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Up From The Country

I hate all those stupid Irish folk-songs about how much you can drink. This is a reaction to the 'rover seldom sober.'

Well I've been indentured this year and a half
To a vintner of gluttonous seed
With his drinking uncensored his bottles and trenchers
There's none seen his like 'twixt the Tamar and Tees
So when up marched the squire
With his bible on fire
Saying up from the country we've come
For the church for the laws
Well it plucked on a chord
It was out with the standard and follow the drum

It's up from the country we've come
For the working man's weal to the powder and guns
To cut off your ears put a brand on your tongue
And to snuff out your candles and spoil your fun
To burn down the breweries
Tear up the stills
All the brandy and wine we'll pour into the sea
With all their drugs and their drams every red blooded man

And all of the publicans hanged shall be
I've often looked back and regretted that day
But I'd been in the galleys too long
With the blades and their punks
And the cardsharps and drunks
To syphon my soul for a snippet of song
So I tightened my harness I buttoned my flies
Off up the country we ran
With a jaquette of trumps
And a kick to the rump
Of the Devil behind us a cross in the van

Chords:
Intro. F# B E B E B F# B E B F# B
Verse F# B E B F# B E F# B F# E B F# B F# B
Chorus F# B E B E B F# B E B F# B (F#)
Bla La B E B F# E F# B E B F# E B (F#)

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