10:47 AM

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The Lullabye Collection

Mister Nizz

I got in a conversation with another parent the other night about bedtime habits for our mutual kids, and was kind of surprised that my fellow dad never sang to his children. I'm no great shakes as a vocalist, but I croak away at a few favorites.

I thought that listing them would make for a good blog post for no particular reason whatsoever.

I mostly sing just for Spawn these days. Annie's in her "too cool" stage.

Over the Hills and Far Away

Hark now the drums beat up again

For all true soldier gentlemen

So let us list and march I say

Over the hills and far away


Over the hills, and o'er the main

To Flanders, Portugal and Spain

King George commands and we obey

Over the hills and far away


There's twenty shillings on the drum

For him that with us freely comes

'Tis volunteers shall win the day

Over the hills and far away


Come gentlemen that have a mind

To serve a King that's good and kind

Come list and enter in to pay

Over the hills and far away


And we shall live more happy lives

Free of squalling brats and wives

Who nag and vex us every day

So its over the hills and far away


Prentice Tom may well refuse

To wipe his angry master's shoes

For now he's free to run and play

Over the hills and far away


No more from sound of drum retreat

When Marlborough and Galway beat

The French and Spaniards every day

Over the hills and far away.


Men of Harlech (two versions)

Men of Harlech, march to glory, Victory is hov'ring o'er ye,

Bright eyed freedom stands before ye, Hear ye not her call?

At your sloth she seems to wonder, Rend the sluggish bonds asunder,

Let the war cry's deaf'ning thunder, Ev'ry foe appal

Echoes loudly waking, Hill and valley shaking;

'Till the sound spreads wide around, The Saxon's courage breaking;

Your foes on ev'ry side assailing, Forward press with heart unfailing,

Till invaders learn with quailing, Cambria ne'er can yield.

Thou who noble Cambria wrongest, Know that freedom's cause is strongest

Freedom's courage lasts the longest, Ending but with death!

Freedom countless hosts can scatter, Freedom stoutest mail can shatter,

Freedom thickest walls can batter, Fate is in her breath.

See they now are flying! Dead are heaped with dying!

Over might has triumphed right, Our land to foes denying;

Upon their soil we never sought them, Love of conquest hither brought them,

But this lesson we have taught them, Cambria ne'er can yield.

(I actually like the version from Zulu better, which goes like so)

Men of Harlech stop your dreaming

Can't you see their spear points gleaming

See their warrior pennants streaming

To this battle field

Men of Harlech stand ye steady

It cannot be ever said ye

For the battle were not ready

Stand and never yield

From the hills rebounding

Let this war cry sounding

Summon all at Cambria's call

The mighty force surrounding

Men of Harlech onto glory

This shall ever be your story

Keep these burning words before ye

Welshmen will not yield

(the lyrics are a tad less high-falutin in the movie, thus easier to remember)

Annie's sentimental favorite:

Soldiers of the Queen

Britons always loyally declaim, about the way we rule the waves.

Every Briton's song is just the same, when singing of our soldiers brave

All the world has heard it, wonders why we sing, and some have learned the reason why.

We're not forgetting it, we're not letting it

Fade away or gradually die; fade away or gradually die.

So when we say that England's master, remember who has made her so.

It's the soldiers of the Queen, my lads,

Who've been, my lads, who've seen, my lads,

In the fight for England's glory, lads,

Of its world wide glory let us sing.

And when we say we ve always won,

And when they ask us how it's done,

We'll proudly point to every one

Of England's soldiers of the Queen.

(rarely sung second and third stanza, googled for accuracy's sake)

War clouds gather over every land, our treaties threatened east and west.

Nations that we've shaken by the hand, our honoured pledges try to test.

They may have thought us sleeping, thought us unprepared, because we have our party wars.

But Britons all unite, when they're called to fight

The battle for old England's cause; the battle for old England's cause.

So when we say that England's master, remember who has made her so.
It's the soldiers of the Queen, etc,

When we're roused we buckle on our swords, we've done with diplomatic lingo.

We do deeds to follow our words, we show we're something more than jingo

The sons of merry England answered duty's call, and military duties do,

And though new at the game, they show them all the same,

An Englishman can be a soldier too; an Englishman can be a soldier too.

So when we say that England's master, remember who has made her so.
It's the soldiers of the Queen, etc.

Everyone likes this, though the lyrics I know are slightly different:

Sean South of Garryowen

'Twas on a dreary New Year's day as the shades of night came down

A lorry load of volunteers approached a border town

There were men from Dublin and from Cork, Fermanagh and Tyrone

But the leader was a Limerick man, Sean South of Garryowen.

And as they moved along the street up to the barracks door

The scorned the danger they might meet, the fate that lay in store

They were fighting for old Ireland, to claim their very own

And the foremost of that gallant band was Sean South of Garryowen.

But the sergeant spoiled their daring plan, he spied them through the door

With the sten guns and the rifles too, a hail of death did pour

And when that awful night was o'er two men lay as cold as stone

There was one from near the border and one from Garryowen.

No more he will hear the seagulls cry, or the murmuring Shannon tide

For he fell beneath a northern sky, O'Hanlon by his side

They have gone to join that gallant band of Plunkett, Pierce and Tone

Another martyr for old Ireland, was Sean South of Garryowen.

Hands down, Garrett's favorite one, but he calls it the drum and whistling song... cuz we do the percussion bits by slapping our thighs and the fifes by whistling.

The British Grenadiers

Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules,

Of Hector and Lysander, and some of Meltiades.

But of all the world's brave heros, there's none that can compare

With a tow row row row row

To the British grenadiers

Now none of these ancient heros ever saw a cannon ball

Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal,

But our brave boys do now them and banish all their fears

With a tow row row row row

To the British grenadiers

Whenever we are commanded to storm the palisades

Our leaders march with fusils and we with hand grenades

We hurl them from the glacis, about our enemies' ears

With a tow row row row row

To the British grenadiers

The God of War was pleased and great Bellona smiles

To see these noble heroes of our British Isles

And all the Gods celestial, descending from their spheres,

Beheld with adoration

The British grenadiers

Now let us crown a bumper and drink a health to those,

Who carry caps and pouches and wear the loup'ed


May they and their commanders live happy all their years

With a tow row row row row

To the British grenadiers