A collection of pub-born ballads and fireside tales, Footstools & Folklore blends wit, warmth, and wandering hearts into a rich tapestry of folk duets and storytelling songs. With toe-tapping rhythms and cheeky exchanges, these tracks trace everything from chance meetings to bittersweet partings — all shared across wooden tables, tilted tankards, and late-night laughter.

Whether whispered in alleyways or hollered in harmonies, every tune carries a tale — some true, some tall, all timeless.

Pull up a footstool. The story’s just begun.

Footstools & Folklore - The Bottom o’ the Barrel

A cheeky Northern pub ballad about one pint, one lass, and one unforgettable night.
She came swingin’ in with boots untied... and nothing was ever the same.
Set in a village with heart, trouble, and just enough charm to make a man stay.

[LYRICS]

To town I came with no plan grand  
For peace, a pint, and village band.  
Took the lane for quiet grace  
Then Maggie tore up the place.

This lass Maggie came swingin’ through,  
With boots untied and trouble due.  
She gave the room her greetin’ glance,  
A nod, a wink, a half-done dance-

She caught my eye and held it still,  
A stranger’s face, a fresher thrill.  
She looked me over, head to heel,  
Then wandered up to strike a deal.

She laughed like sin and danced like grace,  
No thought, no pause, no savin’ face.  
One wink, one cheer, and all gave chase-
Then Maggie tore up the place.

I thought it banter, light and plain-
A village flirt, a drinkin’ game.  
A wee bit more than I’d ignore,  
As grins gave way to something more.

She laughed like sin and danced like grace,  
No thought, no pause, no savin’ face.  
One wink, one cheer, and all gave chase-
Then Maggie tore up the place.

Turns out this lass, all boots and flair,  
Spends her days with chalk and stare.  
A teacher wranglin’ bairns and lads,  
Who swaps the bell for pints and chats.

P’rhaps my peace was wrongly sought-
A bit o’ wild is what I ought.  
If trouble wears a smile that wide,  
I’ll chase it 'til she’s by my side.

So Maggie, lass, don’t slip away-
I reckon I’ll make home and stay.

She laughed like sin and danced like grace,  
No thought, no pause, no savin’ face.  
One wink, one cheer, and all gave chase-
Then Maggie tore up the place.

She laughed like sin and danced like grace,  
No thought, no pause, no savin’ face.  
One wink, one cheer, and all gave chase-
Then Maggie tore up the place.
  
O Maggie, lass, don’t slip away-
I reckon I’ll make home and stay.

When the Lass Maggie Tore Up the Place – A Pub Tale of Pints, Trouble and Grace

A rowdy romp through a rainy afternoon and a warm flat with Maggie. This cheeky pub-folk ballad tells the tale of one lad’s unexpected… exposure. Sung in the classic storytelling tradition with fiddle, bodhrán, and a wink, it’s a singalong-ready yarn of flirtation, lost socks, and public shame. Best served with mates, mugs, and laughter.

Key Lyric:
Aye, the poor sod was smitten – Came in bold and left with nothin’.

[LYRICS]

I came in wet with boots unlaced,
A drizzly noon, no time to waste.
A greet, a smile, and lace let slip,
Then Maggie winked and bit her lip.

Her flat was warm and smelled o’ toast,
Me coat hung damp beside the post.
She said, “Don’t mind the mess in here,”
Then tugged me shirt and drew me near.

Aye, the poor sod was smitten – Came in bold and left with nothin’.

She brewed a pot around mid-day,
Then said, “It’s rude to dash away.”
The couch near tipped, the lights went dim
Next thing I knew, I’d lost a limb.

I left me socks at Maggie’s place,
One near the bed, one by her vase.
She waved me off without a care
I never knew I’d gone out bare.

I crept away without me pride,
One boot in hand, the rest inside.
The postman stared, the baker grinned
Me toes were out, the tale was pinned.

Aye, the poor sod was smitten – Came in bold and left with nothin’.

Now every round, the lads declare,
“She nicked his socks—and took the pair!”
The barman grins, “She runs the show
You’ve less than half yer kit below!”

Aye, the poor sod was smitten – Came in bold and left with nothin’.

I left me socks at Maggie’s place,
One near the bed, one by her vase.
She waved me off without a care
I never knew I’d gone out bare.

I left me socks at Maggie’s place,
One near the bed, one by her vase.
She waved me off, I didn’t see
Was down to nothin’ ‘neath the knee.

“And I still ain’t got me bloody socks!”

Aye, the poor sod was smitten – Came in bold and left with nothin’.

I Left Me Socks at Maggie’s Place (Lyrics Below)

A cheeky, rowdy pub-folk anthem from The Bottom o’ the Barrel, closing out their riotous Maggie trilogy. From bar brawls to bedroom grins, I Am Now Steady with Maggie is a foot-stomping tribute to the lass who tamed the wildest heart. She’s bold, bossy, boots-on—and every lad’s envy. With echoes, stomps, and sly winks, this final tale raises a pint to mischief, mayhem, and a love too loud to hush.

[LYRICS]

Now her and me are steady, no lie,
She rules the roost and winks me dry.
She slaps me bum then pours the brew
A queen with boots and brass to woo.

"Well, she’s his from boot to brow,
And every lad still wonders how."

She’s sly with lists upon the door,
And chalks me chores across the floor.
I claim forgettin’—play the fool,
She smirks and sends me off to school.

"Well, she’s his from boot to brow,
And every lad still wonders how."

They tease me hard from dusk till night,
But envy drips beneath their bite.
They’ve seen her grin and how she sways
And wish her heart would swing their way.

"Well, she’s his from boot to brow,
And every lad still wonders how."

All pints go up for Maggie’s name,
She’s wild and sharp and none can tame.
But I’m the fool she chose to keep
The rest just dream and cry in sleep!

"Aye, she’s his from boot to brow,
And every lad still wonders how."

She’ll press me up with naught but grin,
Then scold me loud for what’s within.
At half past two, she starts a row
Then drags me off—won’t say quite how.

"Well, she’s his from boot to brow,
And every lad still wonders how."

She hides me boots, then makes me stew,  
Just to see what I might do.  
I huff and puff and stomp about
She just winks and knocks me out.  

"Well, she’s his from boot to brow,  
And every lad still wonders how." 

I’ve learned me place and earned me crown,
She riles me up, then lays me down.
The wild she brings, I wouldn’t trade
For peace or pint or chambermaid.

"Well, she’s his from boot to brow,
And every lad still wonders how."

"So raise your cheer and shout her name
No finer lass has stoked a flame!"

"Maggie’s his from boot to brow,
And every lad still wonders how."

Steady with Maggie (Lyrics Below)

A minimalist neo-shanty sung from the weathered soul of a man who left the pub behind for salt, silence, and something harder won. Pull, Boys, Pull (A Neo-Shanty Sailor’s Reckoning) is the final track on Bottom o’ the Barrel’s folk album—a stark, vocal-driven reflection on work, memory, and the sea’s relentless pull. Performed with no guitar, only voice, bodhrán, fiddle, and stomping rhythm, this piece nods to the tradition of “Wellerman” while carving out its own quieter reckoning. For those who’ve lived loud, and now row with purpose.

[LYRICS]

A man can row from youth and pride,
But truth will row there by his side.

I signed me name with steady hand,
Left the pubs for a harsher land.
I drank me fill, I kissed too wide-
Now sea’s the place I hold me pride.

Pull, boys, pull, with back and breath,
She’ll drag ye close, then flirt with death.
No man wins with rum alone-
He pulls, he curses, he carves his own.

I once loved loud, with boots and bluff,
But time taught love ain’t loud enough.
The ones who leaned and laughed and cheered,
They fade like froth from yester’s beer.

Pull, boys, pull, with back and breath,
She’ll drag ye close, then flirt with death.
No man wins with rum alone-
He pulls, he curses, he carves his own.

Me boots still bear the fights I’ve cast,
Me grin grows thin but still holds fast.
I gave me tales to bar and land-
Now waves keep hush on where I stand.

Pull, boys, pull, with back and breath,
She’ll drag ye close, then flirt with death.
No man wins with rum alone-
He pulls, he curses, he carves his own.

If Maggie hears I crossed the foam,
Tell her I’m etched in brine and loam.
Not grave nor dock, but deck and sky,
Where lasses fade and men don’t lie.

Pull, boys, pull, with back and breath,
She’ll drag ye close, then flirt with death.

No man wins with rum alone.

He pulls, he curses, he carves his own.
He pulls, he curses, he carves his own!

Pull, Boys, Pull - A Minimalist Neo-Shanty Sailor’s Reckoning

A cinematic sea shanty forged in fury and salt. The Widow’s Oath is an epic tale of grief, defiance, and vengeance—sung by a lone voice turned tempest. With pounding bodhrán, storm-swept fiddle, and chain-snarled rhythms, her voice rises like a curse against the sea itself. Each chorus builds like a squall, echoing across the brine for what was taken and never returned. This is no mourning hymn—it’s an oath sealed in rage, loss, and the salt of ten thousand tears.

[LYRICS]

’Tis said the sea forgets its dead.
But I recall each thread once bled.

He kissed me cheek at break o’ day,
Then turned and sailed his soul away.
I kept the hearth, I bore the strain
Now wind and wave shall taste me pain.

Blow, winds, blow—ye took what’s mine.
(I’ll blow me curse on every line!)
I’ll salt thy depths with tears and brine.
(And mark the tide with bitter sign.)
Thou may’st claim what fate allows—
(The sea be fierce, but I make vows.)
But I hold fast what storms can’t douse..

They brought back neither rope nor bone,
Just tales of foam and voices blown.
No grave to tend, no name to stone
Thus howling gales shall heed me moan.

Blow, winds, blow—ye took what’s mine.
I’ll salt thy depths with tears and brine.
Thou may’st claim what fate allows
But I hold fast what storms can’t douse..

I wear no black, I hang no shawl
I stoke me rage, I do not fall.
Each wave that breaks upon the shore
Shall feel me grief, and hear me roar.

Blow, winds, blow—ye took what’s mine.
I’ll salt thy depths with tears and brine.
Thou may’st claim what fate allows
But I hold fast what storms can’t douse.

So mark me voice and mark me name,
No swell shall rise ere I reclaim.
I’ll curse the stars, I’ll damn the tide
’Til she gives back what was denied.

Blow, winds, blow—ye took what’s mine.
I’ll salt thy depths with tears and brine.
Thou may’st claim what fate allows
But I hold fast what storms can’t douse.

But I hold fast what storms can’t douse…

The Widow’s Oath – A Cinematic Neo-Shanty of Salt and Reckoning of Grief and Fury

A heartfelt folk ballad inspired by the poem Fold the Day Like Linen Fine by Dikheel Aldikheel, reimagined with traditional acoustic instrumentation and lyrical reverence. This adaptation blends Celtic musical phrasing with classic folk sensibility, and carries the clarity and emotional maturity of adult contemporary storytelling. Performed in a timeless neo-folk style with a gentle pulse and melodic grace, it honors the poem’s call to rise gently, carry forward with hope, and rest in quiet strength. This is not a Bottom o’ the Barrel shanty — it’s a tribute piece, a moment of stillness wrapped in melody.

Guitar, fiddle, and soft harmonies anchor the arrangement, evoking a fireside performance among friends. No theatrics — just sincerity, spirit, and song.

[LYRICS]

Rise, O soul, before the day
The robins sing the dark away
The river waits in silver light
Beneath the edge of fading night

Go walk where bending grasses lean
And let the hush bring something clean
A quiet truth you always knew
May rise and walk the path with you

No need to chase the sun
What’s meant for you will come
Let silence keep its place
There’s stillness you can face

Let softness be your guide
And time drift like the tide
What moves, will move again
No need to ask just when

Sit near the stream that hums and flows
Where even pain can start to doze
Let stillness speak what words can't say
Then gently let it slip away

The bird lifts off with no regret
And takes the sky with no safety net
It leaves no weight upon the ground
Just air, and peace, and not a sound
When nothing holds you down

Rise, O soul

Nothing holds you down.

Rise, O Soul - A Folk Tribute to Fold the Day Like Linen Fine

I’ve always lived at the crossroads of music and poetry — where feeling becomes form, and melody turns memory into meaning. Whether it’s a lingering jazz note, a well-placed rhyme, or a shift in tempo that tells a deeper story, I’m drawn to that quiet magic where art reflects life with a little more style.

My roots are in classic music — the kind that doesn’t chase the moment but lingers with you long after the last note. Over time, that love expanded into poetry writing and jazz — especially the kind that swings, speaks, and smirks all at once. Jazz, to me, isn’t just a genre; it’s a personality. A conversation. A little tilt of the head and a grin that knows more than it says.

When I set out to create an album, it’s rarely just a collection of songs. I approach it like a personal playlist — one that drifts and flows as if the entire tracklist were one long, uninterrupted piece. Each track leans into the next, shifting mood, pace, or voice, but always carrying the same thread of feeling. I want you to listen the way I do — not as a shuffle of moments, but as a cinematic arc. One breath that lasts an hour.

Lyrically, my work is rooted in lived experience. Sometimes it’s obvious. Other times it’s just the skeleton of a memory, dressed up in wit, irony, or longing. I draw from real-life events, then let the poet in me twist, stretch, or sweeten them to taste. Depending on the tone of the album — playful, romantic, nostalgic, or something in between — I try to keep the emotional truth intact while giving it a fresh coat of creativity. A little humor where it fits. A deeper dive where it hurts.

My newest jazz album continues this tradition — short-lined swing tracks, conversational duets, and tongue-in-cheek storytelling. It’s an homage to late-night alleyway ballads, rooftop serenades, and train station goodbyes — all bound together with a sense of charm and cohesion. Each song is its own little scene, but together they tell a story — one you can revisit with each replay.

Thanks for stopping by my profile. I hope you find something that earns a spot on your repeat-play list — a melody, a lyric, or a moment that feels like it was written just for you.