American Old Time Song Lyrics: 20 Major Gilfeather

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 20

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Copyright, 1886, by Wm. A. Pond & Co.

Oh, beautiful Major Gilfeather!
The ladies remark With a sigh;
Oh, gracious, oh, my, did you ever
Observe such a beautiful eye?
The choicest of choice conversation
I give to the ladies, oh, dear!
In hotel or parlor, or station,
Oh, this is the language I bear:

Oh, how is the Major Gilfeather?
I'm a little bit under the weather.
It's smilingly then I'd endeavor
To borrow a five, do you see?
Oh, take it and keep it forever,
My friendship for you cannot sever.
For you are so royally clever!
Oh, meaning the Major, that's me.

To dinner I'm often invited,
It's out of my style to decline.
With rapture And joy I'm delighted,
And often prostrated with wine.
The ladies they say I'm bewitching.
In fact I'm a real Belvedere;
In ball-room, in parlor or kitchen.
Oh, this is the language I hear:-Chorus.

The tailors and barbers all know me,
They're envious of my great success;
They say, come and pay what you owe me!
I give them my name and address.
I leave them to mingle with fashion,
Their voices grate hard on my ear:
When hungry and needing a ration,
Oh, this is the language I hear:-Chorus.
Banks and Braes O' Bonnie Doon.

Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
How can ye sing, ye little birds.
While I'm sae weary fu' o' care?
Yell break my heart, ye little birds,
That warble on the flowery thorn.
Ye mind me o' departed joys,
Departed never to return.

Aft have I strayed by bonnie Doon.
To see the rose and woodbine twine.
And ilka-bird sing o' its love
As fondly sae did I o' mine.
Wi' lightsome heart I pou'd a rose.
Sae sweet frae off the thorny tree:
But my fause lover stole the rose,
And. ah! he left the thorn with me.

Oh! blow ye flowers, your bonnie bloom
And draw the wild birds to the burn.
For Lumon promised me a ring.
And ye maun aid me should I mourn.
Oh! na, na, na, ye nood na bloom,
My een are dim and drowsy warn;
Ye bonnie birds, ye need na sing.
For Lumon never will return.

My Lumon a love in broken sighs
At dawning day by Doon ye'se hear.
At midday by the willow green;
For him I'll shed the silent tear.
Sweet birds, I ken yell pity me,
An join me wi' a plaintive sang.
While echo wakes to aid the mane
I raak for him I lo'ed sae lang.
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E-Book - An Annotated Compendium of Old Time American Songs by James Alverson III