Chords for Phil Coulter - The Man from God Knows Where
Tempo:
61.8 bpm
Chords used:
D
G
A
F#m
Bm
Tuning:Standard Tuning (EADGBE)Capo:+0fret
Start Jamming...
It is the troubled years before the great rebellion of 1798.
All of Ireland is in the
grip of a reign of terror.
[D] In Ulster, the United Irishmen, formed largely by Northern
Presbyterians and led by Henry Joy McCracken, meet in secret places under peril of [D] death
to hear news of their fellow rebels in the south.
The most dangerous task of a go-between,
carrying secret plans north and south, past sleepy villages and dark hedgerows, falls
to another United Irishman, Thomas Russell.
Travelling alone, never knowing who to trust,
and living in constant fear of discovery, his is one of the bravest tales of all.
Into our townland on a night of snow rode a man from God knows where.
None of us bade
him stay, nor go, nor deemed [G] him friend, nor damned him foe, but we stabled his [D] big
roam there.
For in our townland we're a decent folk, and if he didn't speak well, none of
us spoke, but we sat till the fire burned low.
We're a civil sort in our wee place,
so we made the circle wide round [A] Andy Lemon's cheerful blaze, and we wished the man his
length of days and a good [G] end to his ride.
He [D] smiled in under his slouchy hat and says,
see, there's a bit of a joke in that, for we ride different ways.
[G] And while we [F#m] smoked,
we watched him stare from his seat in the fire [Bm] glow.
I nudged Joe Moore.
You wouldn't
[D] dare to ask him who he's for meeting there, [G] or how far he's got to go.
Ha ha, but Joe
[D] wouldn't dare, nor will he, Scott.
And he took no drink, neither [G] cold nor hot, this
[D] man from God knows where.
It was closing time and late for by when us wands braved
the air, and I [A] never saw worse, may I live or die, than the sleep that [G] night.
And I says,
says I, you'll find [D] he's for stopping there.
But it's craig a day through the [Em] gable pain.
I watched him spur [E] through the pelting rain, [D] and I juked from his roving eye.
It was getting
on past the heat of the year when I rode to Newton [A] Fair.
I sold as I could, but, ach,
the dealers were near.
[G] Only three pounds eight for the [D] innie steer, and nothing at [G] all for
the mare.
But I met [D] Mackey in the throng of the street, and says he, the grass has grown
under our feet since they hanged young Warwick here.
And he told me that France had promised
help to a man in Dublin town, [A] and says he, if you've left that pike [G] on the shelf, you'd
better get home hot-foot by yourself and once more take it down.
So by [D] Comber Road
I trotted the grey, and I never cut corn till Kelly Lay stood high on the rising ground.
[G] For a wane of days we kept [Bm] waiting the word to rise and go at it [D] like men.
[G] But no French
ship sailed in the cloudy bay, [F#] and we heard [F#m] the black news on a harvest day that the [D] cause
was lost again.
And [D] Joey and me and Willie Scott, we agreed with ourselves that his leaf
and knot had been found in the thick of the slain.
Right on Patrick Jail I was bound to
fare on a day I'll remember.
But when I got to the prison square the people were waiting
on hundreds there, and you wouldn't hear a stir or a breath.
And the soldiers were standing
grim and tall round a scaffold built there for an insta-wall.
And a man stepped out for
death.
I was braver near the edge of the throne, but I knew the face again.
And I knew the
scent and I knew the walk and the sound of his strange up-country talk, for he spoke
out right and plain.
Then [G] he bowed his head to the [F#m] swinging rope, where I [Bm] said, Please
God to his dying [D] hope, and amen to his dying prayer [G] that the wrong would cease and the
right [F#m] prevail.
[Bm] For the man they [G] hanged at Down Patrick Jail was [E] the man from God [D] knows where.
All of Ireland is in the
grip of a reign of terror.
[D] In Ulster, the United Irishmen, formed largely by Northern
Presbyterians and led by Henry Joy McCracken, meet in secret places under peril of [D] death
to hear news of their fellow rebels in the south.
The most dangerous task of a go-between,
carrying secret plans north and south, past sleepy villages and dark hedgerows, falls
to another United Irishman, Thomas Russell.
Travelling alone, never knowing who to trust,
and living in constant fear of discovery, his is one of the bravest tales of all.
Into our townland on a night of snow rode a man from God knows where.
None of us bade
him stay, nor go, nor deemed [G] him friend, nor damned him foe, but we stabled his [D] big
roam there.
For in our townland we're a decent folk, and if he didn't speak well, none of
us spoke, but we sat till the fire burned low.
We're a civil sort in our wee place,
so we made the circle wide round [A] Andy Lemon's cheerful blaze, and we wished the man his
length of days and a good [G] end to his ride.
He [D] smiled in under his slouchy hat and says,
see, there's a bit of a joke in that, for we ride different ways.
[G] And while we [F#m] smoked,
we watched him stare from his seat in the fire [Bm] glow.
I nudged Joe Moore.
You wouldn't
[D] dare to ask him who he's for meeting there, [G] or how far he's got to go.
Ha ha, but Joe
[D] wouldn't dare, nor will he, Scott.
And he took no drink, neither [G] cold nor hot, this
[D] man from God knows where.
It was closing time and late for by when us wands braved
the air, and I [A] never saw worse, may I live or die, than the sleep that [G] night.
And I says,
says I, you'll find [D] he's for stopping there.
But it's craig a day through the [Em] gable pain.
I watched him spur [E] through the pelting rain, [D] and I juked from his roving eye.
It was getting
on past the heat of the year when I rode to Newton [A] Fair.
I sold as I could, but, ach,
the dealers were near.
[G] Only three pounds eight for the [D] innie steer, and nothing at [G] all for
the mare.
But I met [D] Mackey in the throng of the street, and says he, the grass has grown
under our feet since they hanged young Warwick here.
And he told me that France had promised
help to a man in Dublin town, [A] and says he, if you've left that pike [G] on the shelf, you'd
better get home hot-foot by yourself and once more take it down.
So by [D] Comber Road
I trotted the grey, and I never cut corn till Kelly Lay stood high on the rising ground.
[G] For a wane of days we kept [Bm] waiting the word to rise and go at it [D] like men.
[G] But no French
ship sailed in the cloudy bay, [F#] and we heard [F#m] the black news on a harvest day that the [D] cause
was lost again.
And [D] Joey and me and Willie Scott, we agreed with ourselves that his leaf
and knot had been found in the thick of the slain.
Right on Patrick Jail I was bound to
fare on a day I'll remember.
But when I got to the prison square the people were waiting
on hundreds there, and you wouldn't hear a stir or a breath.
And the soldiers were standing
grim and tall round a scaffold built there for an insta-wall.
And a man stepped out for
death.
I was braver near the edge of the throne, but I knew the face again.
And I knew the
scent and I knew the walk and the sound of his strange up-country talk, for he spoke
out right and plain.
Then [G] he bowed his head to the [F#m] swinging rope, where I [Bm] said, Please
God to his dying [D] hope, and amen to his dying prayer [G] that the wrong would cease and the
right [F#m] prevail.
[Bm] For the man they [G] hanged at Down Patrick Jail was [E] the man from God [D] knows where.
Key:
D
G
A
F#m
Bm
D
G
A
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ It is the troubled years before the great rebellion of 1798.
All of Ireland is in the
grip of a reign of terror.
[D] In Ulster, the United Irishmen, formed largely by Northern
Presbyterians and led by Henry Joy McCracken, meet in secret places under peril of [D] death
to hear news of their fellow rebels in the south.
_ The most dangerous task of a go-between,
carrying secret plans north and south, past sleepy villages and dark hedgerows, falls
to another United Irishman, Thomas Russell.
Travelling alone, never knowing who to trust,
and living in constant fear of discovery, his is one of the bravest tales of all. _ _ _ _
_ Into our townland on a night of snow rode a man from God knows where.
None of us bade
him stay, nor go, nor deemed [G] him friend, nor damned him foe, but we stabled his [D] big
roam there.
For in our townland we're a decent folk, and if he didn't speak well, none of
us spoke, but we sat till the fire burned low. _
_ We're a civil sort in our wee place,
so we made the circle wide round [A] Andy Lemon's cheerful blaze, and we wished the man his
length of days and a good [G] end to his ride.
He [D] smiled in under his slouchy hat and says,
see, there's a bit of a joke in that, for we ride different ways. _ _
[G] _ And while we [F#m] smoked,
we watched him stare from his seat in the fire [Bm] glow.
I nudged Joe Moore.
You wouldn't
[D] dare to ask him who he's for meeting there, [G] or how far he's got to go.
Ha ha, but Joe
[D] wouldn't dare, nor will he, Scott.
And he took no drink, neither [G] cold nor hot, this
[D] man from God knows where.
_ _ _ It was closing time and late for by when us wands braved
the air, and I [A] never saw worse, may I live or die, than the sleep that [G] night.
And I says,
says I, you'll find [D] he's for stopping there.
But it's craig a day through the [Em] gable pain.
I watched him spur [E] through the pelting rain, [D] and I juked from his roving eye. _ _ _ _
_ _ It was getting
on past the heat of the year when I rode to Newton [A] Fair.
I sold as I could, but, ach,
the dealers were near.
[G] Only three pounds eight for the [D] innie steer, and nothing at [G] all for
the mare.
But I met [D] Mackey in the throng of the street, and says he, the grass has grown
under our feet since they hanged young Warwick here. _
_ And he told me that France had promised
help to a man in Dublin town, [A] and says he, if you've left that pike [G] on the shelf, you'd
better get home hot-foot by yourself and once more take it down.
So by [D] Comber Road
I trotted the grey, and I never cut corn till Kelly Lay stood high on the rising ground. _
[G] _ For a wane of days we kept [Bm] waiting the word to rise and go at it [D] like men.
_ _ [G] But no French
ship sailed in the cloudy bay, [F#] and we heard [F#m] the black news on a harvest day that the [D] cause
was lost again.
And [D] Joey and me and Willie Scott, we agreed with ourselves that his leaf
and knot had been found in the thick of the slain.
_ Right on Patrick Jail I was bound to
fare on a day I'll remember.
But when I got to the prison square the people were waiting
on hundreds there, and you wouldn't hear a stir or a breath.
_ And the soldiers were standing
grim and tall round a scaffold built there for an insta-wall.
And a man stepped out for
death. _
I was braver near the edge of the throne, but I knew the face again.
And I knew the
scent and I knew the walk and the sound of his strange up-country talk, for he spoke
out right and plain.
Then [G] he bowed his head to the [F#m] swinging rope, where I [Bm] said, Please
God to his dying [D] hope, and amen to his dying prayer [G] that the wrong would cease and the
right [F#m] prevail.
_ [Bm] For the man they [G] hanged at Down Patrick Jail was [E] the man from God [D] knows where. _ _ _ _ _ _
_ _ _ _ It is the troubled years before the great rebellion of 1798.
All of Ireland is in the
grip of a reign of terror.
[D] In Ulster, the United Irishmen, formed largely by Northern
Presbyterians and led by Henry Joy McCracken, meet in secret places under peril of [D] death
to hear news of their fellow rebels in the south.
_ The most dangerous task of a go-between,
carrying secret plans north and south, past sleepy villages and dark hedgerows, falls
to another United Irishman, Thomas Russell.
Travelling alone, never knowing who to trust,
and living in constant fear of discovery, his is one of the bravest tales of all. _ _ _ _
_ Into our townland on a night of snow rode a man from God knows where.
None of us bade
him stay, nor go, nor deemed [G] him friend, nor damned him foe, but we stabled his [D] big
roam there.
For in our townland we're a decent folk, and if he didn't speak well, none of
us spoke, but we sat till the fire burned low. _
_ We're a civil sort in our wee place,
so we made the circle wide round [A] Andy Lemon's cheerful blaze, and we wished the man his
length of days and a good [G] end to his ride.
He [D] smiled in under his slouchy hat and says,
see, there's a bit of a joke in that, for we ride different ways. _ _
[G] _ And while we [F#m] smoked,
we watched him stare from his seat in the fire [Bm] glow.
I nudged Joe Moore.
You wouldn't
[D] dare to ask him who he's for meeting there, [G] or how far he's got to go.
Ha ha, but Joe
[D] wouldn't dare, nor will he, Scott.
And he took no drink, neither [G] cold nor hot, this
[D] man from God knows where.
_ _ _ It was closing time and late for by when us wands braved
the air, and I [A] never saw worse, may I live or die, than the sleep that [G] night.
And I says,
says I, you'll find [D] he's for stopping there.
But it's craig a day through the [Em] gable pain.
I watched him spur [E] through the pelting rain, [D] and I juked from his roving eye. _ _ _ _
_ _ It was getting
on past the heat of the year when I rode to Newton [A] Fair.
I sold as I could, but, ach,
the dealers were near.
[G] Only three pounds eight for the [D] innie steer, and nothing at [G] all for
the mare.
But I met [D] Mackey in the throng of the street, and says he, the grass has grown
under our feet since they hanged young Warwick here. _
_ And he told me that France had promised
help to a man in Dublin town, [A] and says he, if you've left that pike [G] on the shelf, you'd
better get home hot-foot by yourself and once more take it down.
So by [D] Comber Road
I trotted the grey, and I never cut corn till Kelly Lay stood high on the rising ground. _
[G] _ For a wane of days we kept [Bm] waiting the word to rise and go at it [D] like men.
_ _ [G] But no French
ship sailed in the cloudy bay, [F#] and we heard [F#m] the black news on a harvest day that the [D] cause
was lost again.
And [D] Joey and me and Willie Scott, we agreed with ourselves that his leaf
and knot had been found in the thick of the slain.
_ Right on Patrick Jail I was bound to
fare on a day I'll remember.
But when I got to the prison square the people were waiting
on hundreds there, and you wouldn't hear a stir or a breath.
_ And the soldiers were standing
grim and tall round a scaffold built there for an insta-wall.
And a man stepped out for
death. _
I was braver near the edge of the throne, but I knew the face again.
And I knew the
scent and I knew the walk and the sound of his strange up-country talk, for he spoke
out right and plain.
Then [G] he bowed his head to the [F#m] swinging rope, where I [Bm] said, Please
God to his dying [D] hope, and amen to his dying prayer [G] that the wrong would cease and the
right [F#m] prevail.
_ [Bm] For the man they [G] hanged at Down Patrick Jail was [E] the man from God [D] knows where. _ _ _ _ _ _