After the fiascos of yesterday and the rising from almost oblivion by Kevenge Rudd, we were treated to an all-day-athon by the ABC focused upon their main sponsor and supplier of staff, The Federal Labour Party.
But we were given some relief late in the day by some wandering minstrels. So the Music room crowded with folk thirsty for some quality. And did we get it in buckets.
Lessons aplently too for people like Ju-liar and the unintelligible Rudd, whose convoluted gibberish is going to be assailing us in Oz for the next few months. His cant is something to behold. NOT
So he and Julia can harp and carp over the hills helped on their way by some steely-eyed people, who warn the glib of what happens when they go off with the faeries. Oh, and some advice about work skills that need keeping up. Julia will no doubt go back to
Even Mark Latham dropped in for the music. The ructions in the Labour Party were music to his ears.
FORMER Labor leader Mark Latham has likened Kevin Rudd to a rat and a "snake in the pit" for ousting Julia Gillard from The Lodge.
Mr Latham, who lost the ALP leadership in 2005, described Mr Rudd's win over Ms Gillard in Wednesday's leadership ballot as the victory of a saboteur.
He said
the message Mr Rudd was sending to Australia's youth was
"to stab people in the back".
"It's to be a rat and a snake in the pit - that's the message that Kevin Rudd sends," Mr Latham told Fairfax radio.
He said Labor has "lost all sense of any moral perspective on how to conduct themselves".
"It's to leak to Laurie Oakes without having the guts to put your name to your words, it's to destabilise, it's to go behind people's backs."
Mr Latham said he doubted Mr Rudd had changed since being toppled as prime minister in 2010.
"Does it look like he's changed? All those lies about his intentions, all those lies about not wanting to challenge again," Mr Latham said.
"The saboteur of 2010 is now the leader of the 2013 election campaign."
But before we burst into song, you might ask just how it is that such clearly nasty, thick, lying people ever get into parliament. And always on the Labour side. Well, people vote for them. The 'working class' people some say. Here is one though that doesn't vote labour even though looks like your typical bogan. One of Julia's crowd. The problem though is he doesn't vote against them either. Julia's and Kevin's real crowd are the lefty uni educated lawyers.
Introducing the Fat Aussie Baaarstard. Close your ears when the language gets too ripe !
FAB is welcome in the Tavern as long as he dresses properly !
Now, Sing along. To the music, that is. The words are below. Well, the original words in full although adapted and shortened a little for the songs. These are from old English & Scottish poems. The 'changes' that were rife at the time were reflected in song.
Oh, and more songs below the words, too. !!
STEELEYE SPAN
Maddy
Prior (vocals)
Rick Kemp (bass, vocals, guitar)
Peter Knight (organ, mandolin, octave
violin, violin, electric violin, vocals,
piano)
Bob Johnson (acoustic guitar, electric guitar, vocals)
Liam Genockey (drums, cymbals)
The Weaver And The Factory
Maid :
When I was a tailor I carried
my bodkin and shears
When I was a weaver I carried my roods and my gear
My temples also, my small clothes and reed in my hand
And wherever I go, here's the jolly bold weaver again
I'm a hand weaver to my trade
I fell in love with a factory maid
And if I could but her favour win
I'd stand beside her and weave by steam
My father to me scornful said
How could you fancy a factory maid
When you could have girls fine and gay
Dressed like unto the Queen of May
As for your fine girls I don't care
If I could but enjoy my dear
I'd stand in the factory all the day
And she and I'd keep our shuttles in play
I went to my love's bedroom door
Where often times I had been before
But I could not speak nor yet get in
The pleasant bed that my love laid in
How can you say it's a pleasant bed
Where nowt lies there but a factory maid?
A factory lass although she be
Blest in the man that enjoys she
O pleasant thoughts come to my mind
As I turn doen the sheets so fine
And I seen her two breasts standing so
Like two white hills all covered with snow
The loom goes click and the loom goes clack
The shuttle flies forward and then flies back
The weaver's so bent that he's like to crack
Such a wearisome trade is the weaver's
The yarn is made into cloth at last
The ends of west they are made quite fast
The weaver's labour are now all past
Such a wearisome trade is the weaver's
Where are the girls I will tell you plain
The girls have gone to weave by steam
And if you'd find them you must rise at dawn
And trudge to the mill in the early morn
When I was a tailor I carried my bodkin and shears
When I was a weaver I carried my roods and my gear
My temples also, my small clothes and reed in my hand
And wherever I go, here's the jolly bold weaver again
When I was a weaver I carried my roods and my gear
My temples also, my small clothes and reed in my hand
And wherever I go, here's the jolly bold weaver again
I'm a hand weaver to my trade
I fell in love with a factory maid
And if I could but her favour win
I'd stand beside her and weave by steam
My father to me scornful said
How could you fancy a factory maid
When you could have girls fine and gay
Dressed like unto the Queen of May
As for your fine girls I don't care
If I could but enjoy my dear
I'd stand in the factory all the day
And she and I'd keep our shuttles in play
I went to my love's bedroom door
Where often times I had been before
But I could not speak nor yet get in
The pleasant bed that my love laid in
How can you say it's a pleasant bed
Where nowt lies there but a factory maid?
A factory lass although she be
Blest in the man that enjoys she
O pleasant thoughts come to my mind
As I turn doen the sheets so fine
And I seen her two breasts standing so
Like two white hills all covered with snow
The loom goes click and the loom goes clack
The shuttle flies forward and then flies back
The weaver's so bent that he's like to crack
Such a wearisome trade is the weaver's
The yarn is made into cloth at last
The ends of west they are made quite fast
The weaver's labour are now all past
Such a wearisome trade is the weaver's
Where are the girls I will tell you plain
The girls have gone to weave by steam
And if you'd find them you must rise at dawn
And trudge to the mill in the early morn
When I was a tailor I carried my bodkin and shears
When I was a weaver I carried my roods and my gear
My temples also, my small clothes and reed in my hand
And wherever I go, here's the jolly bold weaver again
When I was a tailor I carried my bodkin and shears
When I was a weaver I carried my roods and my gear
My temples also, my small clothes and reed in my hand
And wherever I go, here's the jolly bold weaver again
I'm a hand weaver to my trade
I fell in love with a factory maid
And if I could but her favour win
I'd stand beside her and weave by steam
My father to me scornful said
How could you fancy a factory maid
When you could have girls fine and gay
Dressed like unto the Queen of May
As for your fine girls I don't care
If I could but enjoy my dear
I'd stand in the factory all the day
And she and I'd keep our shuttles in play
I went to my love's bedroom door
Where often times I had been before
But I could not speak nor yet get in
The pleasant bed that my love laid in
How can you say it's a pleasant bed
Where nowt lies there but a factory maid?
A factory lass although she be
Blest in the man that enjoys she
O pleasant thoughts come to my mind
As I turn doen the sheets so fine
And I seen her two breasts standing so
Like two white hills all covered with snow
The loom goes click and the loom goes clack
The shuttle flies forward and then flies back
The weaver's so bent that he's like to crack
Such a wearisome trade is the weaver's
The yarn is made into cloth at last
The ends of west they are made quite fast
The weaver's labour are now all past
Such a wearisome trade is the weaver's
Where are the girls I will tell you plain
The girls have gone to weave by steam
And if you'd find them you must rise at dawn
And trudge to the mill in the early morn
When I was a tailor I carried my bodkin and shears
When I was a weaver I carried my roods and my gear
My temples also, my small clothes and reed in my hand
And wherever I go, here's the jolly bold weaver again
When I was a weaver I carried my roods and my gear
My temples also, my small clothes and reed in my hand
And wherever I go, here's the jolly bold weaver again
I'm a hand weaver to my trade
I fell in love with a factory maid
And if I could but her favour win
I'd stand beside her and weave by steam
My father to me scornful said
How could you fancy a factory maid
When you could have girls fine and gay
Dressed like unto the Queen of May
As for your fine girls I don't care
If I could but enjoy my dear
I'd stand in the factory all the day
And she and I'd keep our shuttles in play
I went to my love's bedroom door
Where often times I had been before
But I could not speak nor yet get in
The pleasant bed that my love laid in
How can you say it's a pleasant bed
Where nowt lies there but a factory maid?
A factory lass although she be
Blest in the man that enjoys she
O pleasant thoughts come to my mind
As I turn doen the sheets so fine
And I seen her two breasts standing so
Like two white hills all covered with snow
The loom goes click and the loom goes clack
The shuttle flies forward and then flies back
The weaver's so bent that he's like to crack
Such a wearisome trade is the weaver's
The yarn is made into cloth at last
The ends of west they are made quite fast
The weaver's labour are now all past
Such a wearisome trade is the weaver's
Where are the girls I will tell you plain
The girls have gone to weave by steam
And if you'd find them you must rise at dawn
And trudge to the mill in the early morn
When I was a tailor I carried my bodkin and shears
When I was a weaver I carried my roods and my gear
My temples also, my small clothes and reed in my hand
And wherever I go, here's the jolly bold weaver again
Thomas the Rhymer
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TRUE Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
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A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e;
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And there he saw a ladye bright
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Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.
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Her skirt was o' the grass-green silk,
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Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;
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At ilka tett o' her horse's mane,
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Hung fifty siller bells and nine.
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True Thomas he pu'd aff his cap,
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And louted low down on his knee
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'Hail to thee Mary, Queen of Heaven!
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For thy peer on earth could never be.'
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'O no, O no, Thomas' she said,
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'That name does not belang to me;
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I'm but the Queen o' fair Elfland,
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That am hither come to visit thee.
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'Harp and carp, Thomas,' she said;
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'Harp and carp along wi' me;
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And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
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Sure of your bodie I will be.'
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'Betide me weal; betide me woe,
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That weird shall never daunten me.'
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Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips,
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All underneath the Eildon Tree.
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'Now ye maun go wi' me,' she said,
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'True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me;
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And ye maun serve me seven years,
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Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be.'
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She 's mounted on her milk-white steed,
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She 's ta'en true Thomas up behind;
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And aye, whene'er her bridle rang,
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The steed gaed swifter than the wind.
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O they rade on, and farther on,
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The steed gaed swifter than the wind;
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Until they reach'd a desert wide,
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And living land was left behind.
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'Light down, light down now, true Thomas,
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And lean your head upon my knee;
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Abide ye there a little space,
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And I will show you ferlies three.
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'O see ye not yon narrow road,
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So thick beset wi' thorns and briers?
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That is the Path of Righteousness,
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Though after it but few inquires.
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'And see ye not yon braid, braid road,
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That lies across the lily leven?
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That is the Path of Wickedness,
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Though some call it the Road to Heaven.
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'And see ye not yon bonny road
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That winds about the fernie brae?
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That is the Road to fair Elfland,
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Where thou and I this night maun gae.
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'But, Thomas, ye sall haud your tongue,
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Whatever ye may hear or see;
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For speak ye word in Elfyn-land,
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Ye'll ne'er win back to your ain countrie.'
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O they rade on, and farther on,
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And they waded rivers abune the knee;
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And they saw neither sun nor moon,
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But they heard the roaring of the sea.
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It was mirk, mirk night, there was nae starlight,
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They waded thro' red blude to the knee;
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For a' the blude that 's shed on the earth
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Rins through the springs o' that countrie.
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Syne they came to a garden green,
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And she pu'd an apple frae a tree:
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'Take this for thy wages, true Thomas;
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It will give thee the tongue that can never lee.'
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'My tongue is my ain,' true Thomas he said;
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'A gudely gift ye wad gie to me!
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I neither dought to buy or sell
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At fair or tryst where I might be.
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'I dought neither speak to prince or peer,
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Nor ask of grace from fair ladye!'—
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'Now haud thy peace, Thomas,' she said,
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'For as I say, so must it be.'
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He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
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And a pair o' shoon of the velvet green;
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And till seven years were gane and past,
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True Thomas on earth was never seen.
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It is good to see Maddy is still going strong. She still has a busy schedule of gigs. For a while some wondered where she was. In Thomas' Castle under the Hill, was my guess.
I will drink to the memories of a much younger 'flower'child' Maddy who made old-English songs her speciality. Her voice is still sharp as a knife.
Here she is many years ago, singing even then about the Labour Party. They think they are Kings and Queens.
The rank and file though.....and the Oz public?
Foul and grim they were
Down to the farmer's house they went
His meat and drink to share
There was a farmer in the west and there he chose his ground
He brought with him both hound and cock alone he begged to stay
And all the deer that roamed the wood had cause to rue the day
And much was grieved the sullen elves at what the stranger dared
He hewed him baulks and he hewed him beams with eager toil and haste
Then up and spake the woodland elves: “Who's come our wood to waste?”
“We'll march upon the farmer's house and hold on him assize
He's knocking down both wood and bower, he shows us great disdain
We'll make him rue the day he was born and taste of shame and pain.”
And marched towards the farmer's house their lengthy tails to swing
The farmer from his window looked and quickly crossed his breast
“Oh woe is me,” the farmer cried, “The elves will be my guests.”
And off flew many a frightened elf back to his forest gloom
Some flew to the east, some flew to the west, some flew to the north away
And some flew down the deep ravine and there forever stay
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Ne meias in stragulo aut pueros circummittam.
Our Bouncer is a gentleman of muscle and guile. His patience has limits. He will check you at the door.
The Tavern gets rowdy visitors from time to time. Some are brain dead and some soul dead. They attack customers and the bar staff and piss on the carpets. Those people will not be allowed in anymore. So... Be Nice..