Lyr Req: Fleadh Ceol-boys (parody)

Subject: Lyr Req: Fleadh Ceol-boys (parody)
From: GUEST,essteess
Date: 23 Feb 07 - 03:57 PM

I've been looking for this I-can't-tell-you-how-long. Years ago, I heard Johnny Moynihan do a wonderful Irish traditional music take on the popular song, "Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys." The chorus for the parody goes:

Mamas, don't let your babies turn into fleadh ceol-boys
Don't let 'em bash bodhrans and sleep in their suits
Leave 'em play boxes, concertinas and flutes
Mamas, don't let your babies turn into fleadh ceol-boys
For they're always unconscious
Or apt to throw punches
Even at someone they lo-ove

Might anyone out there possibly have the lyrics to the whole thing?

Sean
[e-mail]

Subject: Lyr Add: FLEADH COWBOYS (Johnny Moynihan)
From: Declan
Date: 23 Feb 07 - 04:13 PM

I always heard this song as Fleadh Cowboys - which became the name of a band founded by Johnny and others and which was a big hit at "Midnight at the Olympia and other gigs around Dublin in the Mid 80s.

Lyrics went (something like)

FLEADH COWBOYS (Lyrics by Johnny Moynihan)

Mamas, don't let your babies turn into fleadh cowboys
Don't let 'em bash bodhrans and sleep in their suits
Leave 'em play boxes, concertinas and flutes
Mamas, don't let your babies turn into fleadh cowboys
They'll end up unconscious
Or start throwing punches
Even at someone they lo-ove

Fleadh Cowboys aren't easy to love, but they're easy to find,
You just follow the trail of old chip bags that they leave behind,
And you won't have gone far, til there in a bar,
You'll see a man with a glass in each hand
One eye out for the ride, singing Willie McBride,
I'm sorry but you've found your man

Mamas, don't let your babies turn into fleadh cowboys
Don't let 'em play guitars and chat up the Dutch
Leave 'em be pipers and fiddlers and such
Mamas, don't let your babies turn into fleadh cowboys
They're rowdy, they're thick, and they'll end up bein' sick
Even on someone they lo-ove

Fleadh Cowboys drink Colt 45, they love Smithwicks and Stout (Guinness no doubt)
And they love fancy shirts that they wear with the tails hangin' out
And you might as well love them, 'cause you won't escape them,
You might think that you've done so and then,
Singin' Waltzing Matilda with his arm around Brunhilde,
I'm sorry, but you've found him again

Mamas, don't let your babies turn into fleadh cowboys
Don't let 'em bash bodhrans and sleep in their suits
Leave 'em play boxes, concertinas and flutes
Mamas, don't let your babies turn into fleadh cowboys
They'll end up unconscious
Or "screaming yiz C*nts yiz"
Even at someone they lo-ove

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Fleadh Ceol-boys (parody)
From: GUEST,essteess
Date: 23 Feb 07 - 04:19 PM

Bless your heart, Declan -- that's one longstanding quest fulfilled!

Now all I've got left to do is solve world hunger, write the Great American Novel, and figure out where I put my wife's good shirt.

Thanks!