The Green Fields Of France (No Man's Land)
Eric Bogle| FLOWERS OF THE FOREST | |
| NO MAN'S LAND Have you heard the old song about Willie Mc Bride? If I hear it again, it'll turn me insides! For its sung in the Springtime and its sung in the Fall - And mostly by people who can't sing at all! You go out for a drink on a Saturday night For a pint and a song, and things are alright Until some drunken bowsey sits down by your side And he asks for the one about "Willie Mc Bride"! Well you say you don't know it but this will not do For now he's determined to sing it to you So he spills half your drink and starts off in a key That was never invented on land or on sea And as time goes by sure the whole thing gets worse For you soon realise that he knows every verse! With his arm round your shoulder - 'cos now he's your friend He's going to sing the damn thing to the end! You go out to the Gents for a quarter of an hour And you watch the TV in the old public bar And then you come back thinking that he will tire But he's still going on about gas and barbed wire! And ten minutes later you're all in a trance For he's up to his oxters in the Green Fields of France The crowd are all quiet, you wont hear a peep Does he not realise they've all gone to sleep? Ah Willie Mc Bride, why the hell did you die? The trouble you'd have saved if you'd come back alive And got a wee job or signed "on the brew"* We'd not have to listen to songs about you! But still I don't know but I'm glad that you're dead With the green fields of France piled on top of your head For the trouble you caused since the day that you died - Shooting's too good for you, Willie Mc Bride! | FLOWERS OF THE FOREST I've heard the lilting, at the yowe-milking, Lassies a-lilting before dawn o' day; But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning; "The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away". Dool and wae for the order sent oor lads tae the Border! The English for ance, by guile wan the day, The Flooers o' the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, The pride o' oor land lie cauld in the clay. I've heard the lilting, at the yowe-milking, Lassies a-lilting before dawn o' day; But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning; "The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away". |
