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23 Feb 07 - 03:57 PM (#1977298) Subject: Lyr Req: Fleadh Ceol-boys (parody) From: GUEST,essteess 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 linwood17@hotmail.com |
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23 Feb 07 - 04:13 PM (#1977314) Subject: Lyr Add: FLEADH COWBOYS (Johnny Moynihan) From: Declan 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 |
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23 Feb 07 - 04:19 PM (#1977322) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Fleadh Ceol-boys (parody) From: GUEST,essteess 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! |