Perfect folk club in the sky
from The Gift by Harvey Andrews
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Digital Track
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lyrics
Oh, we'll sing the Jug o’ Punch
We'll sing The Last Thing On My Mind
John o’ Dreams and Scarborough Fair
And every hour we'll find
Someone, somewhere's singing The Wild Mountain Thyme
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
The door is always open
Entry's always free
But artists still get paid lots more
Than just the fee
And everyone who enters buys the new CD
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
Singers given one song
Never try for two
No instruments need tuning
They all stay sweet and true
And songs you've heard a thousand times still sound bright and new
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
Every note is crystal
Every word is heard
Children sit in silence
I know, it's quite absurd
And every floor singer remembers every word
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
The bar is one big fountain
Of gushing real ale
And every tankard's larger
Than a milking pail
And no one sings a 40 verse tribute to the whale
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
Each song's in perfect rhythm
It never gets too slow
And there's no need for raffles to help pay for
The show
And all the bodhrán players have been banished down below
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
We'll sing The Last Thing On My Mind
John o’ Dreams and Scarborough Fair
And every hour we'll find
Someone, somewhere's singing The Wild Mountain Thyme
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
The door is always open
Entry's always free
But artists still get paid lots more
Than just the fee
And everyone who enters buys the new CD
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
Singers given one song
Never try for two
No instruments need tuning
They all stay sweet and true
And songs you've heard a thousand times still sound bright and new
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
Every note is crystal
Every word is heard
Children sit in silence
I know, it's quite absurd
And every floor singer remembers every word
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
The bar is one big fountain
Of gushing real ale
And every tankard's larger
Than a milking pail
And no one sings a 40 verse tribute to the whale
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
Each song's in perfect rhythm
It never gets too slow
And there's no need for raffles to help pay for
The show
And all the bodhrán players have been banished down below
When we reach that perfect folk club in the sky
credits
from The Gift,
released January 1, 2001
license
all rights reserved
tags
discography
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Oct 2013 -
Jan 2004 -
Jan 2001 -
Oct 1997 -
Jan 1996 -
Jan 1995 -
Jan 1994 -
May 2014