Gig List
Good Work Song Lyrics
Matthew Sound
A gathering tide behind us, a following wind so kindly blows
A friendly star to guide us: it’s steady as she goes.
A hunter’s moon to light us as if our way she knows
Inward bound on Matthew Sound and steady as she goes…

For home and harbour, before the wild wind blows…
Inward bound on Matthew Sound and steady as she goes

This old boat that we ride was fashioned wide from the oak my father chose
She’s sweet to sail in any gale and steady as she goes
Her hold so full of silver fish no free-board hardly shows
She’s laden low and running slow but steady as she goes

Chorus

My true-love abides in harbour, as rare as any rose
Constant as the compass and as steady as she goes
She wears no flash nor fancy, no frills or furbelows
For she is fair as summer’s airs and steady as she goes

Chorus (variant)
So bring us safe to harbour before the wild wind blows
Inward bound on Matthew Sound and steady as she goes

Verse Four (two voices in counterpoint)
First voice (same as verse one)
A gathering tide behind us, a following wind so kindly blows
A friendly star to guide us: it’s steady as she goes.
A hunter’s moon to light us as if our way she knows
Inward bound on Matthew Sound and steady as she goes…

Second voice (over first voice)
A tide behind us: a friendly wind so kindly blows
Inbound, homebound: steady as she goes
My love in harbour: my moon, my star, my compass rose
Now homebound: steady as she goes…

Repeat first chorus twice, finishing with:
Keep her steady as she goes
To carry us home

Not That Ol’ Thing

Now I know a gal, a hard one, too.
Three, four or five times I told her ‘I love you’
’Cos I know the talk that the ladies like the best
But this one? No, Sir. Not impressed.
I compared her complexion to the virgin snow,
Her lips’ perfection to a Cupid’s bow
My stupid gaze meant I loved her, so
Imagine my amazement when she went:

Chorus
‘No! Not that ol’ thing! (Not that ol’ thing!)
Not that ol’ thing! (No! No!)
Not that ol’ thing! Baby doncha gimme that love stuff;
I’ve had enough
Of that ol’ thing (Not that ol’ thing!)
Not that ol’ thing! (No! No!)
Not that ol’ thing! I’ve had about a belly-full of Love.

‘’Cos I know men,’. ‘Bad men, too.
Three, four or five times they told me, ‘I love you.’
They take their fun. Then they run.
Leave my oven full of bun.
Gimme a man with a dollar in his hand
To put bread on the table, bacon in the pan…
Gimme a man to pay the rent on time
And you can stick the hearts-and-flowers where the sun don’t shine

Chorus

‘’Cos I got kids,’ she said, ‘Nice kids, too.
Three, four runnin’ round with their hullabaloo
And they don’t need no part-time dude;
They need boots and school and food.
So I’d give my all for some Neanderthal
To come home every Friday with the wherewithal.
Oh, oh, oh, for some big, dumb Joe
With a basic understanding of the quid pro quo,
Repeat chorus

I don’t want adoration whispered in my ear
I want a nice vacation. Twice a year.
And stupid talk about my Cupid’s mouth
Don’t pay the gas and taxes for a road-trip south.

Chorusvariant
And that ol’ thing… don’t neither
Not that ol’ (c’mon, change the driver)
Not that ol’ thing! Baby doncha gimme that love stuff;
I’ve had enough
Of that ol’ thing (Not that ol’ thing!)
Not that ol’ thing! (No! No!)
Not that ol’ thing! I’ve had about a belly-full of Love.

‘’Cos I still rock,’ she said, ‘And rock hard, too.
Three! Four! Get down widja boogaloo!
You want me to rock with you?
You know what you got to do…
Gimme the money, honey, day by day,
And maybe I’ll come out to play
But it’ll cost you more, by a Texan mile,
Than a box of sugar candy and a John Wayne smile;

Chorus variant:
Not that ol’ thing! (Not that ol’ thing!)
(Spoken over: ‘Get off your horse and drink your milk’)
Not that ol’ thing! Baby doncha gimme that love stuff;
I’ve had enough of that ol’ thing (Not that ol’ thing!)
Not that ol’ thing! (Not that ol’ thing!)
Not that ol’ thing! I’ve had about a belly-full of Love.
And that’s enough.

Spencer’s Cock

‘Cross my palm with silver,’ said the gypsy at the fair
‘Cross my palm with silver coin, and listen if you dare…
Your dead love she shall walk tonight, for she would have you know
What test will bring her soul to rest ere Spencer’s cock do crow…’

‘So look for her at midnight by the sound of Great Tom’s bell
And steal your heart for horrors that no tongue of mine can tell
For pale she was in life, and gaunt, and never fair as such
And twelve months underground, I vaunt, won’t have improved things much.’

He doubted not the gypsy's gift nor that she had spoke true
For, Oh, in life, his wife had aye been swift to tell him what to do.
Her glacial grace, her cool embrace; he’d none of these forgotten:
He’d loved her well, but, truth to tell, she’d nagged him something rotten.

And so, around the midnight graveyard rang the sound of Great Tom’s clock,
And there, upon her headstone, he espied a bright-eyed cock.
‘Oh, speak! If thou be Spencer’s cock it’s glad I am to find you.
I seek my own dead true-love.’ And the cock said ‘She’s behind you.’

And he turned and oh! the horror! For some fiend she seemed from Hell!
Foul flesh fell flayed and formless from that face he’d loved so well
And the vilest bile dripped from her eyeless brow and loathsome lip…
Said the cock, ‘You’re on your own, son,’ and flew home to get some kip.

From her misshapen mouth a grating, grinding, wheedling whine now came
Like some complaining beast:
                                           Says he, ‘At least her voice sounds much the same.’
 ‘And now!’ she cries, ‘Ah! Now my love your time has come to know
What test will bring my soul to rest ere Spencer's cock do crow.’

‘This year-dead night is granted us to prove you loved me true
For, oh, a special place below awaits the spitfire, scold and shrew.
One task is all the Dark Ones ask to prove you never thought me so
Do well, or I am belled to Hell when Spencer's cock do crow.’

‘I was a short year wed, a long year dead and each day of our marriage,
Each day you said yourself, “Today I'll put that shelf up in the garage”
You never did and now, our kid, that trial you'll undergo;
Put me up that garage shelf ere Spencer's cock do crow.’

To save her soul, you'd think that he'd be glad to do this simple task;
To save her soul... but he - and she - knew this the worst thing she could ask
To save her soul he'd walk hot coals, he'd fight, he'd bleed, he'd gladly die;
He was a gallant chap, but ap-solutely crap at DIY

That garage shelf would go up back to front skew-whiff or upside down
(That's if his drill-bit didn't hit the main and black out half the town)
Ah, what to do? He drew a breath or two and took calm stock,
Then he biked it round to Spencer's farm and strangled Spencer's cock...

Then he thought back to her untimely death that fateful day last Spring.
‘A sudden heart attack while bathing and she can't have known a thing,’
The kindly doctor said while gazing on that floating cloud of hair;
An Ophelia in death she was, so peaceful now and fair.

Quiet now that cackle as she'd lashed him on to paint and wire and plumb;
Quiet now her laughing tackle every time he'd Stanley-slashed his thumb
And quite right too:
                      The one job he'd worked through was that night in his wrath
When he'd bulldog-clipped the fuse and dropped his heat gun in her bath,

So he had a word with Spencer not get another cock
Until he'd got that garage shelf up straight and steady as a rock
At which,
The Dark Ones hummed-and-hawed a bit but then they let her through
And her soul flew up to Heaven e’en as Spencer's new cock crew.

‘Cross my palm with silver’ said the gypsy at the fair.
‘Cross my palm with silver and let fall my raven hair.
I like a man who keeps his head when dreadful Fate her claws do show
And a man who keeps his end up until Spencer's cock do crow.’

Michael On The Moor
Far as I have wandered, fortunes made and fortunes squandered
So many friendships sundered and old loves gone before,
Still I find me yearning for that light by the High Farm turning
Where a lantern's burning for Michael on the Moor…
Long the years since Michael Henty soft me did implore
To be his wife and share the life of Michael on the Moor,
My Michael on the Moor

Tall, and not quite handsome and High Farm not quite a prince's ransom,
Yet master of his lands, a man of not quite thirty four…
Me being but two-and-twenty, ooh, I knew there'd be men aplenty
And younger men than Henty, old Michael on the Moor
Long the years that I have travelled. Men I've known full score
And never yet a better met than Michael on the Moor
Young Michael on the Moor

There were other maids, and many. Michael might have chosen any;
Even Squire's young Jenny with all her gold in store…
Michael kissed them lightly, sent them all on their way politely
‘None but thee,’ says he to me, ‘For Michael on the Moor.’
And now I've searched the wide world round for what lay at my door
And rue the day I turned away from Michael on the Moor
Sweet Michael on the Moor.

Michael never married; no bride over that threshold carried
And ne'er a child's glad cry to try the silence of the moor
Michael died last summer and High Farm sold on to some incomer
Strangers now behind the plough of Michael on the Moor
And as I wept beside his grave (and Christ, I wept full sore)
I cursed the girlish pride that me denied the love so pure
Of Michael on the Moor.

Sabrina Fair

Riddle me, riddle-me, rotey-tote,
I met a man in bright red coat
A stick in his hand he was guiding his boat
Across the River Severn…
Says I, ‘Old man, what do you here?’
‘I bend me back me boat to steer
And I’ve steered it here for many’s the year
Across the River Severn, the mighty River Severn.’


Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river
Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river

I push me paddle, I pull me line
Come wind, come piddle, come snow, come shine
And I’ll carry you for threepence a time
Across the River Severn…
No grinding winch, no winding gear,
No ’orrible rattling diesel here
Sabrina is the engineer
To fetch us across the Severn
The mighty River Severn

Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river
(Spoken):  ‘A tanner return and back we go’
Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river

For I’m the skipper and I’m the crew
The helmsman and the purser, too
A tanner return, son, (thanking you)
To fetch you across the Severn
A bob for your butcher’s or baker’s van
Two, for your car and caravan,
And two-and-a kick the charabanc
For a frolic across the Severn
The rollicking river Severn

Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river  
(Spoken): ‘Passengers free but please stay seated’
Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river

One day we had the circus through
That was a wonderful thing to view:
An elephant and a kangaroo
Bobbing across The Severn…
Even the undertaker’s hearse -
I’ve carried a few and I’m never averse -
For I’ve often said there’s many and worse
A way to arrive in heaven
Than popping across the Severn

Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river
(Spoken) ‘A tanner return if you’m so lucky’
Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river

From high above the Bay of Borth
Down from the dark hills of the north
Flows the force to ferry us forth
Across the river Severn…
So I stepped aboard and by the Lord
I swear to you that, once unmoored,
That ferry flew of her own accord
Across the River Severn…
( ’s hell of a ride for threepence)

Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river
Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river

Riddle me, riddle-me, rotey-tote
I met a man in a bright red coat
A stick in his hand he was guiding his boat
Across the River Severn…
A-walking by Sabrina fair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wished him well upon his way
Across the River Severn
The quiet River Severn

Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river
(Spoken): ‘Last trip tonight, folks’
Flow Sabrina, roll us over the river.

The Blue Lagoon Café

Down around the back of the Place Balzac near Le Boulevard des Anglais
My favourite joint is a restaurant they call the Blue Lagoon Café
(And I wanna be there),
It's kinda rough but they cook good stuff and the house band sure can play
They swing it tight right through the night at the Blue Lagoon Café
Where all the waitresses are pretty, et le vin, c'est comme il faut
You wanna good time in this city of mine? I'll tell you where we'll go
We will go back, Jacques, to the Place Balzac near Le Port des Étrangers
(Hey hey hey)
To that sweet spot, that hot
boîte they call the Blue Lagoon Café.

Au Blue Lagoon, ca gaz, ca brûle, c'est cool, c'est fou, c'est gai
Say, why not swing by one blue moon and fool the night away?
Where all the waitresses are pretty. And the waiters? Hey, same way!
'S’kinda what you want in a restaurant like the Blue Lagoon Café
Let's back-track to the Place Balzac near Le Port des Étrangers
(Hey hey hey)
To that sweet spot, that hot
boîte they call the blue Lagoon. . .

For an Oo-la-la-la, Blue-la-la-la, La-la-la-la, Goo-la-la-la Blue Lagoon soirée
Google 'Boogaloo dot
comme il faut slash Blue Lagoon' today
And I will meet you at the Metro; we can walk from there in five
And soon we'll get romantic to that frantic ret-ro-co-co jive
Let's back-track to the Place Balzac near Le Port des Étrangers
(Hey, hey, hey)
To that sweet spot, that hot
boîte they call the blue Lagoon. . .

Listen while I tell yer 'bout a swingin' li'l atelier
Where even the sommelier has his own (tickety-boo) tap routine
The cooks and all the waiters and the
commis second-raters
Even the guy who peels potat-ers is a dancing queen

And jeepers creepers, the food's cheap as chips but it's deleeshus
And jeepers creepers, where they get those pies?
(Spoken) ‘Well, they make ’em:’
La pâtissière s'appelle Marie-Claire
And when her last éclair has been sent on its way
Be sure you're in to see her begin the Erotic Dance of the Rolling Pin
At the blue Lagoon…

Round about one when the band comes on to get the last set under way
The shout goes out for Jeff the Chef to put down his pots and play.
He is a six-foot tranny older than my granny
But he shakes that fanny like a crêpe flambée
And he slaps that bass all around the place
At the Blue Lagoon Café where the frying dishes pay
When the dawn comes up you'll wonder how you grooved the night away

Where, oh, the dance floor's hot and cosy: cheek-to-cheek (in every way).
You just dive right in and jive like sin with whatever do-si-do's your way
Let's mosey on down through Chinatown to Le Port des Étrangers
To that sweet spot, that hot
boîte, zat 'onky-tonk wiz zer French accent
They call the Blue Lagoon Café… see you soon
Get the metro that'll get you to the Blue Lagoon.

Fred Gittins’ Conversion to the Path of True Contentment One Pleasant Evening Some Summers Ago Outside The Old Dun Cow In Shoreditch

Fred Gittins sat sitting outside the Dun Cow
And he’d had half a dozen at least
He was swaying and braying out ‘Who’s Sorry Now?’
When who should walk by but the priest.
‘Drunk again, Fred’ he said. ‘Me too, vicar’ said Fred,
‘Very witty’ the poor parson sighed
Then he meant to pass on but from duty or pity
Or pride the old gentleman tried…
‘Think of the money you waste here each year.
Think what you might have instead.
Think, if you had all those hundreds right here!
Think what you’d do with them, Fred!’
And Fred scratched his head and he said…

If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here, I’d spend it on beer,
Every pound, every penny I wouldn’t waste any, no fear, I’d spend it on beer.
For gold can’t buy nuffin I ’old ’alf so dear as me pint of good cheer

If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here, I’d spend it on beer.
If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here, I’d spend it on beer
Every pound every penny, I wouldn’t waste any, no fear, I’d spend it on beer
I’d invite all me mates and we’d fill up on Thwaites’,
                                                     Batham’s Mild and Charles Wells Bombardier
If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here, I’d spend it on beer’

For the good Lord put me on this earth to sup ale;
He dint make me for greatness or wealf
And if God’d made anything worth more than ale
The old sod kept it all to his-self.

If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here, I’d spend it on beer.
Every pound, every penny I wouldn’t waste any, no fear, I’d spend it on beer
For gold can’t buy nuffin I ’old ’alf so dear as me pint of good cheer
If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here, I’d spend it on beer.

‘Try a mouthful’ said Fred. Said the rector ‘It’s nectar!
What hath the Almighty wrought for us?’
Then when he’d necked three pints of nectar, the rector was wrecked, or
He’d never have joined in this chorus,
(Which indeed he soon made all his own
In a high, unexpectedly spry baritone…)

If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here, I’d spend it on beer.
Every pound, every penny I wouldn’t waste any, no fear, I’d spend it on beer
For gold can buy nothing I hold half as dear as this pint of good cheer
If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here, I’d spend it on beer…

Fred and the vicar, in liquor, outside the Dun Cow
When who should pass by but the Bishop.
‘’Allo Bish!’ said the vicar ‘D’you know ‘Who’s sorry now'?
Shiddown and join ush for a pish-up!’
‘Just a half, to be social’ his Grace condescended,
(For he meant to convert them by stealth)
But after one sip, well you know how it ended:
Make up a punchline yourself…
And they sang in trio,
andante con brio

If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here, I’d spend it on beer.
Every pound, every penny, I wouldn’t waste any, no fear, I’d spend it on beer
For gold can’t buy nuffin I ’old ’alf so dear as me pint of good cheer
If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here, I’d spend it on beer.

If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here, I’d spend it on beer.
Every pound, every penny I wouldn’t waste any, no fear, I’d spend it on beer
For gold can’t buy nuffin’  I ’old ’alf so dear as me pint of good cheer
If I had all the money I’ve wasted each year, right here,
I’d spend it, not save it nor lend it,
No fear! I’d spend it on beer…

As the good Lord gazed down on the Dun Cow that night,
He allowed himself one sublime smirk…
Then he gently doused Phoebus’s proud amber light
And said ‘Night, night Fred Gittins. Good work.’