A Drop of the Creature

  1. All For Our Rightful King
  2. When I Step Out
  3. Wanderlust
  4. McPaw’s Reel
  5. Bewitchin' Brenda
  6. Maids When You’re Young
  7. The Mermaid Song
  8. Out In The Night
  9. Tenderly
  10. The Rakish Young Devil
  11. I’m So Stupid
  12. Ugly Mrs. Fen
  13. The Bloody Drum
  14. The Bandit Song
  15. Beer Beer Beer
  16. Little Beggar Man



All For Our Rightful King

Oh it was all for our rightful king, we left fair Scotland’s strand.
It was all for our rightful king, we e’re saw Irish land, my love
We e’re saw Irish land

Now all is done that man can do, and all is done in vain
My king, my native land farewell, for I maun cross the Main, my love
For I maun cross the Main

Well he’s turned his horse right round about, upon the Irish shore
He ga’ed his bridle reins a shake, Adieu for ever more, my love.
Adieu for evermore.

Oh the soldier frea the war returns, and the sailor frea the main.
But I muan pairt from my true love, never to meet again, my love.
Never to meet again.

(First verse repeats)


When I step Out
(by Westan James)
(for Tristan)

I’ll take down my old long cloak, hangin’ by the door
I’ll pick up my leather boots, up from off the floor.
My father’s cane of old blackthorn, feels warm in my hands
I’ll put on my cap, well worn, and set out across the land

When I step out on the road
When I step out on the way,
I’ll follow that road where’ ere it goes
When I step out this fine day

No work, no work, I feel no shame, I’ll do no work at all.
I claim this day in my own name, I’m feelin’ ten feet tall.
I greet the day with open arms, I flash the sun a smile.
I look out over fields and farms, I pause there for awhile.


The road winds over hill and dale, it crosses rivers three.
No blinding storm or blowing gale, will be stoppin’ me
No wall or cliff will bar my way, I’ll slip right thru the air,
And when I land, I’ll dust me off, not long and I’ll be there.




(by George Curtis)

Once I loved a lady, she meant the world to me
Her eyes as green as a shady lake
And her smile like a springtime breeze
Her long hair shone like golden silk
With the rolling sea in her stride
I found my comfort in a feathery bed
With my lady by my side

But a long dark winter took her from me
I must have wept for 40 days
As the sparks from the pyre blew up to the stars
I thought about my ways
My lady was my hearth and heat, my lady was my home
Without her love, and without my tears, I’ll pick up my staff and roam

Harvest time turn the trees to rust
And my travels bring me to town
The smell of straw blows up from the fields
And the sounds of music roll down.
The skalds sing out and the merchants deal
And the women dance till dawn.
There’s ale and merriment enough for me
But in the morning I’ll be gone

For I’m at my best when my boots wear thin, I’ll see the world by the mile.
Every lake is green as a lady’s eyes, every breeze is welcome as a smile.
From caravans of gold and silk to ships on the new moon’s tide,
I found my comfort in a mossy bed, with the road close by my side.

Summer time brings drums of war
And banners from lands far away
The fields burn as the farmers arm
So I land my sword to the fray
“You’ve won a place of honor here, lad,
tell me why is it you won’t stay?”
but the winding road keeps calling me back
so this is what I say


On a cold mountain road in a traveler’s Inn
I find shelter in the winter time
I warm my bones by the crackling fire
And I trade my tales for wine
The innkeepers always ask the same
What calls you to the open road
As they trun for an answer all they see
Is me vanish in the swirling snow


Once I loved a lady…


McPaw’s Reel
(David Miller)

Feel a-lucky a-lie a-laddy listen close to what I’ve said
Fell a-lucky a-lie a-lum don’t step the graves, don’t wake the dead

Little Tommy Tim McPaw loved the girls but wouldn’t pick one,
A wealthy family he’d come from, quite a catch a grave-digger’s son
He said I plan to never marry; a captured soul I shall never be.
I shall die quite happily with all the girl’s cryin’ over me.


Little Tommy Tim McPaw was out one night drinkin’ hard
He stumbled on his long walk home and cut across the grave yard
He danced and sang around the stones; a captured soul I shall never be
I shall die quite happily with all the girl’s cryin’ over me.


You sing with spirit, a voice cried out, Tommy then saw a maiden fair
A lantern lighted her pretty face and showed off the fire in her hair.
She flirted with Tom as maidens will, when their father’s are far away
They danced, he begged her for a kiss as the music of locusts continued to play


She obliged to Tom’s surprise her kiss was as cold as the stones and the dew
The maiden said, I’ve been four years dead, now that we’ve kissed you’re dead too.
Early next morning they buried poor Tom, at the spot where he died
The men drank whiskey to his life, the girl’s stood over Tom and they cried.


So the ghost of Tom forever sings, a captured soul I shall forever be
Dancing forever around the stones with the ghostly maiden who captured me.

Feel a-lucky a-lie a-laddy listen close to what I’ve said
Fell a-lucky a-lie a-lum don’t step the graves, don’t wake the dead
Feel a-lucky a-lie a-laddy listen close to what I’ve said
Fell a-lucky a-lie a-lum don’t step the graves, don’t wake the dead


Bewitching Brenda
(by David Miller)

I met the girl I love, before church on an August day.
I’d like to say she was heaven-sent, and for me did kneel and pray.
The first time I looked into her eyes, I thought ol’ Fagan, you’re truly blessed.
For she stopped me on my holy path, and un-buttoned her calico dress.

She’s bewitching Brenda wears jewelry on her toes
Her hair is gold, spun from the sun, and her lips are red as rose.
By day we fight and make love all night, sometimes till the afternoon.
When the mandolin wails she brews her own ale and sings to the man in the moon.

I told me mother that I loved Brenda, and she fainted in her mulligan stew,
Papa sent for Father O’Kelly and the nuns at the convent too.
My brother said, “You’re goin’ ta hell, where you’ll burn and you’ll blister.”
Then he took me aside and he smiled wide and said, “Tell me, has she a sister?”


I married Brenda and she married me ‘cause the old priest wouldn’t think of it.
We asked him to imbibe of a spiritual bribe, but the old man wouldn’t take a drink of it.
World spread around through the whole town that I had married a Pagan.
I said, “think what you will, she has her own still, and my last name is Fagan.”



Maids When You’re Young

Oh- an old man came courting her, hey do ding durum
An old man came courting and she being young
An old man came courting her, hey do ding durum
Maids when you’re young never wed an old man

He’s got no fa-lurum fa-liddle fa-lurum, he’s got no fa-lurum fa-liddle fa-ley
he’s got no fa-lurum, he’s lost his ding-durum,
so maids when you’re young never wed an old man.

And-when they went to their tea, hey do ding durum
When they went to their tea, she being young
When they went to their tea, he winked at her teasingly
Maids when you’re young never wed an old man


Oh-when they went to their bed, hey do ding durum
When they went to their bed, she being young
When they went to their bed, he lay as if was dead
Maids when you’re young never wed an old man

Oh-when he was fast asleep, hey do ding durum
When he was fast asleep, she being young
When he was fast asleep, she from his side did creep
Into the arms of a handsome young man,

We’ve got fa-lurum fa-liddle fa-lurum, yeah, we’ve got fa-lurum fa-liddle fa-ley
Oh we’ve fa-lurum, we found our ding-durum,
so maids when you’re young never wed an old man.


The Mermaid Song
(traditional) (Wylde Nept version)

Our ship set sail on Friday morn and we were not far from the land
Our captain he spied, a mermaid so fair, with a comb and a glass in her hand.

And the ocean waves do roll
And the stormy winds do blow
And we poor sailors are skippin at the top
While the land-lubbers lie down below below below
While the land-lubbers lie down below.

Up spoke the captain of our gallant ship, and a fine old cap’n was he.
This fishy mermaid has warned me of our doom, we shall sink to the bottom of the sea!


Up spoke the first mate of our gallant ship, and a fine strappin lad was he
He says I’ve a wife, in Brookelyn-by-the-sea, and an old widow she shall be


Up spoke the cook of our gallant ship, and a crazy ol’ butcher was he
He says I care much more for me pots and me pans, than I do for the bottom of the sea


Three times round, spun our gallant ship, and three times around spun she
Three times round, spun our gallant ship and she sank to the bottom of the sea



Out in the Night
(by Westan James)

Don’t go alone out in the night, it is not yours to own.
Cling to pools of moonlight-if through the night you’re goin’.
Beware the sounding of the horn, it cries out for your soul
The Hunt rides out, the never-born, tis you that is the goal.
Oh fear that sight my wandering one, may you never hear that sound
For if you do, my dearest son, I fear your ne’er be found.
Beware the goblins o’ the glen, the drumming and the song
Stray too close to that great din, and dinner you’ll become.
Home and hearth stay here and rest, hearth and home by far the best
By the fire just sit tight, awake at dawn, survive the night.

Avoid the forest if you can, unseelie court there rules,
For that is where black eldar stands and waits for passing fools.
Pass not the ruins on the hill, redcaps stand the watch,
Your blood is dye for hats to fill, don’t end up one more notch.
If the coastline you must tread, beware of plaintive cries
A mermaid wet, or silky dread will catch you with their lies.
The mountains too, are no safe place, hear the rumbling roar,
Trolls moan and giants pace, and line their dens with gore.
Home and hearth stay here and rest, hearth and home by far the best
By the fire just sit tight, awake at dawn, survive the night.

If on the road you meet a man in grey cloak and a staff
Toss him silver if you can, avoid his horrid laugh
What e’er you do steer clear the moors, its hidden falls and fens
Spirits want that which is yours, you’ll not find home again
Fearies too enchant the way, and pixies play their part
Listen close to what I say or be elf-shot through the heart

If you still think that you must go, take rowan and take rue,
I’ll teach you old songs that I know, they might just see you through
Our thoughts will all be with you now, hold tightly to your pack!
The horrors I describe are true – please lad – hurry back!


(music by Wayne Twombley, lyrics by Westan James)

Tenderly, with sweet caress
Tenderly, she will cry
Tenderly, hell kiss her hand,
But never say good-bye.

Sparingly, she savors hope
Sparingly, she will dream
Sparingly, with time enough
Her smile though fleet, may beam.

Savagely, he fights abroad
Savagely, he clings to life
Savagely, he swears to God
Hell return to see his wife

Sparingly, she savors hope.
Sparingly, she dreams
Sparingly, she says good-bye
Slowly rending seams.


Rakish Young Devil
(by David Miller)

The rakish young devil came to town by coach
He stepped to the street and beat the dust from his pants
Bright yellow curls fell from his high bowler
And he stole away my Kate, with one blue-eyed glance

And I swear to the wild wind in revenge I will revel, God give back my Kate
And damn the rakish young devil.

The rakish young devil stepped into the inn,
where Katie caught sight of him and how her eyes shown
He lit up a smoke and he told her a joke
And she smiled in a way that I’d never known.
I watched from the corner where my piano jangled
Songs of the railroad for the drinking workmen
And every bitter stout sweet Katie poured out
Could not quench the thirst behind his devilish grin


Day after day the rakish young devil,
came in and sat down at the very same place
He spent his purse freely, with a stare at me steely,
his whispers brought a blush to my sweet Katie’s face.
The night of a cold moon they danced in the saloon
With my back turned away the two cooed and they kissed!
My loyal young brother stood true to my honor,
it pained him to tell me all that I had missed.


With my blood a-fire, and burning in my chest
I ran down the road to her father’s green farm,
‘Neath a willow tree, they kissed passionately
The rakish young devil with my Kate in his arms!
One shot rang high above the cold dead ground
My brother’s pistol fell from my trembling hand
My aim tainted by anger left sweet Katie dieing
though I meant to destroy the rakish young man


The rakish young devil, disappeared in the darkness,
And Katie’s wide eyes locked with mine in despair
I rushed to her side, Forgive me! I cried,
and her life drifted off on the cool Autumn air.
Well they’ve built the gallows, outside the jail window
The rake will live on, long after my death.
But as a spirit that’s damned, to misery eternal
I swear
I’ll haunt that bastard till his dieing breath!

-chorus twice-


I’m So Stupid
(by David Miller)

Every little twist has got me fooled
She treats me like a fish just out of school
Hooks me and she reels me in
Tosses me back just to catch me again

But I love her, I love her, I love her…
I’m so stupid.

She wants diamonds and she wants flowers
She wants to live in an ivory tower
Spends my money and leaves me poor
Smiles and says, “Honey, can I have some more?”

But I love her, I love her, I love her…
I’m so stupid.

If I was king of land and sea
I’d still ask the girl to marry me
If I was just a poor little fish
I be glad to be served on her supper dish.

But I love her, I love her, I love her…
I’m so stupid.
Yes I love her, I love her, I love her…
I’m so stupid.


Ugly Mrs. Fen
(by David Miller)

One cold March morning I crossed O’Miller’s Moor
W’me shepherd dog Clancy on a distasteful chore
Me mother sent me out with some soup for Mrs. Fen
Who’s husband fell on his dicky and couldn’t get up again

St. Patrick lead me to the gates, St. Peter let me in
For I don’t wanna see the face of ugly Mrs. Fen
She comes from France, and she wears pants
And smells like fishermen
St. Patrick lead me to the gates, St. Peter let me in

I knocked three times and Mrs. Fen opened up the door
A nastier uglier hag I had never seen before
She had hairy moles and blackened teeth
And weighed 900 pounds, poor Clancy took one look at her
And fell dead to the ground

St. Patrick lead me to the gates, St. Peter let me in
For I don’t wanna see the face of ugly Mrs. Fen
She drinks from kegs, has hairy legs,
And a hideous devil’s grin!
St. Patrick lead me to the gates, St. Peter let me in.

She took the soup from me hands and bid me do come in
It might make me husband smile if you paid your respects to him
So I took off me cap and coat, and walked over to the bed
He whispered to me, “Closer lad”, and this is what he said;

St. Patrick lead me to the gates, St. Peter let me in
For I can’t stand another day livin’ with Mrs. Fen
Me outlook is iffy, with nary a stiffy sin’(ce) me drunken wedding, friend,
St. Patrick lead me to the gates, St. Peter let me in

I felt so sorry for the man I started in to cry
I reached into me pocket for me traveler o’ rye
We drank and we cried together till our eyes were red and sore
We got so drunk that we couldn’t see her ugly face no more

St. Patrick lead me to the gates, St. Peter let me in
For I don’t wanna see the face of ugly Mrs. Fen
St. Patrick lead me to the gates, St. Peter let me in
For I don’t wanna see the face of ugly Mrs. Fen


The Bloody Drum
(David Miller)

This story happens years ago, forty score or more
A bodhran-playing lad dressed in plaid went off to fight a war.
To take Bonny Mohr, the enemy, in the morning did come
The boy’s only weapon was his bloody drum, just his bloody drum,
just his bloody drum.

The drummer lad in kelly plaid, sounded a lively beat
As his regiment marched in time-oh down the village street
No one ever knew, where the drummer, he came from
But the town stood and cheered-oh, for the bloody drum,
for the bloody drum.

The fight took the whole day, and death crossed the field slowly,
With no small shame, the foe tried to claim final victory
For in the living the enemy still counted some
And our only soldier still alive was the bloody drum,
Just the bloody drum.

He marched up to the enemy, and challenged single-handedly.
Surrender asunder and die with wonder, I shall drive you into the sea
The enemy captain laughed, he said either you or I are dumb
You can’t drive us to the sea, you can’t even hurt a flea, with your bloody drum,
With your bloody drum.

He raised the goatskin o’er his head, and he began to pound.
The sky cracked wide and the raiders all died, when the lightning came down
The air was charged with sorcery and filled with the slow steady hum
Of the wide thunder and the tide pulling under the foes of the bloody drum,
The foes of the bloody drum.

The town cried out for its hero, they cried out for his name
And how they all did cheer-oh, they promised to spread his fame
They offered shelter from the storm, but in he refused to come.
He let out a banshee-call, and disappeared in the squall, he disappeared the bloody drum
Disappeared, the bloody drum.


The Bandit Song
(by Westan James)

Oh I am a rover, I roam the land over,
and Ill never settle until I get caught,
From village to township, my sword hangs at my hip,
and youll never catch me, Ill always be sought.

We hold the highways and we hold the hills,
steal you silver make off your tills,
Call down your kings men we quicken our pace,
drive hard for the forest- we live for the chase!

A knave so beguiling, that while youre still smiling
Before you know it, Ive got all your gold.
And I am so dashing, Ill escape the thrashing,
So damnably vexing, Ill live till Im old!

We have the forest and we have the moors,
Rustle your cattle and take what is yours
Call the high sheriff we couldnt care less
Torture us gladly, well never confess

No you cannot beat me, nor ever defeat me,
I am but a sinner, and I have no shame
To steal all that glimmers, purloin all that shimmers
To nab it and grab it thats our favorite game

We hold the alley and we hold the night,
were always ready and willing to fight.
Put all your money right here in this sack,
Just do as we say, theres a knife at your back!

Ah we are hellacious, our greed is voracious
No one is save above our plans and schemes
Rogues from a nightmare, we burgle with great care,
And if you can hear this, weve stolen your dreams

We rule the backlands and we know the wastes
Sneak into the village and ride off in haste
We rob and plunder and sunder and kill
We wreck and we ruin and threaten with skill

Yes, were here to scare you, to trap and ensnare you
Rakish young devils, we scoff at the law
Remarkably daring, our nostrils a-flaring,
Make with your chattel our plans have no flaw

Well take the booty and well take the loot,
We all have daggers concealed in our boot.
Call the kings horses and call the lawmen
Well just evade them again and again

Yes, we are all blackguards, raise up all the tankards
And drink to the wild ways that led us astray
Sometimes we are charming but most times; alarming!
Dont ever forget us, or be our next pray.

We hide in shadows and hide behind trees
We prove that there is no honor mong thieves
Well count up the gain and youll count up the loss
Where is thy dagger? In your gullet boss.

So conclusion, we thrive on illusion
Were all in collusion, keep secrets or die
We all conspire around the campfire
Make plans to go straight, of course,
Id never lie


Beer, Beer, Beer
(Traditionl) (Wylde Nept Version)

A long time ago, way back in history,
when all there was to drink was nothin’ but cups o’tea.
Along came a man by the name of Charlie Mops,
and he invented a wonderful drink and he made it out of hops!

HE! Must have been an admiral, a sultan, or a king!
And to praises we shall always sing!
Look what he has done for us, he’s filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented
Beer, beer, beer tiddley beer, beer, beer.

The Curtis Bar, the James’ Pub, the Hole-In-The-Wall as well.
One thing you can be sure of, its Charlie’s beer they sell
So all you lads and lasses at eleven O’clock, you stop.
For five short seconds, remember Charlie Mops.
One, two, three, four, five…

HE! Must have been an admiral, a sultan, or a king!
And to praises we shall always sing!
Look what he has done for us, he’s filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented
Beer, beer, beer tiddley beer, beer, beer.

A barrel of malt, a bushel of hops,
You stir it around with a stick,
The kind of lubrication to make yer engine tick
Forty pints of wallop a day will keep away the quacks,
Its only eight pence hey-penny and one and six in tax
One, two, three, four, five…

HE! Must have been an admiral, a sultan, or a king!
And to praises we shall always sing!
Look what he has done for us, he’s filled us up with cheer!
Lord bless Charlie Mops, the man who invented
Beer, beer, beer tiddley beer, beer, beer.
Tiddley Beer, beer, beer, tiddley beer, beer, beer,
Lord Bless Charlie Mops!


The Li’l Beggerman
(Tradtional) (Wylde Nept Version)

I am a little beggerman and beggin I have been
For three score and more on this little isle O’green
I’m known from the Liffey (or mid-Lothian) on to Tessague
And I go by the name of old Johnny Doo

Of all the trade that’s goin surely beggin is the best,
For when a man’s tired he can sit him down to rest
Beg for his supper he’s got nothing more to do
Than to cut around the corner with his old brigg-a-doo

I slept in a barn, down in Carrabon
With me ol’ pack on, well I slept till dawn
There were holes in the roof, rain a’comin through
And the rats and the cats were playin peek-a-boo

When who should awaken but the woman of the house
With her white spotty apron and calico blouse
She became a-frighted when I said “Boo,
Now don’t you be afraid love, its only Johnny Doo

I met a little flaxy haired girl one day,
“Good mornin’ little flaxy hair girl,” I say
“Good morning little beggerman and how do-you-do,
With your rags and your tags and your old brigg-a-doo,

I’ll buy a pair leggings and a shirt that I can dye.”
“Make a nice fine lady, that’ll fetch mine eye.”
“I’ll buy a pair of goggles and color them blue.”
“And an old fashioned lady I will make of you.”

So its over the hill with me pack on me back,
Its over the hill with me great heavy sack.
Holes in me boots, toes a-peekin’ through
Singin’ Skiddlee-wack-n-doo, now its only Johnny Doo

I must be gone to bed for its getting late at night
And this fire’s all right so I’ll sleep here tonight
And I know the story of me ol’ brigg-a-doo,
Here’s Good Night, and God be with you

Says, old…




The rights for all original lyrics and mistranslations are held by Wylde Nept.
©2006, Wylde Nept; All rights reserved



Views: 301

Important (read & understand)

How to Contact us:Preferred Contact point

Skype: Travelingraggyman


Email and Instant Messenger:

TravelerinBDFSM @ aol/aim;  hotmail; identi.ca; live & yahoo


Travelingraggyman @ gmail and icq ***


Find us on Google+

Please vote for Our Site. You can vote once a day. Thank you for your support. just click on the badge below


10,000 votes - Platinum Award
5,000 votes - Gold Award
2,500 votes - Silver Award
1,000 votes - Bronze Award
300 votes - Pewter Award
100 votes - Copper Award

Member of the Associated  Posting System {APS}

This allows members on various sites to share information between sites and by providing a by line with the original source it credits the author with the creation.

Legal Disclaimer

***************We here at Traveling within the World are not responsible for anything posted by individual members. While the actions of one member do not reflect the intentions of the entire social network or the Network Creator, we do ask that you use good judgment when posting. If something is considered to be inappropriate it will be removed


This site is strictly an artist operational fan publication, no copyright infringement intended

Patchwork Merchant Mercenaries had its humble beginnings as an idea of a few artisans and craftsmen who enjoy performing with live steel fighting. As well as a patchwork quilt tent canvas. Most had prior military experience hence the name.


Patchwork Merchant Mercenaries.


Vendertainers that brought many things to a show and are know for helping out where ever they can.

As well as being a place where the older hand made items could be found made by them and enjoyed by all.

We expanded over the years to become well known at what we do. Now we represent over 100 artisans and craftsman that are well known in their venues and some just starting out. Some of their works have been premiered in TV, stage and movies on a regular basis.

Specializing in Medieval, Goth , Stage Film, BDFSM and Practitioner.

Patchwork Merchant Mercenaries a Dept of, Ask For IT was started by artists and former military veterans, and sword fighters, representing over 100 artisans, one who made his living traveling from fair to festival vending medieval wares. The majority of his customers are re-enactors, SCAdians and the like, looking to build their kit with period clothing, feast gear, adornments, etc.

Likewise, it is typical for these history-lovers to peruse the tent (aka mobile store front) and, upon finding something that pleases the eye, ask "Is this period?"

A deceitful query!! This is not a yes or no question. One must have a damn good understanding of European history (at least) from the fall of Rome to the mid-1600's to properly answer. Taking into account, also, the culture in which the querent is dressed is vitally important. You see, though it may be well within medieval period, it would be strange to see a Viking wearing a Caftan...or is it?

After a festival's time of answering weighty questions such as these, I'd sleep like a log! Only a mad man could possibly remember the place and time for each piece of kitchen ware, weaponry, cloth, and chain within a span of 1,000 years!! Surely there must be an easier way, a place where he could post all this knowledge...

Traveling Within The World is meant to be such a place. A place for all of these artists to keep in touch and directly interact with their fellow geeks and re-enactment hobbyists, their clientele.

© 2021   Created by Rev. Allen M. Drago ~ Traveler.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Terms of Service