THE SALT (TRAD) / HUMOURS OF WEST MEATH
This version stops short of the one on Mudcat, wherein the farmer tries to kill and salt the narrator too!
NAPPER vocal, mandolin, tenor banjo BLISS mandocello
Come all you romantic young fellows
Thinking to work on a farm
Listen a while to me story
It may serve to keep you from harm
I was a dashing young fellow
Me age it was just seventeen
I hired meself to a farmer
At a Horse Fair in Ballinascreen
His farm was way up the mountains
There amidst heather and bog
The stock I had to look after
A donkey a goat and a dog
The master meself and his mother
We lived in a tumbledown shack
She wasn't a day under ninety
Her bones were beginning to crack
She sat in a chair by the fire
And never would go to her bed
And when I arose every morning
She'd be sitting there nodding her head!
The master turned out an old miser
His heart was as hard as a stone
He worked me from dawn till dark
In a month I was just skin and bone
For we never ate nothing but porridge
Says he that'll make you a man
It very near made me a dead one
We sucked it straight out of the pan
We'd two oul hens and a rooster
One day they all died of the croup
So he plucked em, boiled em salted em
Fed us all week on the soup!
Misfortunes they rarely comes single
For then the old nanny goat died
So he skint it, he boiled it and salted it
And made himself shoes from the hide
He was the most frugal of farmers
But me I was going insane
Fido he died of distemper
And I was sent for the salt once again
When I saw what became of the dog
Not a wink could I sleep all that night
Up with the lark in the morning
I got the most terrible fright!
His poor mother was laid by the fire
When I made for the door he cried "Halt"
"Where are ye going so early?
Come back here and fetch me the salt!"
tntb usually follow this with THE HUMOURS OF WEST MEATH