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all lyrics c. Chris Hytch

                                     Wink

 

There be whispers round the harbour, the run from Guernsey’s in

Let’s go round to Bessie’s get a bellyful of gin

There may even be brandy, perhaps a tot of rum

So remember the signs, use your hands and your eyes and most of all

You gotta keep mum.

 

One wink with your left for brandy, twice with your right for rum

And if you’re short of baccy, well, a couple of winks and your thumb

For tea make assign with your fingers, a tap on the chin for gin

And if it’s wine just make the sign, three fingers and plenty of tin.

 

There’ll be Jago, Jed and Jacka and old Granfer Clemmo

The miners from Wheal Kitty, well, they’re surely bound to go

And if the Revenue comes sniffin, some says they’re bound to come

Remember the signs, use your hands and your eyes

But most of all-you gotta keep mum.

 

Now Bessie mind that rug there, that one right by the fire

It’s all askew and if they ask you well you baint be such a good liar

Cos we know what you’re hiding in that there hidey hole

But we never would betray you girl, god rest our trusty souls.

Annie George

 

There’s an old, old story, it’s long but not tall

Revenge is a dish best served not at all.

The reason is clear, there may be no rest

As old Annie George can very well attest.

 

For vengeance and spite she betrayed her host

Now she wanders the shoreline each night as a ghost

Knowing no rest till she feels avenged

On all those who caused her pitiful end.

 

Oh, Annie, you have to let it go

Oh, Annie, it’s painful still I know

Oh Annie may your spirit be appeased

Then Annie you will surely find your peace.

 

The owner, old William, fair trader was he

With Joseph and Annie landlord and lady

Of the First and Last Inn down Sennen Cove

Where the goods could be stored in the tunnels below.

 

Now Annie got greedy, turned King’s evidence

Old William, arrested, to Bodmin was sent

When others objected, their names she supplied

Which caused the whole village to rise up and decide.

 

To kidnap old Annie, put her life to an end

On the beach at low tide under nets she was pinned

And when the tide turned they ignored her cries

And so she was drownded that December night.

Cut The Redruth Rug

 

Brylcreem, tight jeans, white T, look at me

Don’t come near me ‘less you’re lookin like a beauty queen

 

We’ll cut the Redruth Rug, yeah we cut the Redruth Rug

Cut the Redruth Rug, never mind the jitterbug

 

Camborne boys go and play with your toys

We’re the Redruth men, gonna say it once again

 

Chuck Berry, Gene and Eddy, don’t want no Top 20

DJ take the test, purple hearts’ll do the rest

 

Young Jed Bray, well he’s saving up his pay

Got it stashed into his leather, James Dean for a day

 

Jed meets Poppy up around East Pool

Two port and lemons and she’s jigging like a fool

Three hours later and he’s back up there again

Kissin and a-huggin with her best friend

 

Poppy from the shop ‘Can I help you?’ all the week

But in her poodle skirt she’s the queen of Fore street

 

In my jeans and my leathers with my Triumph up the road

Don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows

 

Meanwhile at home I’ve got my mother in a state

She can’t stand the bass on ‘Rocket 88’

King Of Bodmin Moor

At the midnight hour the torches sway

The white quartz glistens to mark the way

Ahead the priestess, her face is set

In silence the procession-but all in step.

 

Oh, Rough Tor, spread your energy right over the moor

Oh, Rough Tor, sacred king of Bodmin Moor

 

Pacing the serpent path to the top

The priestess reaches the guardian rocks

On her signal the drumbeat pounds and pounds

Til a bright light appears above the ground

 

The bright star descends on the plateau below

The old gods return in the torches glow

They meet with the priestess til the sunrise

The people stand in silence, averting their eyes.

 

New lessons passed on from the gardeners of old

New ways to use the energy the tor doth hold

Build circles to contain it and intensify

To radiate it out for miles and miles.

The Unseen Hand

Chorus:

Beware, oh, man, of the unseen hand

Twill charm thy feet to the old enchanted land

Wild music and song May last til dawn

But one night of theirs is a thousand of yourn.

 

Old Tom raised his lantern, the darkness lay thick

He’s spied dancing lights at the top of the ridge

Wild fires or wild witches, he could not be sure

As he turned up the path that led to the tor.

 

On reaching the summit old Tom rubbed his eyes

A banquet magnificent lit by lamplight

And dancing together small lords and ladies

In frock coats and ball gowns on daintiest feet.

 

Come hither one beckoned and join in the fun

As Tom stood enchanted unable to run

But fortune lay with him that wild stormy night

As he stepped in the ring and extinguished those lights.

 

No more tinkling laughter no fiddle and pipe

No more magic lanterns, just darkest of nights

With feet heavy and weary Tom trudged down the path

Awake or dreaming he dared not to ask.

 

His tale is remembered though few he did tell

Twas believed and recounted by those he knew well

To this day the summit bears witness to it all

Long known by the locals as old laughter tor.

Like the Roses

 

Neath an oak I watched the rainfall, pulled my coat up tight and stood, like a frightened snail I hid there trying not to see the good, but the roses loved the rainfall, turned their faces to the sky, grateful for the drink of water, looked at me and wondered why.

Oh rain fall on me, I can’t even say why, it might free my soul, liberate my mind. Rain fall on me till I almost drown, I need to feel my life turn around.

I can see a double rainbow but I don’t know how it’s made, could it be I’m not supposed to think about that perfect shape, If I try I might remember how to look and how to see, possibly I might just realise how to live and how to be.

It is so hard to remember what it’s like to walk and run, thinking only of the moment under wind and sky and sun, if I could be like the roses there would be no need for grief, thankful for the simple pleasures, feeling happy, sweet relief.

Deadwood Dick

Deadwood Dick soon got his name

Ridin shotgun on the Deadwood stage

Aint no outlaw in the wild wild West

Ready to tackle with that Winchester

 

There’s a Cornishman whose tale now needs to be told

Rode a Falmouth packet to join in the rush for gold

3 months later in Frisco Bay, fog was layin like a dog all day

Dickie hopped a wagon cross Californi-iyay

 

All the way to sierra Nevada they was headed that day

It was here they was told the richest goldfields lay

6 weeks later when they reached the camp all the 49ers thought he looked like a tramp

But Richard never cared what folks had to say.

 

For 10 long years he panned and hacked away

Though the camp was rough he was tougher than most of they

Then the day came when he needed a change, Signed up as a guard on the Deadwood stage

After that his problems went away.

 

Now Richard had handled a gun back in the day

He was the sharpest shooter in Californi-iyay

When Lame Johnny held up the stage didn’t take a minute ‘fore Dick had won the day

And that was how young Richard earned his fame.

 

Now the bandits who roamed the trails soon learned to hide

To go against young Richard was suicide

So Charley, Pegleg, Dunk and Bill found other ways to get their thrills

And his legend just grew stronger when he died.

Oh the Deadwood stage is rollin on over the plains

With the curtains flappin and the driver snappin the reins

A beautiful day, a wonderful sky

Whip crack away, whip crack away, whip crack away.

 In Millook Wood

 

In Millook Wood by the celandines I saw a dark shape pass behind

It was no man, stood about knee high

I saw it from the corner of my eye.

 

Oh listen, man, why do you step here?

You have taken all that we hold dear

Once forest spread from coast to coast

 You’ve cut down what we love the most

 

Oh I believe when the world was young that man and nature lived as one

And spirits all he could plainly see

As they danced around from tree to tree

 

Oh listen, man that you may perceive

Without us you would have no trees

Our sacred task has been all along

To keep the greenwood healthy and strong

 

No sight have I no way to perceive how nature sprites their magic weave

But if I try maybe I’ll succeed

And Millook wood will welcome me.

 Browney In The House

 

I swear there’s a browney in this house

It can’t be a spriggan or a sprite

He helps with the building work, that’s true

But nearly all by night,  nearly all at night.

 

Who’s that steppin’ on my roof at 1 o’clock in the morning?

Checking the chimney’s waterproof

Has to be that browney, oh, keeper of Bell cottage.

 

Who’s that sanding my new door at 2 o’clock in the mornin’?

Finishing the work that’s gone before

Must be Mr Browney, oh, guardian of Bell Cottage.

 

Who’s that crunching in my yard at 3 o’clock in the morning?

Checking the concrete’s nice and hard

Has to be that browney, oh, keeper of Bell Cottage

 

Who’s that scraping down below at 4 o’clock in the morning?

Checking the fire has lost its glow

Must be Mr. Browney, oh, keeper of Bell Cottage.

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