Marty Robbins

[Don Luis]

I remember around 1972 being in my brothers pad in Westwood ...

Is that California near Santa Monica?, I was in Westwood (UCLA) in 1972. ever heard of a place called UCHA?, over in Landfair avenue, that´s where I lived at the time.

Thomason,

I´ve heard that the "The Streets of Laredo" was set to the tune of an older Irish song: "The Bard of Armagh", not sure if I remember it well. Please forgive all the spelling mistakes I´ll surely make:

Oh, list to the tale of a poor Irish harper
And scorn not the strings in his old withered hand
But remember these fingers could once move more sharper
To waken the echoes of his dear native land

How I long for to muse on the days of my boyhood
Though four score and three years have fled by since then
Still it gives sweet reflections, as every young joy should
That merry-hearted boys make the best of old men

At wake or at fair I would twirl my shillelagh
And trip through the jigs with my brogues bound with straw
And all the pretty maidens from the village, the valley
Loved the bold Phelim Brady, the bard of Armagh

And when sergeant Death's cold arms shall embrace me
Oh lull me to sleep with sweet Erin Go Bragh
By the side of my Kathleen, my own love, then place me
And forget Phelim Brady, the bard of Armagh

 

[Thomason]

You may very well be right, Don Luis. Some of these old ballads go way back I'm sure. I do remember something about an Irish origin now that you mention it. Here is yet another version with a little more graphic syphilis theme. I have never heard Marty Robbins sing this one.

Pills of White Mercury

As I was a walking by the banks of the Ugie
Come my dear friends and a story I'll relate
I spied a dear comrade all dressed in white flannel
Dressed in white flannel and cruel was his fate

The mercury was beating, the limestone was reeking
His tongue all inflamed hung over his chin
A hole in his bosom, his teeth were a closin'
Bad luck to the girl that had gi'ed him the Phlegm (flame?)

Chorus:
And had she but told me, oh when she dishonored me
Had she but told me of it in time
I might have been cured by those pills of white mercury
Now I am a young man cut down in my prime

My parents they warned me and oftimes they chided
With those young flash girls do not sport and play
But I never listened, no I never heeded
I just carried on in my own wicked way

[Chorus]

It's down on the corner two flash girls were talking
One to the other did whisper and say
There goes that young man who once was so jolly
But now for his sins his own body must pay

[Chorus]

Oh doctor, dear doctor before your departure
Take all these bottles of mercury away
And send for the minister to say a prayer over me
So they can put my poor body in the clay

[Chorus]

Now get you six fellow to carry my coffin
Six pretty fair maids to bear up my pall
And give each of them there a bunch of red roses
So when they pass by me they'll not know the smell

[Chorus]

 

[Jeff Clark]

Don Luis, When I say "in Westwood" I was being general. If I said that he lived in Palms, most people wouldn't recognize the area about 5 miles south of UCLA close to Culver City. He shared an old house on Woodbine Street. Now that I think about it my dates are off. I think that in 71-72 he was in the dorms. Around 73 he was in England on an exchange program. So it was probably 74 that I was in his place on Woodbine Street in Palms. Anyway, Don Clark, got his BA in English around 1975. Here's a recent picture of Don and his lovely wife Michelle. Don works for the Wall Street Journal. They mostly play Irish music these days.

 

[Don Luis]

I have this book:

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/t...mplsfolk/104-5418605-8838305?v=glance&s=books

Mine is actually titled "Folksingers Songbook" but seems to be the same, mine is probably just an older edition (1973 I believe).

Lots of good old American lyrics, though not that many Cowboy songs.

Jeff,

I was a foreign student at UCLA 1970 to 1973 (Math major), good English school too. I also like Irish music, I probably play more Irish than Latin on the harmonica.

Luis

 

[Esav Benyamin]

Lone Hand Western

Journal of the Old West
With
COWBOY AND CIVIL WAR SONG LYRICS​

 

[akivory]

In Prescott Arizona where I was brought up on the town square you could always find a few of the real old time cowbys.
One of them was Gail Gardner who wrote this poem that was made into asong that I am sure that some of you will remember.


Tyin Knots In The Devils Tail




Away up high in the Sierry Petes,
Where the yeller pines grows tall,
Ole Sandy Bob an' Buster Jig,
Had a rodeer camp last fall.
Oh, they taken their hosses and runnin' irons
And mabbe a dawg or two,
An' they 'lowed they'd brand all the long-yered
calves,
That come within their view.

And any old doggie that flapped long yeres,
An' didn't bush up by day,
Got his long yeres whittled an' his old hide
scorched,
In a most artistic way.

Now one fine day ole Sandy Bob,
He throwed his seago down,
"I'm sick of this cow-pyrography,
And I 'lows I'm a-goin' to town."

So they saddles up an' hits 'em a lope,
Fer it warnt no sight of a ride,
And them was the days when a Buckeroo
Could ile up his inside.

Oh, they starts her in at the Kaintucky Bar,
At the head of Whisky Row,
And they winds up down by the Depot House,
Some forty drinks below.

They then sets up and turns around,
And goes her the other way,
An' to tell you the Gawd-forsaken truth,
Them boys got stewed that day.

As they was a-ridin' back to camp,
A-packin' a pretty good load,
Who should they meet but the Devil himself,
A-prancin' down the road.

Sez he, "You ornery cowboy skunks,
You'd better hunt yer holes,
Fer I've come up from Hell's Rim Rock,
To gather in yer souls."

Sez Sandy Bob, "Old Devil be damned,
We boys is kinda tight,
But you ain't a-goin' to gather no cowboy souls,
'Thout you has some kind of a fight."

So Sandy Bob punched a hole in his rope,
And he swang her straight and true,
He lapped it on to the Devil's horns,
An' he taken his dallies too.

Now Buster jig was a riata man,
With his gut-line coiled up neat,
So he shaken her out an' he built him a loop,
An' he lassed the Devil's hind feet.

Oh, they stretched him out an' they tailed him
down,
While the irons was a-gettin hot,
They cropped and swaller-forked his yeres,
Then they branded him up a lot.

They pruned him up with a de-hornin' saw,
An' they knotted his tail fer a joke,
They then rid off and left him there,
Necked to a Black-Jack oak.

If you're ever up high in the Sierry Petes,
An' you hear one Hell of a wail,
You'll know it's that Devil a-bellerin' around,
About them knots in his tail.1

 

[Ebbtide]

The Book!

 

[FullerH]

There is a couple, Rusty and Keith McNeil, who doi recordings of American folk music and set it into its historical setting with a bit of narration for each song. Their work is excellent for listening as well as for teaching American History. Thier albums are available from any number of music sites, historic sites, and re-enactor sites, but here is their own site:
http://www.mcneilmusic.com/
and here are a couple of their albums in this particular area of discussion:
http://www.mcneilmusic.com/westsong.html
http://www.mcneilmusic.com/cowboy.html

Again, I recommend them for the listening as well as for the learning.

As to the Scots-Irish heritage of many of the Cowboy Songs, you have but to look to the ethnic background of many of the cowboys, Scots-Irish with a good bit of sassenach thrown into the stew. So, of course their songs would reflect that heritage.