The Ram Song

The Ram Song is a Devon version collected by Peter Kennedy (Folksongs of Britain and Ireland). A rudimentary mummers' play is still sometimes performed with the song in the area around Sheffield, in Yorkshire.

"In comes I and our old lass, short of money and short of brass,
Give us a pint and let us sup, and then we'll do the Derby Tup."

As I went up to Derby, upon a market day,
I spied as fine a ram, sir, as ever was fed upon hay.
Aye, my dingle Derby, to my Derby dingle day,
It was one of the finest rams, sir, that ever was fed upon hay.

This ram, he had a horn, sir, that reached up to the moon,
A lad went up in January, and didn't come down until June.

This ram, he had a fleece , sir, that grew up to the sky,
The eagles built their nests there, you could hear the little ones cry.

This ram was fat behind, sir, this ram was fat before,
And every time his hoof went down it covered an acre or more.

This ram, he had four legs, sir, that stood incredible wide,
A coach and six could drive right through with room on either side.

"Is there a butcher in this town?"
"Our Bob's a blacksmith."
"I don't want a blacksmith, I want a butcher."
"Well, all right then, I'm a butcher. Where do you want him sticking, in the front or in the rear?"
"In the front, of course."
"Right then, I'll stick him in the rear!"

And the butcher that killed this ram, sir, was up to his thighs in blood,
The lad that held the basin was washed away in the flood.

This flood became a river, sir, flowed over Derby moor,
It turned the biggest mill-wheel, that never was turned before.

And all the boys of Derby come begging for his eyes,
To kick around the streets, sir, 'cause they was football size.

And all the women of Derby come begging for his ears,
To make 'em leather aprons to last 'em the rest of their years.

And all the men of Derby come begging for his tail,
To ring St. George's bell from the top of Derby gaol.

It took all the boys of Derby to carry away his bones,
Took all the maids of Derby to roll away his stones.

Now the man that owns this ram, sir, he must be mighty rich,
The one that sings this song, sir's a lying son of a bitch.

So now my song is over, I've got no more to say,
Just give us eggs and brandy, and we'll be on our way.

© Golden Hind Music