posted this on my FB page to share the music and my Uncle shared this bit of info with me" David Halverson the foto was taken in Edinborough, Scotland summer 1973 at the theater festival where Tara was the stage live band for one of Brendan Behan's plays. This wonderful tree seemed to pull us towards it, and as they started to play the kids just showed up dancing and I took the picture." I knew he had played with them but didn't know about the photo story
Lyrics ‘Charger’ Salmons sings Rigs of the Time No wonder that butter be a shilling a pound, Seeing the rich farmers' daughters how they ride up and down If you ask them the reason they'll say, “Oh alas! There's a French war, and the cows have no grass.” Chorus (repeated after each verse): Singing, honesty's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the time, Time, my boys, These are the rigs of the time. O the next is a publican, I must bring him in, He charges four pence a quart - he thinks it no sin. When he do bring it in, the measure is short: The top of the pot is popped off with the froth. Now the very best plan that I can find Is to puff them all off in a high gale of wind And when they get up, the cloud it will burst, And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first. Shirley Collins' sings Rigs of the Time No wonder that butter's a shilling a pound, See those rich farmers' daughters how they ride up and down If you ask them the reason they'll say, “Bon alas! There is a French war, and the cows have no grass.” Chorus (repeated after each verse): Singing, honesty's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the time, Time, my boys, These are the rigs of the time. Now here's to our landlord, I must bring him in, Charges tuppence a pint and yet thinks it no sin. When he do bring it in, the measure is short And the top of the pint is all covered in froth. And here's to the butcher, I must bring him in, Charges four pence a pound and yet thinks it no sin. Slaps his thumb on the scales and makes it go down He declares it's full weight yet it lacks half a pound. And here's to the baker, I must bring him in, Charges a ha'penny a loaf and yet thinks it no sin. When he do bring it in, it's no bigger than your fist And the top of the loaf has popped off with the yeast. Now here's to the tailor who skims with our clothes, And here's to the cobbler who pinches our toes, Our belly's all empty, our bodies are bare, No wonder we've reason to curse and to swear. Now the very best thing that I could find Is to toss them all up in a high gale of wind. When the wind it do blow, the balloon it would burst, And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first. Sandy Denny sings Rigs of the Time It's of an old butcher, I must bring him in. Charges four pence a pound, and thinks it no sin. Puts his thumb on the scale which makes it go down, And swears it's good weight yet it lacks half a pound. All sing … Chorus (repeated after each verse): Honesty 's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the time Time, me boys, These are the rigs of the time Now it's next to the baker, I must bring him in. Charges tuppence a loaf and he thinks it no sin. When he do bring it in, is not bigger than your fist, And the top of the loaf is all covered in yeast All sing … Now it's next to the landlord, well I must bring him in. Charges tuppence a pint and he thinks it no sin. When he do bring it in, now the measure it is short And the top of the pot it is all covered in froth. All sing … Now the best of all plans that comes to me mind Is to set them all off in a high gale of wind And when they go up, oh, the cloud it will burst And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first Singing … Bellowhead sing Rigs of the Time Here's to the baker, I must bring him in, Charges tuppence a loaf and he'll think it no sin. When he do bring it in, it's no bigger than your fist And the top of the loaf has popped off with the yeast. Chorus (repeated after each verse): Singing, honesty's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the time, Time, my boys, These are the rigs of the time. And here's to the butcher, I must bring him in, He charges four pence a pound and he'll think it no sin. Slaps his hand on the scale-weight to make them go down He'll swear it's good weight yet it wants half a pound. Here's to the tailor who skims on our clothes, And the shoe maker who pinches our toes. So our bellies go empty, our back-sides go bare, It's no wonder we've reason to curse and to swear. Now the very best thing that the people could find Is to pop them all off in a high gale of wind And the wind it will blow and the cloud it will burst And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first Martin Carthy sings Rigs of the Time No wonder that butter's nigh on a quid a pound, See the rich corporate farmers how they ride up and down. You ask them the reason, they'll say: “Bonny lass, It's the Commission in Brussels have taxed the cows' grass.” Chorus (repeated after each verse): Honesty's all out of fashion, These are the rigs of the time. Time, me boys, These are the rigs of the time. Now Home Secretaries, I must bring 'em in With their society obedient at every turn At picking the Peach, pulls Towers to the ground, Who needs the NF when there's SPG around. Now absentee landlords, I must bring 'em in With their sky-high rents and they think it no sin. Their ceilings fall in, the walls run with slime, But they're for blacks or for Irish so no-one really minds. Maddy Prior sings Rigs of the Time Chorus (repeated after each verse): Honesty's all out of fashion These are the rigs of the time Ay me boys, These are the rigs of the time The Transnational companies are running the show Unaccountable, faceless ones, nobody knows Richer than countries, their cause they advance They pull the strings that make politics dance The private utilities, I must bring them in A private monopoly is guaranteed to win They charge what they like, give you cause for much grief And the customer watchdogs have more gums than teeth The huge hypermarkets on the outskirts of town Convenience is up, and the prices are down But the cost of this comfort is not set at nought It's all the small business in the bankruptcy court. The cool high street clothes stores are part of the scene Neat designer labels, a marketing man's dream The young people buy them, and here's the surprise They pay extra for logos, which in turn advertise. Is Diana an angel, is Charles a cad? It's a media circus gone totally mad The never ending rehash of their private lives And who knows the truth between husbands and wives?
It's origins lie Napoleonic era (late 18th-early 19th century). A combination of bad harvests, and the war in europe between france and everybody else. Basically lead to food prices rising dramatically, hence the singers complaint. And because there was a lot of food being sent to the army and navy, what was left for sale to the public wasn't that great in terms of quality either. For those looking it up for the tune and words, it's listed as Roud 876.
John Shanahan, the guitarist and singer with the band, is my neighbor. He's living in the front building, I'm in the second rear house. John's actually from Coventry and a great guitar player and songwriter. We used to play sessions together many years ago when the Irish scene in Berlin was still in full flight. Halcyon days at the Highlander in the 80s and 90s... coventryfolkclubs.blogspot.com/2011/07/john-shanahan-coventry-guitar-player.html
I just passed by this guy selling old cassettes on the street, yesterday, and I bought this one. Beautiful!
posted this on my FB page to share the music and my Uncle shared this bit of info with me" David Halverson the foto was taken in Edinborough, Scotland summer 1973 at the theater festival where Tara was the stage live band for one of Brendan Behan's plays. This wonderful tree seemed to pull us towards it, and as they started to play the kids just showed up dancing and I took the picture." I knew he had played with them but didn't know about the photo story
I know David Halverson ! He met the band in Berlin when they where hitchhiking
Lyrics
‘Charger’ Salmons sings Rigs of the Time
No wonder that butter be a shilling a pound,
Seeing the rich farmers' daughters how they ride up and down
If you ask them the reason they'll say, “Oh alas!
There's a French war, and the cows have no grass.”
Chorus (repeated after each verse):
Singing, honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time,
Time, my boys,
These are the rigs of the time.
O the next is a publican, I must bring him in,
He charges four pence a quart - he thinks it no sin.
When he do bring it in, the measure is short:
The top of the pot is popped off with the froth.
Now the very best plan that I can find
Is to puff them all off in a high gale of wind
And when they get up, the cloud it will burst,
And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first.
Shirley Collins' sings Rigs of the Time
No wonder that butter's a shilling a pound,
See those rich farmers' daughters how they ride up and down
If you ask them the reason they'll say, “Bon alas!
There is a French war, and the cows have no grass.”
Chorus (repeated after each verse):
Singing, honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time,
Time, my boys,
These are the rigs of the time.
Now here's to our landlord, I must bring him in,
Charges tuppence a pint and yet thinks it no sin.
When he do bring it in, the measure is short
And the top of the pint is all covered in froth.
And here's to the butcher, I must bring him in,
Charges four pence a pound and yet thinks it no sin.
Slaps his thumb on the scales and makes it go down
He declares it's full weight yet it lacks half a pound.
And here's to the baker, I must bring him in,
Charges a ha'penny a loaf and yet thinks it no sin.
When he do bring it in, it's no bigger than your fist
And the top of the loaf has popped off with the yeast.
Now here's to the tailor who skims with our clothes,
And here's to the cobbler who pinches our toes,
Our belly's all empty, our bodies are bare,
No wonder we've reason to curse and to swear.
Now the very best thing that I could find
Is to toss them all up in a high gale of wind.
When the wind it do blow, the balloon it would burst,
And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first.
Sandy Denny sings Rigs of the Time
It's of an old butcher, I must bring him in.
Charges four pence a pound, and thinks it no sin.
Puts his thumb on the scale which makes it go down,
And swears it's good weight yet it lacks half a pound.
All sing …
Chorus (repeated after each verse):
Honesty 's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time
Time, me boys,
These are the rigs of the time
Now it's next to the baker, I must bring him in.
Charges tuppence a loaf and he thinks it no sin.
When he do bring it in, is not bigger than your fist,
And the top of the loaf is all covered in yeast
All sing …
Now it's next to the landlord, well I must bring him in.
Charges tuppence a pint and he thinks it no sin.
When he do bring it in, now the measure it is short
And the top of the pot it is all covered in froth.
All sing …
Now the best of all plans that comes to me mind
Is to set them all off in a high gale of wind
And when they go up, oh, the cloud it will burst
And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first
Singing …
Bellowhead sing Rigs of the Time
Here's to the baker, I must bring him in,
Charges tuppence a loaf and he'll think it no sin.
When he do bring it in, it's no bigger than your fist
And the top of the loaf has popped off with the yeast.
Chorus (repeated after each verse):
Singing, honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time,
Time, my boys,
These are the rigs of the time.
And here's to the butcher, I must bring him in,
He charges four pence a pound and he'll think it no sin.
Slaps his hand on the scale-weight to make them go down
He'll swear it's good weight yet it wants half a pound.
Here's to the tailor who skims on our clothes,
And the shoe maker who pinches our toes.
So our bellies go empty, our back-sides go bare,
It's no wonder we've reason to curse and to swear.
Now the very best thing that the people could find
Is to pop them all off in a high gale of wind
And the wind it will blow and the cloud it will burst
And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first
Martin Carthy sings Rigs of the Time
No wonder that butter's nigh on a quid a pound,
See the rich corporate farmers how they ride up and down.
You ask them the reason, they'll say: “Bonny lass,
It's the Commission in Brussels have taxed the cows' grass.”
Chorus (repeated after each verse):
Honesty's all out of fashion,
These are the rigs of the time.
Time, me boys,
These are the rigs of the time.
Now Home Secretaries, I must bring 'em in
With their society obedient at every turn
At picking the Peach, pulls Towers to the ground,
Who needs the NF when there's SPG around.
Now absentee landlords, I must bring 'em in
With their sky-high rents and they think it no sin.
Their ceilings fall in, the walls run with slime,
But they're for blacks or for Irish so no-one really minds.
Maddy Prior sings Rigs of the Time
Chorus (repeated after each verse):
Honesty's all out of fashion
These are the rigs of the time
Ay me boys,
These are the rigs of the time
The Transnational companies are running the show
Unaccountable, faceless ones, nobody knows
Richer than countries, their cause they advance
They pull the strings that make politics dance
The private utilities, I must bring them in
A private monopoly is guaranteed to win
They charge what they like, give you cause for much grief
And the customer watchdogs have more gums than teeth
The huge hypermarkets on the outskirts of town
Convenience is up, and the prices are down
But the cost of this comfort is not set at nought
It's all the small business in the bankruptcy court.
The cool high street clothes stores are part of the scene
Neat designer labels, a marketing man's dream
The young people buy them, and here's the surprise
They pay extra for logos, which in turn advertise.
Is Diana an angel, is Charles a cad?
It's a media circus gone totally mad
The never ending rehash of their private lives
And who knows the truth between husbands and wives?
just discovered this today while going record hunting, what a surprisingly amazing irish folk tune!
It's an English tune.
It's origins lie Napoleonic era (late 18th-early 19th century). A combination of bad harvests, and the war in europe between france and everybody else. Basically lead to food prices rising dramatically, hence the singers complaint. And because there was a lot of food being sent to the army and navy, what was left for sale to the public wasn't that great in terms of quality either. For those looking it up for the tune and words, it's listed as Roud 876.
One of my favorite songs.
I like Bellowheads version of this song .
Thanks for putting this video out .
this was recoded at least 30+ years ago recorded my uncles copies back in 1983
@ruairiobroin
Sandy Denny-Rigs Of Time (At Eltham Well Hall Open Theatre UK August 5, 1972) rare
I like this interesting song.
@ruairiobroin I don't really know....I can't find nothing about this band on the Internet :S my mother brought me this album from Slovenia :)
John Shanahan, the guitarist and singer with the band, is my neighbor. He's living in the front building, I'm in the second rear house. John's actually from Coventry and a great guitar player and songwriter. We used to play sessions together many years ago when the Irish scene in Berlin was still in full flight. Halcyon days at the Highlander in the 80s and 90s...
coventryfolkclubs.blogspot.com/2011/07/john-shanahan-coventry-guitar-player.html