Dramtreeo Released 1992, CD & Cassette For a sound bite, click here. (WAV format) Members of Dramtreeo: Jerry Cronin (Tenor)--Guitar, Mandolin, Penny Whistle, and Bamboo Flute Carlton Lillard (Bass)--Electric Bass, fretless and fretted Meade Stith (2nd Tenor)--Banjo; Guitar on Belequisa River Singing the Spirit Home, Banish Misfortune, Tae the Beggin', and Old Joe Clark Chip Vogan (Baritone)--Guitar; Banjo on Tae the Beggin' and Old Joe Clark; Penny Whistle on Farewell to Tarwathie

Click on the record for an order form

Producers: Dramtreeo and Jim Fox
Studio: Lion and Fox Recording, Inc., Washington, D.C.
Engineer: Jim Fox
Digital Mastering: Jim Fox at Lion & Fox, Washington, D.C.
Art Director: Susie Cucura, Yorktown, VA
Photographer: Martin Smith-Rodden, Portsmouth, VA

They say the third time is the charm. Our good luck charm for you is , curiously enough the old apothecary symbol for a dram, and with it is packed another fifteen of our favorite songs. Enjoy!

1. Waterman's Song, Jerry Cronin, Southern Branch Music, BMI
2. Handspike Hash, Jerry Cronin, Southern Brunch Music, BMI
3. The L & N Don't Stop Here Anymore, Jean Ritchie, Geordie Music Pub., ASCAP
4. Banks of Sicily, Traditional, Arr. Dramtreeo, Southern Branch Music, BMI
5. Farewell to Tarwathie, George Scroggie, P. D., Arr. Dramtreeo, Southern Branch Music, BMI
6. Big Fish, Little Fish, Jerry Cronin, Southern Branch Music, BMI
7. Belequisa River, Traditional, Arr. Dramtreeo, Southern Branch Music BMI
8. Jambalaya, Hank Williams, Acuff Rose, BMI
9. Jenny's Short Dance, Meade Stith, Southern Branch Music, BMI
10. Chester, William Billings, P. D.
11. Song of Patriotic Prejudice, Flanders & Swann, P.R.S. London
12. Singing the Spirit Home, Eric Bogle, Larrikin Music/Sonnet Pub. Ltd.
13. Honeymoonin' Couple, David Martins, Luton Music, BMI
14. Bonny Charlie, Traditional, Arr. Dramtreeo, Southern Branch Music, BMI
15. Medley: Banish Misfortune, Tae the Beggin', Old Joe Clark, Traditional, Arr. Dramtreeo, Southern Branch Music, BMI

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Waterman's Song
by Jerry Cronin

This song is dedicated to all those who harvest the bounty of the Chesapeake Bay with the hope that they will be able to tong, fish and set pots for the rest of our time here on Earth.

Look on out at dayboard eighteen, there's an osprey nestin' with her young
Mornin' fog fills up the air, today you won't see the sun
Your other man laughs but you didn't hear the joke
As your tongs plunge out of sight
It's a waterman's day on the Chesapeake Bay
And every little thing's all right.

And it's out on the Chesapeake Bay
Fishin' trout an' crabs an' oysters
All dependin' what the buyer's gonna pay
And your gear's rearranged with each season change
As you follow the year around
It's a hard life out on her water
But it's the best you've ever found.

Boat on off in the distance is workin' up a line of pots
'Nother comes up full of eels, by God that'll make a man hot
And you can tell by the rise of her stem an' her stem
It's your Uncle Billy's boat
And you wonder now with the price of crab
How the hell does he stay afloat?

And it's out on the Chesapeake Bay...

Time has come to work the beds, move oysters here an' there
It's a tirin' chore but it must be done, so you do it every year
Only time will tell when you dump the shell
If this here crop'll set
But it seems to come back every year so you know it's a mighty good bet.

And it's out on the Chesapeake Bay...

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Handspike Hash
by Jerry Cronin

In the days of sailing ships, metal or wooden pins were used to fasten down the lines that controlled the sails and yards. These pins were referred to as belaying pins or handspikes. Handspike hash was what happened to the back of a sailor's head if he got hit by one of these pins used as a convincer by a mate. The sailor in this song was shanghaied, or involuntarily pressed into service

Be handy boys or it's handspike hash
Be handy boys to your stations run
Be handy boys for the cold hard cash
Put in your pocket when the voyage is done.

Well you wake up on the deck and your heads feelin' sore
And your money and your gear's all gone
You resupply from the ship's store
And another month's wages moves on.

Be handy...

Well some old salt's gonna show you the ropes
The lines and yards he will teach
Well you've learned the fife, now your movin' to the pin
Clew, bunt, bunt, clew, bunt, leach.

Be handy...

It took two months to hang the old horse
And pay off the damned old crimp
Who carried you away when you fell fast asleep
From a drink that was served by a pimp.

Be handy...

You sail on in to a foreign port
But where the hell you gonna go
You haven't any money and you haven't got a job
And New York's a long way to row.

Be handy...

Now you've come full circle and you've sailed back home
And the hold is pumped bone dry
It's down the plank and it's off for a drink
When you wake up you hear this cry.

Be handy...

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The L&N Don't Stop Here Anymore
by Jean Ritchie

We had the pleasure of sharing the stage with Jean Ritchie at Ramblin Conrad's in Norfolk, VA. She is rightly recognized as the first lady of American folk music, and her writing and singing capture the spint of the hills.

When I was a curly headed baby
My daddy set me down upon his knee
He said "Son, go to school and learn your letters
Don't you be no dusty miner like me.'

I was born and raised at the mouth of the Hazard Holler
Coal cars roarin rumblin' past my door
Now they're standin' rusty, rollin' empty
And the L&N don't stop here any more.

I used to think my daddy was a black man
With scrip enough to buy the company store
But now he goes downtown with empty pockets
His face as white as February snow.

I was born...

Last night I dreamt I went down to the office
To get my payday like I done before
But those kudzu vines had covered up the doorway
There were grass and trees all growin' right through the floor.

I was born...

I never thought I'd learn to love the coal dust
I never thought l'd pray to hear the tipple roar
But Lord how I wish that grass would turn to money
And fill my empty pockets with greenbacks once more.

I was born...

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Banks of Sicily
Traditional, Arr. Dramtreeo
For a sound bite, click here. (WAV format)

One more time another war has ended, and the soldiers are going home. Here, as Scottish regiments prepare to leave the Italian theater, it 's a bittersweet farewell....

Fare ye well ye banks of Sicily
Fare ye well ye valley and shore
There's no Scot will mourn the loss o' ya
Poor bloody soldiers are weary.

The pipe he is tuned and he's pipin' away
He won' be in town for his vino today
The sky is like Antrim. all cloudy and gray
And the song that he's playin' is eerie
Fare ye well...

It's march down the stair, and line on the bay
Your pack's on your back now the boats are away
You're waitin your turn while the fife and drum play
And the song that they're playin' is eerie Fare ye well...

The drum he is polished, the drum he is grand
He can no' be seen for his straps and his bands
He's greased himself up for a photo and stand
To leave with his Lola, his dearie.

Fare ye well...
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Farewell to Tarwathie
George Scroggie (1850's), Public Domain, Arr. Dramtreeo

We once took our lives into our hands by singing a series of whaling tunes while the Greenpeace "Rainbow Warrior" was moored nearby. Current eco -politics aside, this old whaling tune tells of the feelings of our ancestors - folk who worked hard and longed for the day when they would return home to their loved ones.

Fare thee well to Tarwathie and adieu Mormond Hill
And the fair land of Crimmond I bid ye farewell
For we're bound off for Greenland and we're ready to sail
We've great hopes to find riches in hunting the whale.

Fare thee well to my comrades for a while we must part
And likewise the dear lass that first won my heart
Oh the cold coast of Greenland my love will not chill
And the longer my absence the more loving she'll feel.

Oh our ship is well rigged and she's ready to sail
And the crew is all anxious for hunting the whale
Where the icy winds blow and the stormy seas grow
And the land and the ocean are covered with snow.

Oh the cold coast of Greenland is barren and bare
No seed-time nor harvest is ever found there
Oh the birdie sings sweetly o'er the mountain and dale
But there is no' a birdie to sing for the whale.

There is no habitation for a man to live there
And the king of that country is the fierce Greenland bear
There shall be no temptation to tarry long there
With our ship bumper full we will homeward repair.

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Big Fish, Little Fish
by Jerry Cronin

This song was inspired by numerous sails up the Chesapeake Bay, and by the observation that more and more salt ponds were being converted into condominiums. The salt marshes are the incubators of a great deal of life in the oceans. When they disappear, so do the striped bass, the shrimp, and many other creatures.

Big fish come from the little fish, little fish come from larvae
Born and raised in the salt marshes, they don't know their mother or father
But when they come from the ocean, search for the place to breed
Find the condo standing there, they cannot fill their species' needs.

Big bird come from the little bird, little bird come from egg
Born and raised in their rookeries, whole continents away
But when they fly in the Springtime, search for the place to feed
Find the asphalt paving there, they cannot fill their species' needs.

We live in a global system, circling in space
We live in a global system, interconnected all over the place
We live in a global system, where the flap of a butterfly's wing
Affects the patterns of the clouds, and the ways in which we sing,

All the world over now, all the world the same
Mankind he treat his environment in a manner quite insane
But when you run out of your farmland, run out of your air to breathe
Tell me how you will fulfill, fulfill your species' needs.

We live in a global system....

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Belequisa River
Traditional, Arr. Dramtreeo

The sea chanteys of the world come from a mixed bag of cultures that was, and still makes up, the maritime community. This chantey has a definite African feel to itso we invited our friend John "J.C." Carter to add some bongos. He uses a Puerto Rican beat called a martillito, or "little hammer", to bring a different texture to the song.

Oh the Belequisa river* is the king of rivers all
Bully in the nave, somebody o
Oh the Belequisa river flow from the waterfall
Bully in the nave, somebody o

Somebody o, somebody o
Bully in the nave, somebody o
Somebody o, somebody o
Bully in the nave, somebody o

Oh the Belequisa captain stand straight and tall
Bully in the nave, somebody o
Oh the Belequisa captain, king of captains all
Bully in the nave, somebody o
Somebody o...

Oh the Essequisa packet, swiftest ship of all
Bully in the nave, somebody o
Oh the Essequisa packet, she make the records fall
Bully in the nave, somebody o

Somebody o...

Oh the Belequisa boatswain, meanest boatswain all
Bully in the nave, somebody o
For the Belequisa boatswain, he make the handspike fall
Bully in the nave, somebody o

Somebody o, somebody o
Bully in the nave, somebody o
Somebody o, somebody o
Bully in the nave, somebody o

*We've heard both Essequisa and Belequisa River. We suspect the inspiration for this tune is actually the Essequibo River in Guyana, Africa.

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Jambalaya
by Hank Williams

Classic Hank and pure fun; who doesn't like this song?

Goodbye Joe, me got to go, me, oh, my, oh
Me got to go pole the pirogue down the bayou
My Yvonne, sweetest one, me, oh, my, oh
Son of a gun gonna have big fun on the bayou

Jambalaya, crawfish pie, filé gumbo
For tonight I'm gonna see my ma cher a-mi-o
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o
Son of a gun gonna have big fun on the bayou

Thibodaux, Fontenots, the place is buzzin'
Kinfolk come to see ma Yvonne by the dozen
Go hog wild, dress in style and be gay-o
Son of a gun gonna have big fun on the bayou

Jambalaya...

Goodbye Joe me gotta go, me, oh, my, oh
Me got to go pole the pirogue down the bayou
My Yvonne, sweetest one, me, oh, my, oh
Son of a gun gonna have big fun on the bayou

Jambalaya, crawfish pie, filé gumbo
For tonight I'm gonna see my ma cher a-mi-o
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o
Son of a gun gonna have big fun on the bayou.

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Jenny's Short Dance
by Meade Stith

Written for a dear friend. Meade plays it in the key of E flat as an intro to Chester, but for simplicity (and sanity) it's written here in D. Banjo players note: the second and fourth strings should be tuned to C; capo the second fret.

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Chester
by William Billings

One of this country's first composers, William Billings is an inspiration for all musicians who have a day job. He was a tanner by trade, but had a great love for music. His songs were sung by American troops during the Revolution and survive to this day. This is from "The Singing Master's Assistant" an early (1778) collection of his music, and features his harmonies.

Let tyrants shake their iron rod,
And slavery clank her galling chains.
We fear them not, we trust in God
New England's God forever reigns.

Howe and Burgoyne and Clinton too,
With Prescott and Cornwallis joined,
Together plot our overthrow,
In one infernal league combined.

When God inspired us for the fight,
Their ranks were broke, their lines were forced,
Their ships were shatter'd in our sight,
Or swiftly driven from our coast.

The foe walks on with haughty stride,
Our troops advance with martial noise,
Their vet'rans flee before our youth,
And Gen'rals yield to beardless boys.

What grateful off'ring shall we bring,
What shall we render to the Lord,
Loud Hallelujahs let us sing,
And praise His Name on every chord.

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The Song of Patriotic Prejudice
by Michael Flanders and Donald Swann

We dedicate this tune to Reggie Mitchell, proprietor of Reggies British Pub where we have performed regularly for almost ten years. Reggie's is one of the few places where you can hear a song like this played back-to-back with an Irish rebel tune. As we say at the pub: Welcome to America!

The rottenest bits of these islands of ours
We've left in the hands of three unfriendly powers
Examine the Irishman, Welshman or Scot
You'll find he's a stinker as likely as not:

The English, the English, the English are best
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest.

The Scotsman is mean, as we're all well aware
He's bony and blotchy and covered with hair
He eats salty porridge, he works all the day
And he hasn't got bishops to show him the way:

The English, the English, the English are best
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest.

The Irishman now our contempt is beneath
He sleeps in his boots and he lies in his teeth
He blows up policemen or so I have heard
And blames it on Cromwell and William the Third:

The English are noble, the English are nice
And worth any other at double the price.

The Welshman's dishonest, he cheats when he can
He's little and dark, more like monkey than man
He works underground with a lamp in his hat
And sings far too loud, far too often, and flat:

The English, the English, the English are best
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest.

And crossing the Channel one cannot say much
For the French or the Spanish, the Danish or Dutch
The Germans are German, the Russians are red
And the Greeks and Italians eat garlic in bed:

The English are moral, the English are good
And clever and modest and misunderstood.

And all the world over each nation's the same
They've simply no notion of playing the game
They argue with umpires, they cheer when they've won
And they practice beforehand which spoils all the fun:

The English, the English, the English are best
So up with the English and down with the rest.

It's not that they're wicked or naturally bad
It's knowing they're foreign that makes them so mad
For the English are all that a nation should be
And the pride of the English are Chipper and Meade.

The English, the English, the English are best
I wouldn't give tuppence for all of the rest

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Singing the Spirit Home
by Eric Bogle

Eric Bogle is one of the more talented commentators of our time. He wrote this tune after watching a BBC interview with the German poet, Breton Bretonbach, who hadjust returned from South Africa. The poet had related the story of the young man being hanged and the inmates raising up the traditional chant for singing the spirit of a warrior home.

They came for him in the morning, an hour before dawning
The pale white moon was waning in the African sky
The cell door flew wide open, and they stood looking at him
He saw no mercy in their hearts, no pity in their eyes.
As they took him and they bound him, tied his trembling hands behind him
He felt his courage leave him, his manhood disappear
His legs would not support him, so from the cell they dragged him
He sobbed and screamed and cursed them in his loneliness and fear.

Chains, chains, chains
How many souls have died in freedoms name
To some it is a way of life, to others just a word
To some it is a snow-white dove, to some a bloody sword
Until the last chains fall
Freedom will make slaves of us all.

With faces closed and hidden, the white guards walked beside him
Indifferent to his pleading, they'd been down this path before
But other eyes were watchin' and other ears were listenin'
Other hearts beat with him in his final desperate hour.
And from the darkness of that prison came the sound of his brothers singin'
"Courage" their voices told him, "you do not walk alone"
From the cells beyond the shadows, he heard the voices echo
As in love and pride and sorrow, they sang his spirit home.

Chains, chains, chains..,,

And their song of hope and freedom, it rang inside that prison
It beat against the iron bars, and crashed against the stone
As in fear and hate they hung him, the last sound that filled his being
Was his brothers singing, singing, singing his spirit home.

Courage brother, you do not walk alone
We shall walk with you and sing your spirit home...

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Honeymoonin' Couple
by David Martins

We learned this song from John Millar, collector of songs and general historical factotum. John had heard it in the Cayman Islands years ago and taught it to us during a wild on-stage sing-along; we've been performing the song ever since. When we decided to record it, we had BMI track down the author for us. A week later we ran into a bunch of pirates promoting Morgan Rum who knew David Martins. Small (folk) world.

A Honeymoonin' couple was in the bedroom
Packing up to go away in the middle of June
When all of a sudden, argument break out
Listen to the bridegroom, listen what he shout
And he telling she...
"You get on top, that's the way it must go
I am your husband you know
You get on top, don't make noise, shut your mouth
That's the only way it will work out."

Well, do you hear commotion, inside the door
Somebody fall down, poop! on the floor
Somebody cry out, "You squeezin' me hand"
And this time the lady, she telling the man
And she telling he...

"You get on top, that's the way it must go
I am your wife now you know...

Well, don't you hear them gruntin and they breathin' hard
Imagine me outside, man I'm going mad
Quiet as a churchmouse, listenin' to this thing
And this time the lady, she startin' to sing
And she singin..

"Both of we on top, that's the way it must be"
And the husband say "Yes, I agree, definitely"
"Both of we on top, don't make noise, shut your mouth...

Now I ain't no Peepin' Tom, ask anybody
But the two of them on top, this I got to see
So down by the keyhole, man I put me eye
And what I saw there make me laugh, laugh till I cry.

It was a man and a wife, and the two of them on top
As you see them in this funny pose
For the two of them were sitting down on top of suitcase
As the suitcase they trying to close.

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Bonny Charlie
Traditional, Arr. Dramtreeo

The Jacobite rebellion ended over 200 years ago and the Scots still sing of their exiled hero, their king across the water This is a parting tune used when you 're going away for a long time, such as when Jerry's mom left Port Glasgow for the United States.

Bonny Charlie's gone awa,
Safely o'er the friendly main
Many's the heart will break in twa
Should he no' come back again.

Will ye no' come back again, will ye no' come back again
Better loved ye can no' be, will ye no' come back again?

Many's the gallant soldier fought,
Many's the gallant chieftain fell
Freedom's cost was dearly bought
On for Charlie we'd storm through hell.

Will ye no' come back again...

Sweetly now the laverock sings,
Gently o'er each highland glen
And the tune the wind it brings
Will ye no come back again?

Will ye no' come back again...

Bonny Charlie's gone awa,
Safely o'er the friendly main
Many's the heart will break in twa
Should he no' come back again,

Will ye no come back again...

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Medley: Banish Misfortune/Tae the Beggin'/Old Joe Clark
Traditional, Arr. Dramtreeo

Peopk usually laugh when you tell them that the Scots licensed beggars and made them get the proper equipment- the inspiration for this song and an old solution to the homeless problem. Strangely enough, here in the USA some cities have recently tried the same thing. As the prophet wrote in Ecclesiastes, "there's nothing new under the sun."

Well of all the trades that I do ken, the beggin' is the best
For when the beggar's weary he can set him doon and rest,
Tae the beggin' I will go, will go, tae the beggin' I will go.

And I will tae the tailor with a cloth all hodden gray
And have him make a cloak for me to warm me night and day.
Tae the beggin' I will go, will go, tae the beggin' I will go.

And I will tae the cobbler and have him shod me shoon
An inch of leather "neath my feet and kilted all aroun'
The the beggin' I will go, will go, tae the beggin' I will go,
I'll make my way in the beggin' trade. tae the beggin' I will go.

And "ere that I begin my trade I'll let my beard grow strong
Nor pare my nails this year or day, for the beggars wear them long,
Tae the beggin' I will go, will go, tae the beggin' I will go.

I will take tae beggin' and go where I've not been
There's many a farmer's house I know will take this beggar in.
Tae the beggin' I will go, will go, tae the beggin' I will go.

And I'll go seek my lodgin's, afore that it grows dark
Just when the good man's settin' down and new home from his work,
The the beggin' I will go, will go, tae the beggin' I will go
I'll make my way in the beggin' trade, tae the beggin' I will go.

And maybe the good man will say, "good man yell hae yer meal
Ye're welcome for to stay the night, likewise your bread and ale;'
The the beggin' I will go, will go, tae the beggin' I will go.

May the beggin' be as good a trade as I hope it may
It's time that I was leavin' here and hauden down the brae,
The the beggin' I will go, will go, tae the beggin' I will go,
I'll make my way in the beggin' trade, tae the beggin' I will go.

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