Lyrics & Knowledge Personal Pages Record Shop Auction Links Radio & Media Kids Membership Help
The Mudcat Cafemuddy

Post to this Thread - Sort Descending - Printer Friendly - Home

Lyr Req: Bogholes of Beenvane (Miko Guthrie)

Jim Carroll 06 Aug 14 - 03:08 AM
GUEST 19 Aug 14 - 02:26 PM
Share Thread
Lyrics & Knowledge Search [Advanced]
DT  Forum
Sort (Forum) by:relevance date
DT Lyrics:

From: Jim Carroll
Date: 06 Aug 14 - 03:08 AM

I've just had a query from a friend and I wonder if anybody can help.
She's looking for the words of a song local to the Cooraclare area of South West Clare entitled 'The Bogholes of Beenvane'.
It was sung by local man Micho Guthrie, who died in 1981 - he sang it to the Rocks of Bawn' tune.
The Local bar is having an evening dedicated to Micho and one of his family would like to sing the song for the evening - she can only remember a couple of verses of it.
Micho also sang a song entitles The Hillside of Beenvane (below) - different one altogether.
I'd appreciate any help.
Jim Carroll


Oh! my back it breaks, God I think 'twill break,
On that hillside here in Beenvane.
I'll have nothing to eat until half past eight,
When she'll come with a cruiscín lán
Of fresh goat's milk and a few big spuds,
Which she boiled in the cracked corcán.

Oh! the keep is as tough as an old puck's hide,
And the palms of my hands are red.
This is my tenth day here on the hill,
And the spade is as heavy as lead.
But its bound to lighten as time goes on.
I've a lot to do, I've to sow for Tim Pat
Who gave me this plot,
And to sow for his brothers too.

That's my houseen down there in the bog,
I built it out of an old ruin.
It isn't great but it shelters myself,
My wife and our three gorsoons,
I got a site on the plot from old Tim Pat
On my wedding day,
On conditions that I would do his work,
For three years without pay.

Oh! the times are tough and the going is rough,
But God knows I shouldn't moan.
We have our health which is worth countless wealth,
And my plot of ground I've sown.
We've turf in the bog which makes a good fire,
And two goats to give us milk.
And I wouldn't exchange my darling wife,
For a lady in satin or silk.

And when the day's time is over,
And when our time is free,
Mary and myself will sit by the fire,
With our children round our knee.
And she'll take down her old Dad's fiddle,
And I'll get my feadóigín stáin
And the lovely music will ring out,
O'er the hillside of Beenvane.

And when 'tis time to retire,
We'll all kneel down and pray,
And we'll say a prayer for the homeless ones,
Who roam the road today.
That God my keep their stomachs filled,
And give them a place to stay,
Until the cowardly landlord sees,
The error of his ways.

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate

Date: 19 Aug 14 - 02:26 PM

Yerrah! come here 'till I give ye a blast of a song,
'Tis only a few verses, it won't keep you long
Concerning poor Tomo who lived around here,
And his adventures one evening when tanked up with beer.

With me whack for the iraldi,
Foll de dall di.

Now poor Tom was a tailor who lived around Moy,
Made many a good suit for man and for boy.
He never invested in matrimony,
But he liked his women and his odd bit of a spree.

Yerrah! When he'd stroll into town on a cattle-fair day,
'Tis into the boozers he'd casually stray.
And then feeling frisky from whiskey and wine,
A hot bit of woman he'd be out for to find.

One evening when coming from Miltown Malbay,
A fine tinker lassie sat on the highway.
She sat on a cushion with her leg on her knee,
As fine a bit of leg as he ever did see.

He approached her and said "Miss, with me will you walk?
I'll give you two quid and we'll have a little talk.
After that we'll stroll down yonder boreen,
And we'll roll in the grass where we'll never be seen".

Oh! she lept like a cat from the side of the bed,
And she let out a screech that would waken the dead.
Saying "You bloody ould scratchda if you don't let me pass,
I'll give you a kick that will break your ould ass.

"For I'm a poor girl and haven't a lot,
But I'm bloody well able to mind what I've got,
And one old man being for me quite enough;
So take to your scraper for you'll get it rough."

Oh! a blast of a whistle she blew on the spot,
For her husband way down the road mending a pot.
Out of the ould tailor the wits she did scare,
And he took to his heels like a mountainy hare.

But he didn't get far, the bloody ould clown,
The buck tinker caught up and soon knocked him down.
And he swore at him for trying to seduce his wife,
And if he didn't fork out twenty quid he'd take his sweet life.

So the ould tailor had to fork out a twenty pound note,
And to swear to the tinker on his solemn oath,
That no matter how often he came out or went in,
He'd never again commit such a terrible sin.

So boys there's a moral in that little tale,
Don't ever get too frisky when tanked up with ale
And always to the ladies do try to be good, -
Be they tinker or tailor - when they're not in the mood!

Post - Top - Home - Printer Friendly - Translate
  Share Thread:

Reply to Thread
Subject:  Help
Preview   Automatic Linebreaks   Make a link ("blue clicky")

Mudcat time: 18 September 11:28 AM EDT

[ Home ]

All original material is copyright © 1998 by the Mudcat Café Music Foundation, Inc. All photos, music, images, etc. are copyright © by their rightful owners. Every effort is taken to attribute appropriate copyright to images, content, music, etc. We are not a copyright resource.