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Drill Ye Tarriers, Drill

from The Traveler by Trip McCool

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lyrics

Every morning, seven o'clock
There's Twenty Irishmen a pounding on a rock
The boss man says, "Shut up, keep still...
Come down heavy on your cast iron drill."

And drill, ye tarriers, drill
Drill, ye tarriers, drill
For it's work all day no sugar in you tay
Down beyond the railway Drill, ye tarriers, drill And blast, and fire.

The big boss man, he down to the ground
Married a lady 'bout six feet 'round
She bakes his bread, she bakes it well
She bakes it harder than the nobs of Hell.

The foreman, name of John McCann
Swear I never met a meaner man
A premature blast went off
And a mile in the air goes big Jim Goff.

The next payday she come around
A dollar light poor Jimmy found
"John, what for?" comes this reply
"You're docked for the hour you was up in the sky."

Tarriers live on work and sweat
There ain't no tarrier, got rich yet
Sleep and work, and work some more
And drill right down to the devil's door."

There I stand me hat in hand
With two trains kissing in the Utah sand
There's no one now, who knows my name
An Irish derby is me claim to fame

credits

from The Traveler, released March 20, 2012

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Trip McCool Oak Island, North Carolina

I put on the guitar and sing as if my ancestors were listening; and I truly believe they are so I better not disappoint them. Trip is the part of my soul that never forgot the sacrifices they made. My people rose up from the Irish mud to make a better life for me. I write songs for them, for my people, the immigrants, the poor, the salt of the earth. It's all true, even the lies. ... more

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