If it was not for the weavers, what would you do?
You wouldn'a hae the clothes that's made of wool
You wouldn'a hae a coat of the black or the blue
If it was not for the work of the weavers

Those hireman chiels they mock us, they crack us aye abouts
They say that we are thin-faced, and bleached like clouts
But yet for all their mockery, they canna do wi'outs,
Nah, they canna want the work of the weavers.
Chorus

There's folks that's independent of other tradesman's work,
The women need nae barber and the dykers need nae clerk,
But none o' them can dae without a coat or a sark,
Nah they canna want the work o' the weavers.
Chorus

Now weavin' is a trade that never can fail
As long as we need clothes for to keep another hale
So let us all be merry o'er a beaker of good ale
And we'll drink to the health of the weavers.
Chorus


Greensleeves
Instrumental


Danny Boy

Oh Danny boy, the pipes,
the pipes are calling
From glen to glen,
and down the mountain side
The summer's gone,
and all the flowers are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go
and I must bide.
But come ye back
when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed
and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here
in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy,
I love you so.

And if you come,
when all the flowers are dying
And I am dead,
as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place
where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave"
there for me.

And I shall hear,
tho' soft you tread above me
And all my dreams
will warm and sweeter be
If you're not there to tell me
that you love me
I'll simply sleep in peace
until you come to me.


*************************

All songs traditional, arranged by Viktoria & Howl-o
Produced and Recorded by Howl-o

Viktoria: Vocals, Violin, Drum
Douglys: Guitar,Vocals, Drum, Bass
Bella: Guitar, Vocals, Mandolin

Now Ebo Walker was born in Kentucky,
and raised by his daddy on a hillside farm,
He took up fiddle playing just for fun,
that's the last work Ebo Walker done.

Well Ebo Walker, he left Kentucky
cause Ebo's daddy said "Durn your hide,
You won't plant corn, and you won't make hay,
you sit on the porch and play that thing all day."

Ebo Walker, he walked through the mountains
With his fiddle in his sack & his shoes in his hand,
He'd fiddle a tune for the folks he met
Just to fill his belly and keep his whistle wet.

Ebo Walker, he walked and he fiddled and fiddled
and walked and he drank till he died,
But I've heard tell when the winds are down and
the moon shines bright, and the leaves are brown,
You can hear old Ebo fiddlin' all around.

Ebo Walker was a good ol man.

Finnegan's Wake

Tim Finnegan lived on Walkin' Street
A gentleman, Irish, mighty odd;
He had a brogue both rich and sweet
And to rise in the world he carried a hod.
Now Tim had a sort of the tipplin' way
With a love of the whiskey he was born
And to help him on with his work each day
He'd a "drop of the cray-thur" every morn.

Chorus:
Whack fol the darn-o, dance to your partner
Whirl the floor, your trotters shake;
Wasn't it the truth I told you
Lots of fun at Finnegan' s wake!

One mornin' Tim was feelin' full
His head was heavy which made him shake;
He fell from the ladder, and broke his skull
And they carried him home his corpse to wake.
They rolled him up in a nice clean sheet
And laid him out upon the bed,
A gallon of whiskey at his feet
And a barrel of porter at his head.
Chorus

His friends assembled for the wake
Mrs. Finnegan called for lunch
First they brought in tay and cake
Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey punch.
Biddy O'Brian began to bawl
"Such nice clean corpse, did ever see?
"0 Tim, mavourneen, why did you die?"
"Arragh, shut your gob!" said Paddy McGhee!
Chorus

Then Maggie 0' Conner took up the job
"0 Biddy," says she, "You're wrong, I'm sure"
Biddy gave her such a belt in the gob
That it left her sprawlin on the floor.
And then the war did soon engage
Twas woman to woman and man to man,
Shillelagh law was all the rage
and a row and a ruckus soon began.
Chorus

Mickey Moloney ducked his head,
When a noggin of whiskey flew at him.
It missed, and fallin on the bed,
The liquor scattered all over Tim!
The corpse revives! see how he rises!
An' Timothy's risin' from the bed,
Says, "Whirl your whiskey 'round like blazes:
'Thanun an Dhul! D'ye think I'm dead?!'
Chorus