George Donaldson - Beeswing Lyrics
They call it the Summer of Love,Burning babies, burning flags,The Hawks against the Doves.Well, I took a job at the Steamie,Way down on Cauldrum Street,And I fell in love with a laundry girl,She was working next to me.Brown hair zig-zagged round her face,The look of half-surprise,Like a fox caught in the headlights,There was animal in her eyes.Well, she said to me “Can’t you see,I’m not the factory kind and,If you don’t take me out of here,I’ll lose my mind.”CHORUSShe was a rare thing,Fine as a beeswing,So fine a breath of wind might blow her away.She was a lost child,She was running wild, she said,“So long as there’s no price in love, I’ll stay.You wouldn’t want me any other way.”We busked around the market towns,From picking down in Kent,We could tinker pots and pans,And knives wherever we went.We were camping around the Gower,And the work was pretty good,She wouldn’t wait for the harvest,I thought we should.Well I said to her we’ll settle down,We’ll get a few acres dug,With a fire burning in the hearth,And babies on the rug.She said “Now man, you foolish man,That surely sounds like hell,You might be lord of half the world,You’ll not own me as well.”CHORUSWe were drinking more in those days,’Til our tempers reached a pitch,Like a fool I let her run away,When she took the rambling itch,At the last I’d heard she’s living rough,Back on Derby beat,With a bottle of White Horse in her pocket,And a wolfhound at her feet.Oh they say that she get married once,To a man named Romany Brown,But even a Gypsy caravan,Was too much like settling down.(Erin Boyle)They say her rose is faded now,Rough weather and hard booze,But maybe that’s the price you pay,For the chains you refuse.(Both)She was a rare thing,Fine as a beeswing,And I miss her more than ever words could say,If I could just taste,All of her wildness now,If I could hold her in my arms today,Then I wouldn’t want her any other way.If I could hold her in my arms today,I wouldn’t want her any other way.
