Lyr Add: The gentle cup of tea

Subject: Lyr Add: The gentle cup of tea
From: mayomick
Date: 15 Apr 16 - 06:30 AM

The Gentle Cup of Tea

Prate on about your wine , and your potin mighty fine
There's no such sup as mine from China to Bombay
And whether black or green or the divil-a-shade between
There's none that I have seen like the gentle cup of tea


Oh hear the kittle sing like the birds in early spring
a sup for any king is the darling on the tray
Old cronies dropping in , the fat ones and the thin
Their hearts I'll surely win with a gentle cup of tea

With whiskey stout galore how many heads grow sore
Shillelaghs by the score so manfully do play
For all their heathen ways , good luck on them Chinese
That send us oe'r the seas our gentle cup of tea

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The gentle cup of tea
From: mayomick
Date: 15 Apr 16 - 06:33 AM

It's in the Sam Henry book of Irish folk songs,   which I don't have to hand. A post from the tay-totaler MGM reminded me of the song . MGM pointed out that the words have to be adjusted to old Irish English pronunciation to make the song gintly roll and rhyme .
So tay for tea , kittle for kettle ,, whither for wether, gintle for gentle , sais for seas

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The gentle cup of tea
From: mayomick
Date: 15 Apr 16 - 06:35 AM

chinaise for chinese

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The gentle cup of tea
From: leeneia
Date: 15 Apr 16 - 10:45 AM

Thanks, Mayomick. That's very nice.

I have four recovering alcoholics among my friends and acquaintances, and I appreciate what the song has to say.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: The gentle cup of tea
From: mayomick
Date: 16 Apr 16 - 09:21 AM

It has nice tune to it as well , Leenia . Traditional music and singing in Ireland have become too associated with the consumption of alcohol. A cup of tea is a good herbal antidote .

Subject: Lyr Add: THE CUP O' TAY
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 18 Apr 16 - 09:12 PM

Here's how it appears in Sam Henry's Songs of the People, page 48:


THE CUP O' TAY
Source: (m) Sam Dunlop, fiddler (Upper Main St, Bushmills).

Och, prate about your wine, or poteen mighty fine
There's no such draught as mine from Ireland to Bombay
And whether black or green or divil-a-shade between
There's nothin' I have seen wid a gintale cup o' tay.

Whisht, hear the kettle sing like birds in early spring
A sup for any king is the darlin' on the tray
Ould cronies droppin' in, the fat ones and the thin
Since all their hearts I win wid a gintale cup o' tay.

Wid whiskey punch galore how many heads grow sore
Shillelaghs too a score most beautifully play
With all their haithin ways, good luck to them Chinaise
Who send us o'er the says such a gintale cup o' tay.