Chords for Pegasus - The Travelling People - Liam Clancy
Tempo:
114.725 bpm
Chords used:
G
C
D
F
Tuning:Standard Tuning (EADGBE)Capo:+0fret
Start Jamming...
This poem that Patrick Cavanaugh called Pegasus, who was the flying horse of course of Irish, of
not Irish but Greek mythology.
He said, my soul was an old horse offered for sale at twenty fairs.
I offered him to the church.
The buyers were little men who feared his unusual airs.
There was one said, let him remain unbid in the wind and rain and hunger of sin,
and we'll get him with the winkers thrown in for nothing.
And then the men of state came to see
what I'd brought for sale.
There was one minister wondering if another horse body would fit the tail
that he'd kept for sentiment, the relic of his own soul, who said I'll graze him in lieu of his labor.
So I lent him for a week or more.
He came back a hurdle of bones, starved, overworked, in despair.
I nursed him on the roadside grass to shape him for another fair.
I lowered my price.
I stood him
where the broken winded spaven stand, and crooked shopkeeper said, well he might do a season on the
land.
He's not for high paid work in towns.
He'd do a tinker possibly.
I begged, oh make me some
offer now.
A soul is a poor man's tragedy.
He'll draw your dungiest cart, show you shortcuts to mass,
teach weather lore, at night collect bad debts from poor men's grass.
But they would not.
So where the
tinkers quarreled, I went down with my horse, my soul.
I cried who'll bid me half a crown.
From their rowdy barred soul I prayed.
I have hawked you through the world of church,
and state, and meanest trade.
But this evening, halt her off.
Never again will it go on.
On the
south side of ditches there is grazing in the sun.
No more haggling with the world.
And as I said
these words, he grew wings upon his back.
And now I may write him every land that my imagination knew.
[G] [F]
[G] I am a freeborn man of [C] the traveling [D] people.
Got no fixed abode with nomads I [G] have wandered.
Country [D] lanes and
[G] byways were [C] always my [G] ways.
I never [F] fancied being numb.
[G] Oh we knew the woods [C] and the resting [D] places.
And the small birds sang when winter [G] days were over.
Then [D] we'd pack our load [G] and be on [C] the road.
[G] Those were good old days [F] for a row.
[G]
There was open ground [C] where a man could [D] linger
for a week or two, for time was not [G] our master.
Then [D] away you'd jog with your horse [C] and dog.
Nice and easy, [G] no need [F] to go
[G] faster.
Bring this in verse, lads.
[C]
[D]
[G]
[C]
[G] [C] [G] [F]
[G] Oh I've known life hard and [C] I've known it [D] easy.
And I've cursed the life when winter days [G] were dawning.
But I've laughed and sung
through the whole [C] night long,
[G] seeing the summer sunrise [F] in the morn.
[G]
All you freeborn men of the
[C] traveling [D] people.
Every tinker, rolling stone, and [G] gypsy rover.
Winds [D] of change are [G] blowing.
Oh old ways are [C] gone.
Your traveling days will [F] soon be over.
[G] [G]
[F] [G]
[N]
not Irish but Greek mythology.
He said, my soul was an old horse offered for sale at twenty fairs.
I offered him to the church.
The buyers were little men who feared his unusual airs.
There was one said, let him remain unbid in the wind and rain and hunger of sin,
and we'll get him with the winkers thrown in for nothing.
And then the men of state came to see
what I'd brought for sale.
There was one minister wondering if another horse body would fit the tail
that he'd kept for sentiment, the relic of his own soul, who said I'll graze him in lieu of his labor.
So I lent him for a week or more.
He came back a hurdle of bones, starved, overworked, in despair.
I nursed him on the roadside grass to shape him for another fair.
I lowered my price.
I stood him
where the broken winded spaven stand, and crooked shopkeeper said, well he might do a season on the
land.
He's not for high paid work in towns.
He'd do a tinker possibly.
I begged, oh make me some
offer now.
A soul is a poor man's tragedy.
He'll draw your dungiest cart, show you shortcuts to mass,
teach weather lore, at night collect bad debts from poor men's grass.
But they would not.
So where the
tinkers quarreled, I went down with my horse, my soul.
I cried who'll bid me half a crown.
From their rowdy barred soul I prayed.
I have hawked you through the world of church,
and state, and meanest trade.
But this evening, halt her off.
Never again will it go on.
On the
south side of ditches there is grazing in the sun.
No more haggling with the world.
And as I said
these words, he grew wings upon his back.
And now I may write him every land that my imagination knew.
[G] [F]
[G] I am a freeborn man of [C] the traveling [D] people.
Got no fixed abode with nomads I [G] have wandered.
Country [D] lanes and
[G] byways were [C] always my [G] ways.
I never [F] fancied being numb.
[G] Oh we knew the woods [C] and the resting [D] places.
And the small birds sang when winter [G] days were over.
Then [D] we'd pack our load [G] and be on [C] the road.
[G] Those were good old days [F] for a row.
[G]
There was open ground [C] where a man could [D] linger
for a week or two, for time was not [G] our master.
Then [D] away you'd jog with your horse [C] and dog.
Nice and easy, [G] no need [F] to go
[G] faster.
Bring this in verse, lads.
[C]
[D]
[G]
[C]
[G] [C] [G] [F]
[G] Oh I've known life hard and [C] I've known it [D] easy.
And I've cursed the life when winter days [G] were dawning.
But I've laughed and sung
through the whole [C] night long,
[G] seeing the summer sunrise [F] in the morn.
[G]
All you freeborn men of the
[C] traveling [D] people.
Every tinker, rolling stone, and [G] gypsy rover.
Winds [D] of change are [G] blowing.
Oh old ways are [C] gone.
Your traveling days will [F] soon be over.
[G] [G]
[F] [G]
[N]
Key:
G
C
D
F
G
C
D
F
_ This poem that Patrick Cavanaugh called Pegasus, who was the flying horse of course of Irish, of
not Irish but Greek mythology.
_ He said, my soul was an old horse offered for sale at twenty fairs.
I offered him to the church. _
The buyers were little men who feared his unusual airs.
There was one said, let him remain unbid in the wind and rain and hunger of sin,
and we'll get him _ with the winkers thrown in for nothing.
_ And then the men of state came to see
what I'd brought for sale.
There was one minister wondering if another horse body would fit the tail
that he'd kept for sentiment, the relic of his own soul, who said I'll graze him in lieu of his labor. _
_ So I lent him for a week or more.
He came back a hurdle of bones, _ _ starved, overworked, in despair.
_ _ I nursed him on the roadside grass to shape him for another fair.
_ I lowered my price. _ _
I stood him
where the broken winded spaven stand, and crooked shopkeeper said, well he might do a season on the
land.
He's not for high paid work in towns.
He'd do a tinker possibly.
I begged, _ oh make me some
offer now.
A soul is a poor man's tragedy.
He'll draw your dungiest cart, show you shortcuts to mass,
teach weather lore, at night collect bad debts from poor men's grass.
_ _ But they would not. _ _
So where the
tinkers quarreled, _ I went down with my horse, my soul.
I cried who'll bid me half a crown.
From _ their rowdy barred _ _ _ _ _ _ soul I prayed.
_ _ I have hawked you through the world of church,
and state, and meanest trade.
But this evening, halt her off.
Never again will it go on.
On the
south side of ditches there is grazing in the sun.
No more haggling with the world. _
_ And as I said
these words, he grew wings upon his back.
And now I may write him every land that my imagination knew. _
[G] _ _ _ _ _ _ [F] _ _
_ _ [G] _ _ _ _ I am a freeborn man of [C] the traveling _ [D] people.
_ _ _ Got no fixed abode with _ nomads I [G] have wandered.
_ _ Country [D] lanes and _
[G] byways were [C] always my [G] _ ways.
I never _ [F] fancied being numb.
[G] _ _ _ _ _ Oh we knew the woods [C] and the resting [D] places.
_ _ _ And the small birds sang when winter [G] days were _ over.
_ Then [D] we'd pack our load [G] and be on [C] the road. _ _ _
[G] Those were good old days [F] for a row.
_ [G] _ _ _ _ _
There was open ground [C] where a man could [D] linger
_ _ _ for a week or two, for time was not [G] our master.
_ _ Then [D] away you'd jog with your horse [C] and dog. _ _ _
Nice and easy, [G] no need [F] to go _
_ [G] faster.
_ Bring this in verse, lads.
_ _ _ _ _ [C] _ _ _
[D] _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ [G] _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ [C] _ _ _ _ _
[G] _ [C] _ _ [G] _ _ _ [F] _ _
_ [G] _ _ _ _ _ Oh I've known life hard and [C] I've known it [D] easy.
_ _ _ And I've cursed the life when winter days [G] were dawning.
_ _ But I've laughed and sung
through the whole [C] night long, _ _ _
[G] seeing the summer _ sunrise [F] in the morn.
[G] _ _ _ _ _ _
All you freeborn men of the
[C] traveling [D] people.
_ _ _ _ Every tinker, _ rolling stone, and [G] gypsy rover.
_ _ Winds [D] of change are [G] blowing.
Oh _ _ old ways are [C] gone.
_ _ _ Your traveling days will [F] soon be over. _ _ _
[G] _ _ _ [G] _ _ _ _ _
_ [F] _ _ _ _ _ [G] _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ [N] _ _
not Irish but Greek mythology.
_ He said, my soul was an old horse offered for sale at twenty fairs.
I offered him to the church. _
The buyers were little men who feared his unusual airs.
There was one said, let him remain unbid in the wind and rain and hunger of sin,
and we'll get him _ with the winkers thrown in for nothing.
_ And then the men of state came to see
what I'd brought for sale.
There was one minister wondering if another horse body would fit the tail
that he'd kept for sentiment, the relic of his own soul, who said I'll graze him in lieu of his labor. _
_ So I lent him for a week or more.
He came back a hurdle of bones, _ _ starved, overworked, in despair.
_ _ I nursed him on the roadside grass to shape him for another fair.
_ I lowered my price. _ _
I stood him
where the broken winded spaven stand, and crooked shopkeeper said, well he might do a season on the
land.
He's not for high paid work in towns.
He'd do a tinker possibly.
I begged, _ oh make me some
offer now.
A soul is a poor man's tragedy.
He'll draw your dungiest cart, show you shortcuts to mass,
teach weather lore, at night collect bad debts from poor men's grass.
_ _ But they would not. _ _
So where the
tinkers quarreled, _ I went down with my horse, my soul.
I cried who'll bid me half a crown.
From _ their rowdy barred _ _ _ _ _ _ soul I prayed.
_ _ I have hawked you through the world of church,
and state, and meanest trade.
But this evening, halt her off.
Never again will it go on.
On the
south side of ditches there is grazing in the sun.
No more haggling with the world. _
_ And as I said
these words, he grew wings upon his back.
And now I may write him every land that my imagination knew. _
[G] _ _ _ _ _ _ [F] _ _
_ _ [G] _ _ _ _ I am a freeborn man of [C] the traveling _ [D] people.
_ _ _ Got no fixed abode with _ nomads I [G] have wandered.
_ _ Country [D] lanes and _
[G] byways were [C] always my [G] _ ways.
I never _ [F] fancied being numb.
[G] _ _ _ _ _ Oh we knew the woods [C] and the resting [D] places.
_ _ _ And the small birds sang when winter [G] days were _ over.
_ Then [D] we'd pack our load [G] and be on [C] the road. _ _ _
[G] Those were good old days [F] for a row.
_ [G] _ _ _ _ _
There was open ground [C] where a man could [D] linger
_ _ _ for a week or two, for time was not [G] our master.
_ _ Then [D] away you'd jog with your horse [C] and dog. _ _ _
Nice and easy, [G] no need [F] to go _
_ [G] faster.
_ Bring this in verse, lads.
_ _ _ _ _ [C] _ _ _
[D] _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ [G] _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ [C] _ _ _ _ _
[G] _ [C] _ _ [G] _ _ _ [F] _ _
_ [G] _ _ _ _ _ Oh I've known life hard and [C] I've known it [D] easy.
_ _ _ And I've cursed the life when winter days [G] were dawning.
_ _ But I've laughed and sung
through the whole [C] night long, _ _ _
[G] seeing the summer _ sunrise [F] in the morn.
[G] _ _ _ _ _ _
All you freeborn men of the
[C] traveling [D] people.
_ _ _ _ Every tinker, _ rolling stone, and [G] gypsy rover.
_ _ Winds [D] of change are [G] blowing.
Oh _ _ old ways are [C] gone.
_ _ _ Your traveling days will [F] soon be over. _ _ _
[G] _ _ _ [G] _ _ _ _ _
_ [F] _ _ _ _ _ [G] _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ _ _ [N] _ _