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JOHNNY THE BRINE

Johnny raised one May morning
Called watter tae wash his hands
Crying gae loose tae me my twa greyhounds
They lie bound in iron bands, bands
They lie bound in iron bands

His auld mither she rung her hands -
Tae the greenwoods dinnae gang
It is for the sake o’ the venison
Tae the greenwoods dinnae gang, gang
Tae the greenwoods dinnae gang

But he’s gane up through Monymusk
And doon and through some scrogs
And there he spied a dun deer leap
She was lying in a bush o sprogs, sprogs
She was lying in a bush o sprogs

Noo the first arrow he fired at her
It struck her on the side
And a’tween the water and the wids
His greyhounds laid her pride, pride
His greyhounds laid her pride

Noo Johnny and his twa greyhounds
Drank sae muckle o’ the blood
That Johnny an his twa greyhounds
They fell sleeping in the wids, wids
They fell sleeping in the wids

Noo by came a silly auld man
And an ill death may he dee
For there he spied young Johnny the Brine
Lying sleeping aneath the tree, tree
Lying sleeping aneath the tree


He;s gane and telt the first forrester
And he telt what he did see, see
And he telt what he did see
If that is young Johnny the Brine
Ye'd best leave him a -be, a-be
Ye'd best leave him a -be

He went up and telt the seventh forester
He was Johnny's sister's son -
Gin yon be young Johnny the Brine
Tae the green wids we will gang, gang
Tae the green wids we will gang

Noo the first aye arrow they fired at him
It struck him on the feet
And the neist aye arrow they fired at him
For his hert's blude blint his ee, ee
For his hert's blude blint his ee

Well Johnny rose up wi’ a angry roar
For an angry man was he -
I‘ll kill a' you six foresters
And brak the seventh ane's back in three, three
And brak the seventh ane's back in three

He set his fit upon a stane
And his back against a tree
An he’s kilt a' the six foresters
And broke the seventh one's back in three, three
He broke the seventh one's back in three

He’s broken his back in three
And he broke his collar-bone
An he tied his body on his grey mare's back
For to carry the tidings home, home
For to carry the tidings home

Noo Johnny gaed ben tae a brook
And his gude greyhounds are gane
And his body lies in Monymusk
And his hunting days are dane, dane
And his hunting days are dane.


Norman Kennedy’s version of Jeannie Robertson’s version
@hunting @poaching @outlaw
Child #114
filename[ BRAIDSL3
TUNE FILE: BRAIDSLY
CLICK TO PLAY
SOF
Feb07

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