Spanish is the Loving Tongue

Lyrics:
[E] Spanish is the [A] loving [E] tongue

Soft as music, [F#m] light as [B7]spray

‘Twas a [E]girl I [A] learned it [E] from

Living down [B7] Sonora [E] way

[A] I don’t [G#m] look much [A] like a [E] lover

Still I hear those [F#m] love words [B7] over

[E] Mostly when I’m [A] all [E] alone!

Mi amor, Mi [B7] cora – [E]z�n

On the nights that I would ride
She would listen for my spurs,
Throw that big door open wide,
Raise those laughing eyes of hers.

Oh, how the hours would go a-flyin!
All too soon I’d hear her sighin’
In her sweet and quiet tone
‘Mi amor, mi corazon.’

But I had to fly one time
All ’cause of a stupid gamblin’ fight,
And so we said a swift goodbye
On that dark, unlucky night.

How oftentimes to me she’s clingin’
And in my ears the hoofsbeats ringin’,
As I galloped north alone
‘Adios, mi corazon.’

Haven’t seen her since that night,
I can’t cross the line, you know.
She was Mex and I was white;
Like as not it’s better so.

Still I’ve always kind of missed her
Since that last wild night I kissed her;
I broke her heart, lost my own
‘Adios, mi corazon.’

Waltzing Matilda

Waltzing Matilda is an Australian icon. It is quite likely that more Australians know the words to this song than the national anthem. There is probably no other song that is more easily recognised by a populace: young or old: ocker or a newly arrived immigrant.
Lyrics:
[G] Once a jolly [D] swagman [Em] camped by a [C] billabong,

[G] Under the [Em] shade of a [Am] coolibah [D] tree,

[G] And he sang as he [D] watched and [Em] waited ’til his [C] billy boiled

[G] ‘Who’ll come [Em] a-waltzing, [Am] Ma- [D]tilda, with [G] me?’

[G] Waltzing [Em] Matilda, [C] Waltzing [Am] Matilda

[G] Who’ll come [Em] a-waltzing, [Am] Matilda, with [D] me

[G] And he sang as he [D] watched and [Em] waited ’til his [C] billy boiled,

[G] ‘Who’ll come [Em] a-waltzing, [Am] Ma- [D]tilda, with [G] me?’

Swagman – a drifter, a hobo, an itinerant shearer who carried all his belongings wrapped up in a blanket or cloth called a swag.

Billabong – a waterhole near a river

Coolibah – a eucalyptus tree

Billy- a tin can with a wire handle used to boil water in

Along came a jumbuck to drink at the billabong,

Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,

And he sang as he stowed that jumbuck in his tucker bag,

‘You’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me’.

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda

Who’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me

And he sang as he watched and waited ’til his billy boiled,

‘Who’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me?’.

Jumbuck – a sheep

Tucker Bag – a bag for keeping food in

Up rode the squatter, mounted on his thoroughbred,

Down came the troopers, one, two, three,

‘Whose is that jumbuck you’ve got in your tucker bag?’

‘You’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me’.

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda

Who’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me

And he sang as he watched and waited ’til his billy boiled,

‘Who’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me?’.

Squatter – a wealthy landowner.

Trooper – a policeman, a mounted militia-man.

Up jumped the swagman, leapt into the billabong,

‘You’ll never catch me alive,’ said he,

And his ghost may be heard as you pass by the billabong,

‘Who’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me’.

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda

Who’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me

And he sang as he watched and waited ’til his billy boiled,

‘Who’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me?’

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

Merry Christmas 2001

And A Peaceful New Year!

(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Lyrics:
[D] I heard the bells on [A] Christmas day

[D] Their old familiar [A] carols play,

[D] And wild and sweet the [Bm] words [G] repeat

[D] Of peace on earth, good [A] will to [D] men.

I thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along th’ unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head

‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said,

‘For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men.’

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

‘God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on earth, good will to men.’

Till ringing, singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Battle Hymn of the Republic

In October of 2000, Camilla and I were on a tour, driving up the East Coast. We stopped in Beaufort, South Carolina because that was where she was born. Camilla went for a walk down a tree lined street in her old hometown and found herself at the church where her mother had been baptized. It was a sentimental time for her, because her mother had just passed away a few months earlier. In the church, she picked up a hymnal. As she was browsing through it, the pastor walked in. She told him about being born there, and that his was the church which her mother had attended. He graciously gave her the hymnal as a remembrance of her mother and Beaufort. After the September 11, 2001 disaster, I was looking for a song that would fit the feeling in America. Camilla picked up the hymnal and found this. The arrangement with the contrapuntal background parts is one that she remembers from her youth. We recorded this in Dublin, Ohio on Camilla’s 50th birthday, with our friend Bill Lee on background vocals.
Lyrics:
[C] Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord
He is [F maj7] trampling out the vintage where the [C] grapes of wrath are stored,
He has loosed the fateful [Am] lightening of His [C] terrible swift [F maj7] sword
His [Dm] truth is [G7] marching [C] on.

cho: [C] Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
[F maj7] Glory! Glory! [C] Hallelujah!
Glory! [Am] Glory! Hallelu [C] [F maj7] jah!
His [Dm] truth is [G7] marching [C] on.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps
l can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps
His day is marching on.

cho:

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.

cho:

ln the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.

America For Me

I first came across this poem in 1981, in San Francisco at my sister-in-law’s house. My wife Camilla was looking through a poetry book that she’d owned in high school, and said, ‘wouldn’t this make a great song?’ I got out my 12-string guitar and made up a melody on the spot. ‘America For Me’ was written by Henry Van Dyke. Born November 10, 1852, in Germantown, Pennsylvania, and educated in theology at Brooklyn Polytechnic, Princeton, and Berlin, Henry Van Dyke worked twenty years as a minister, first in Newport, Rhode Island, from 1879 to 1883 and next in New York until 1899. His Christmas sermons, his essays, and his short stories made him a popular writer. His poems reveal a classical education as well as a common touch in matters of faith. He became Professor of English Literature at Princeton in 1900. During World War I he acted as American Minister to the Netherlands (1913- 1916) and then naval chaplain, for which he was awarded the Legion of Honor. He died April 10, 1933.

I respectfully submit this song for the Folk Den, in honor of all Americans, in the face of this great tragedy.

Lyrics:
[Am] ‘Tis fine to see the [D] Old World, and [G] travel up and [Em] down

Among the famous [C] palaces and [D] cities of [G] renown

To [Am] admire the crumbly [D] castles and the [G] statues of the [Em] kings, —

But [C] now I think I’ve had enough of [D] antiquated [D] things.

So it’s [Am] home again, and home [D] again, [G] America for [Em] me!

My [C] heart is turning [D] home again, and there I long to [G] be

In the [Am] land of youth and [D] freedom [G] beyond the ocean [Em] bars

Where the [C] air is full of [D] sunlight and the flag is full of [G] stars!

Oh London is a man’s town, there’s power in the air

And Paris is a woman’s town, with flowers in her hair;

And it’s sweet to dream in Venice, and it’s great to study Rome;

But when it comes to living there is no place like home.

I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled

I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled;

But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day

In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her way!

I know that Europe’s wonderful, yet something seems to lack:

The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.

But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free, —

We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.

Oh, it’s home again, and home again, America for me!

I want a ship that’s westward bound to plough the rolling sea,

To the blessed Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars,

Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars!

~Words by Henry Van Dyke / Music by Roger McGuinn~

� 1981 McGuinn Music / Roger McGuinn

Streets of Laredo

Laredo.jpg

The first time I heard this song, I was six years old, living in Tarrytown New York. My parents had an old friend named Jack Morris who had just gotten remarried, and they were coming over for dinner that night. Jack's new wife was pretty, with long black hair. She played guitar and sang. Her name was Ruby Norris-Morris.

Ruby noticed that I was into cowboys from the way I was dressed and all the cowboy paraphernalia in my room. She asked if I'd like to hear a real cowboy song. 'Yes,' I said, not knowing quite what to expect. By the time she got to the second verse, a lump the size of an apple formed in my throat and I began to cry. It was such a beautiful melody and the story was so sad.

I recorded this in Sundance Utah, at the famous Robert Redford multi-purpose facility, on our way to Salt Lake City for a concert.

Lyrics:
E A E B7
As I walked out on the streets of Laredo,

E A E B7
As I walked out in Laredo one day,
E A B7 E
I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen
E A B7 E
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.

'I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy'
These words he did say as I boldly stepped by,
'Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story,
I was shot in the breast and I know I must die.'

'Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin,
Get six pretty maidens to sing me a love song
Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o'er me
For I'm a poor cowboy and I know I've done wrong.'

'It was once in the saddle I used to go dashing
Once in the saddle I used to go gay,
First down to the dram-house and then to the card house
Got shot in the breast, I am dying today.'

We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly,
And bitterly wept as we bore him along,
For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young and handsome,
We all loved our comrade although he'd done wrong.

Bring Me a Little Water, Sylvie

While traveling on the Judy Collins Wildflowers Festival Tour, I had a few days off and decided to spend it in Bucks County PA with friends, John and Mary Ann Davis. It was there that I recorded Lead Belly’s ‘Bring Me Little Water Sylvie.’ John accompainied me on bass and the old blues singer Rusty James (AKA Leon Redbone) stopped by to add a low vocal soul.
Lyrics:
D
Bring me little water Sylvie
A
Bring me little water now
D G
Bring me little water Sylvie
A D
Every little once in a while

Don’t you hear me calling Sylvie?

Don’t you hear me calling now?

Don’t you hear me calling Sylvie?

Every little once in a while

Getting’ mighty thirsty Sylvie

Getting’ mighty thirsty now

Getting’ mighty thirsty Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Bring me little water Sylvie

Bring me little water now

Bring me little water Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Can’t you hear me Sylvie?

Can’t you hear me now?

Can’t you hear me Sylvie?

Every little once in a while

Getting’ hot and thirsty Sylvie

Getting’ hot and thirsty now

Getting’ hot and thirsty Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Bring me little water Sylvie

Bring me little water now

Bring me little water Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Bring me little water Sylvie

Bring me little water now

Bring me little water Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Bring me little water Sylvie

Bring me little water now

Bring me little water Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Can’t you hear me calling Sylvie?

Can’t you hear me calling now?

Can’t you hear me calling Sylvie?

Every little once in a while

Nancy Whiskey

Lyrics:
[G] I am a [Em] weaver, a [C] Calton [D] weaver

[G] I am a [Em] brash and a [C] roving [D] blade

[G] I’ve got [Em] silver [C] in my [D] pouches

[G] And I [Em] follow a [C] roving [D] trade

[G] Whiskey, [Em] whiskey, [C] Nancy [Em] whiskey

[G] Whiskey, [Em] whiskey, [C] Nancy [D] O

[G] Beware of [Em] Whiskey, [C] Nancy [D] Whiskey

[G] Or you’ll [Em] have no [C] thing to [D] show

As I walked into Glasgow city
Nancy Whiskey I chanced to smell
I walked in, sat down beside her
Seven long years I loved her well

The more I kissed her, the more I loved her
The more I kissed her, the more she smiled
I forgot my mother’s teaching
Nancy soon had me beguiled

Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy whiskey
Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy O
Beware of Whiskey, Nancy Whiskey
Or you’ll have no thing to show

I woke early in the mornin’
To take a drink it was my need,
I tried to rise but was not able
Nancy had me by the heid.

Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy whiskey
Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy O
Beware of Whiskey, Nancy Whiskey
Or you’ll have no thing to show

Water is Wide, The

Water.jpg

I remember going to see Pete Seeger in concert at Orchestra Hall in Chicago many times in my teen years. His 12-string guitar was always tuned down so that the bass notes were big and round, filling the hall as would a string quartet. His voice was clear, full of emotion and youthful exuberance. That was the first time I heard The Water Is Wide. Now I'm on concert tour in England. I decided to recorded this song live at the Jazz Café in London.
Lyrics:
D

The water is wide

G D

I cannot cross over

Bm

And neither have

A7

I wings to fly

D F#m

Build me a boat

G

That will carry two

A7

And both shall roam

D

My Love and I

A ship there is

And she sails the sea

Sailing as deep

As deep can be

But not so deep

As the love I'm in

And I know not

How I sink or swim

I leaned my back

Against some young oak

Thinking she was

A trusty tree

But first she bent

And then she broke

And thus did my

False love to me

The water is wide

I cannot cross over

And neither have

I wings to fly

Build me aboat

That will carry two

And both shall roam

My Love and I

House of the Rising Sun, The

Camilla and I are on a world tour. We stopped in France to do an interview with our friend, the famous screenwriter Jean-Marc Vasseur. While at his lovely home in Boissy Les Perche, we recorded this version of one of his favorite traditional songs, ‘House of the Rising Sun.’
Lyrics:
Em G Am C

There is a house in New Orleans

Em D B7

They call the Rising Sun

Em G Am C

It’s been the ruin of many poor boy

Em B7 Em

And me oh Lord am one

My mother is a tailor

She sews them new blue jeans

My father is a gambling man

Down in New Orleans

The only time I seen him

With his suitcase and his trunk

The only time he’s satisfied

Is when he’s on a drunk

Go tell my baby sister

Not to do what I have done

But to shun that house in New Orleans

They call the Rising Sun

There is a house in New Orleans

They call the Rising Sun

It’s been the ruin of many poor boy

And me oh Lord am one