last goodbye’s the hardest one to say, This is where the cowboy rides away.
Lyrics: Dublin born Irish writer, songwriter and singer the late Dominic Behan(1928–1989)[brother of Irish poet, short story writer, novelist and playwright, Brendan Behan] Vocals: Irish folk band ‘The Dubliners’ and Ronnie Drew.
Building Up and Tearing England Down.
I’ve won a hero’s name with McAlpine and Costain, With Fitz Patrick, Murphy Ash and the Wimpey’s gangs. I’ve been often on the road on me way to draw the dole, When there’s nothing left to do for Johnny Laing. And I used to think that God made the mixer, pick and hod, So that Paddy might no hell above the ground. I’ve had ganger’s big and tough, Tell me tear it all out rough, When you’re building up and tearing England down.
In a tunnel under ground, a young Limerick man was found, He was built into the new Victoria line. When the bonus gang had passed, sticking from a concrete cast, Was the face of little Charlie Joe Devine, And the ganger man McGurk said “big Paddy hates to work”, When the gas main blew and he flew off the ground. Oh they swore he said “Don’t slack! I’ll not be there until I’m back, Keep on building up and tearing England down!”
I was on the shuttering dam on the day that Jack McCann, Got the better of his stammer in a week. He fell from the shuttering dam, And that poor auld stuttering man, He was never ever more inclined to speak. And I saw auld Bald McCall, from the big flyover, fall, Into a concrete mixer spinning round. Though it wasn’t his intent he got a fine head of cement, When he was building up and tearing England down.
I remember ‘Carrier Jack’ with his hod upon his back, How he swore one day he’d set the world on fire. But his face they’ve never seen, Since his shovel it cut clean, Through the middle of the big high tension wire. Oh no more like Robin Hood when he roam through Cricklewood, Or danced around the pubs in Camden Town. Oh, but let no man complain, sure no Pat can die in vain, When he’s building up and tearing England down.
So come all you navvies bold, Do not think that English gold, Is just waiting to be taken from each sod. Or the likes of you and me will ever get an O.B.E., Or a Knighthood for good service to the hod. There’s a concrete master race for to keep you in your place, And a ganger man to kick you to the ground, If you ever try to take part of what the bosses make, When you’re building up and tearing England down.
Vocals and Lyrics: Country and Irish singer/entertainer; Banagher, County Offaly born Johnny McEvoy.
The beautiful song hereunder, “The Planter’s Daughter”, was written about Odette McEvoy, latter the authors wife, whom he met in 1967, before marrying in 1970. The song suggests that she was a descendant of 12th century planters; following the Anglo-Norman invasion of Ireland, “Strongbow’s (Richard de Clare) blood ran in your veins”.
The Planters Daughter.
March winds were blowing when we met. A moment in time we won’t forget. Rain drops were falling at your feet, Reflecting your beauty on the street. Grafton Street was empty of all charm. You reached out and took me by the arm. I’ve never felt as good as I felt then, And I knew I’d never be the same again. Down where the old churchyard lies, Under the grey midland skies, Tumbled down and broken. Who’d say it’s not right, Our ancestors might, But I’ll always love the planter’s daughter. Strongbow’s blood ran in your veins. Of myself, I couldn’t say the same, But somehow it seemed to be OK, And it didn’t really matter anyway. Were I to live a thousand years, Or hear the angels whisper in my ears, And sit and watch the sunlight fade away, I never will forget that one spring day . Down where the old churchyard lies, Under the grey midland skies, Tumbled down and broken, Who’d say it’s not right, Our ancestors might, But I’ll always love the planter’s daughter. Down where the old churchyard lies, Under the grey midland skies, Tumbled down and broken, Who’d say it’s not right, Our ancestors might But I’ll always love the planter’s daughter.
Lyrics: Singer/song-writer from Grimsby, east coast of United Kingdom, John Conolly. Vocals: Folk singers and traditional Celtic musicians ‘The New Barleycorn’, (John Delaney and Alec DeGabriele).
Fiddler’s Green.
As I walked by the dockside one evening so fair, To view the salt water and take the sea air, I heard an old fisherman singing his song, Sing take me away boys, me time is not long.
Chorus: Wrap me up in me oilskins and jumpers, No more on round docks I’ll be seen, Just tell me old shipmates I’m taking a trip mates, And I’ll see you someday in Fiddler’s Green,*
Now Fiddler’s Green is a place I’ve heard tell, Where fishermen go if they don’t go to hell, Where the skies are all clear and the dolphins do play, And the cold coast of Greenland is far, far away.
Repeat Chorus: When you land on the docks and the long trip is through, There’s pubs and there’s clubs and there’s lassies there too, Where the girls are all pretty and the beer it is free, And there’s bottles of rum hanging from every tree.
Repeat Chorus: Now I don’t want a harp nor a halo, not me, Just give me a breeze and a dark rolling sea, And I’ll play me old squeeze-box, as we sail along, With the wind in the riggin’ to sing me a song.
Chorus: Wrap me up in me oilskins and jumpers No more round the docks I’ll be seen Just tell me old shipmates I’m taking a trip mates And I’ll see you someday in Fiddler’s Green Just tell me old shipmates I’m taking a trip mates And I’ll see you someday in Fiddler’s Green.
END
* Note:Legend has it that Fiddler’s Green refers to the afterlife.
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