TANE MATUA
This page contains songs that I wrote for a school Musical called Tane Matua or Lord of the Forest. They were designed to be sung to some extant tunes. To play the tunes use the audio player bar just under each title.
The Song of the Axe
What better music can there ever be
Than to hear the thud of axe on tree?
The woodchips fly and timber cracks,
And through the forest rings the axe.
Tooral-looraloo, tooral-looraloo,
Tooral-looraloo, tooral-looraloo,
The woodchips fly and timber cracks,
And through the forest rings the axe.
What better vision could we ever see
Than a team of oxen and a tree?
The stockwhip cracks on bullock hides
And from the forest the rimu slides.
Tooral-looraloo, tooral-looraloo,
Tooral-looraloo, tooral-looraloo,
The stockwhip cracks on bullock hides
And from the forest the kauri slides.
What better rhythm could you ever find
Than the push and pull of the pit-saw‘s whine?
For honest labour we give thanks,
When sawing totara into planks.
Tooral-looraloo, tooral-looraloo,
Tooral-looraloo, tooral-looraloo,
For honest labour we give thanks,
When sawing totara into planks.
What better method is there to relax
Than to chop a tree down with an axe?
You see your mate there swinging low
And match his effort blow for blow.
Tooral-looraloo, tooral-looraloo,
Tooral-looraloo, tooral-looraloo,
You see your mate there chopping high.
We‘ll both be axemen till we die.
The Creepy Crawly Song
Beneath this log I found a creature.
What it is I do not know.
I may never know its nature,
For I have to let it go.
Oh go now, go now, go now, go!
I have found a native cockroach.
It could be my own pet louse.
I could keep it in my bedroom.
Mum won‘t have it in the house.
Oh no child, no child, no child, no!
This could be a living fossil.
This could be extremely rare.
How can I prove it if I lose it?
If the blooming things not there?
Oh not fair, not fair, oh not fair!
Leave behind you only footsteps.
Please take only photographs.
Can‘t we even take a breath, Mum?
Oh don‘t bother, I only asked.
Oh blow Mum, blow Mum, blow Mum blow!
You can take a running jump kids.
You can leave us all your lunch.
We will eat up all you‘ve left us.
You can be the hungry bunch.
Oh no Mum, please Mum, sorry Mum, no!
The Selective Logging Song
We‘re for selective logging, a carefully chosen term,
Not to offend the public, lest the company squirm.
Forest reclamation
We also perhaps could use,
But ”selective logging"
Is the term we all do choose.
Is the term we all do choose.
Working with precision, choosing the very best there,
Just for ethnic carving or a Chippendale chair,
Merely veneers and mouldings -
Beauty that all can share.
Carefully extracted timber
Surely this forest can spare?
Surely this forest can spare?
Oh dear, look what happened, when the big tree fell.
Lots of smaller companions came crashing down as well.
To have access for our tractors
We have to build forest roads.
We can‘t maximize our profits
With uneconomical loads.
With uneconomical loads.
Along each major highway we leave a modest screen
So the gullible public can‘t see where we‘ve been.
We‘ll replant with exotics,
With gums and pines and such.
To the untrained observer
Things won‘t have altered much.
Things won‘t have altered much.
Lusty Lumberjacks
We are men who hold our beer.l
We are lusty lumberjacks.
We are mighty fellahs. We‘re
The fellers with the felling axe.
If it‘s growing, lop its top off!
If it‘s moving, knock its block off!
Cause that‘s the way a real man acts,
Which makes us lusty lumberjacks.
Have you seen my big chain-saw?
Have you seen my felling axe?
We are fond of blood and gore
Cause we‘re lusty lumberjacks.
Possum squashing is our hobby.
Stick your conservation lobby!
We‘ll get them off our bloody backs,
Cause we are lusty lumberjacks.
I‘m Merv the Swerve
I'm Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
If you all think it‘s true, I think so too;
I just don‘t have a point of view;
I'm Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee.
”I believe in law and order,"
The public watchdog barks.
”Bring back the silver birch!" I say,
”It‘ll look splendid in our parks.
Our overcrowded prisons
Are an inexcusable disgrace.
So string a few more prisoners up
And we‘ll have lots of space.
I‘m Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
If you all think it‘s true, I think so too;
I just don‘t have a point of view;
I'm Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee.
My policy on nuclear ships
I neither confirm nor deny.
Till I have seen the opinion polls
I‘ll keep an open mind.
I‘ll throw out Russian agents.
A patriot I am,
But if the C.I.A. keep funding me,
I‘m backing Uncle Sam.
I‘m Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
If you all think it‘s true, I think so too;
I just don‘t have a point of view;
I'm Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
I believe in education
With lots of basic r‘s:
Reading, writing, 'rithmetic
And a bible-study class.
Maths and science for the boys
And sewing for the girls.
I recommend pink pinafores
And pretty little curls.
I‘m Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
If you all think it‘s true, I think so too;
I just don‘t have a point of view;
I'm Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee.
I believe in democracy,
But I‘m nobody‘s fool.
Parents all should have the right
To choose a private school.
Apartheid is abhorrent;
It simply can‘t be right,
But if there‘s much more taha Maori
I‘ll be on the next white flight.
I‘m Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
If you all think it‘s true, I think so too;
I just don‘t have a point of view;
I'm Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee.
I‘m dead against homosexuals
And even solo mums,
Sex education in our schools,
And children sucking thumbs.
Protection of the unborn child
Is essential I can see
To create a normal, unextended, two and a half offspring, church on Sunday, happily married, largely pakeha, law-abiding nuclear family.
I‘m Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
If you all think it‘s true, I think so too;
I just don‘t have a point of view;
I'm Merve the Swerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee,
With my steely nerve fiddle-diddle-diddle-dee.
There‘s Trouble at the Mill
Union members stand united.
In our darkest hour benighted
The union torch will now be lighted
Burning bright and free.
Union members stand united.
In our darkest hour benighted
The union torch will now be lighted
Burning bright and free.
All we want is work lads.
We don‘t want to shirk lads.
A fair day‘s wage for a fair day‘s work.
It‘s not as if we‘re asking for a perk lads.
If we don‘t hear those bank-notes rustle,
Then it is looking like a tussle.
Time to show some union muscle.
There‘s trouble at the mill!
When the chips are down in nasty weather,
Men and bosses stick together.
Birds of a very different feather
Sharing the same nest.
When the chips are down in nasty weather,
Men and bosses stick together.
Birds of a very different feather
Sharing the same nest.
Our interests are the same now.
Sharing similar aim now.
If we lose this fight, we‘d better say goodnight
To any hope of staying in the game now.
Conservation stands indicted,
But their wrongs will soon be righted
By our actions now united.
Justice will be done!
Conservation makes us vomit.
We can‘t get no income from it.
We shall have to be indomit-
able to the end.
Conservation makes us vomit.
We can‘t get no income from it.
We shall have to be indomit-
able to the end.
We shall bash their heads in;
Make them take their medecine.
Hit them hard before they‘re on their guard,
Before this conservation virus sets in.
After all we‘re working millmen,
Some with wives and some with children.
They will get their faces filled in,
There‘s trouble at the mill!
A Mission in Life
Oh I‘m a man with a mission in life;
I ought to be saving souls.
Oh I‘m a man with a mission in life -
Achieving botanical goals.
Oh look, I spy with my little eye
A pagan weed, so hear me cry,
”I stake my claim, and name it Colenso-i!"
Bringing grace to heathen herbs;
These little heathen herbs are finding their way to God today.
Find them, pick them, christen them.
Don‘t you wonder at my big bouquet!
Babtize, christen with my name;
Conversion is my aim;
I never have moral strife.
On Sunday morning I‘ll preach my sermon on sins of envy and pride,
Cause I‘m a man with a mission in life.
Oh I‘m a man with a mission in life.
I ought to be hearing your prayers,
But as a man with a mission in life
I‘m naming these biblical tares.
Oh see that fern for which I yearn
Or perhaps that moss, Oh golly gosh,
I sense a sort of spiritual re-awakening.
Hearing gospels from the trees;
These mighty kauri trees are preaching powerful sermons here.
I feel green things growing now
As I revel in this atmosphere.
I could be in Paradise;
It‘s so awfully nice,
It surely can‘t be right!
But on Sunday Evening I‘ll take confession and absolve myself from sin,
Cause I‘m a man with a mission in life.
Oh we are men with a mission in life
As everyone here can see.
But that we‘re a team like fork and knife
We beg to disagree.
From different sects and different creeds we preach that faith and not his deeds
Will give a man his mortal soul‘s salvation!
Doctrine, dogma, ritual;
In matters spiritual I speak with authority here.
The devil, satan, antichrist
Is speaking through his words I fear.
For he preaches heresy,
And not the truth like me.
There‘s nothing like splitting hairs!
But on fungal forays and flower collecting we work in perfect accord,
Cause we‘re men with a mission in life.
Where I was Born in Norway
Where I was born in Norway
There stood an old oak tree.
It gave us shade in summer
And shelter in its lee.
A trysting-place for lovers
Cutting love-hearts in its bark.
We climbed its boughs as children
And played from morn till dark.
We played from morn till dark.
But now in far New Zealand
I fear the forest here.
These nameless trees surround me.
They fill me full of fear.
Their leaves fall not in winter,
Nor yellow in the fall.
In the shadows of this forest
No sunlight shines at all.
No sunlight shines at all.
Paradise
When Maui first fished up this land
It was a bare and barren scene,
Till Tane then reached out his hand
And covered it with mantle green.
The kowhai flowered and tuis sang
And to the skies the kauri soared,
And was New Zealand then in Paradise?
And can this vision be restored?
Give me your strength from sun that shines.
Give me your power from the rains.
Oh take my blood, oh take my bones,
Until sap flows in human veins.
If you are cut my blood will flow.
If you are hurt I‘ll feel your pain.
Until mankind is crucified,
We‘ll not see Paradise again.
The Rimu and the Rata
I will grow like the rimu so tender and true.
My branches so gentle will reach down to you.
The sweet rain from heaven will fall from the skies
And the deep pools of loving will lie in my eyes.
I will grow like the rata; I‘ll twist and I‘ll twine.
Your heart I will grapple and bind it to mine.
The birds of the forest will see my red flower
And sing at the dawning of love‘s waking hour.
My leaves they will dress me in fine forest green.
The rain will caress me and wash my bark clean.
The pure white clematis I‘ll bind on my brow
And all of earth‘s creatures will envy me now.
As king of the forest I‘ll make you my queen.
The red of the rata will mingle with green.
We‘ll be emerald and ruby in the fair forest crown
Till the end of creation when all trees fall down.
The rimu and rata as one tree will grow.
Our aura of loving with radiance will glow.
The birds of the forest will nest in our shade.
The rimu and rata in splendour arrayed.
We‘ve been Logging in the Forest
We‘ve been logging in the forest
All our blessed lives.
We‘ve been logging in the forest
To support our kids and wives.
Now you‘re making us redundant,
Putting workers on the dole.
But we‘re rising up triumphant!
We shall reach our goal!
Rimu and Red Beech,
Rata and we‘ll reach
Totara and each and every bole.
Rimu and Red Beech,
Rata and we‘ll reach
Totara and each and every bole.
Which of you fellahs wants a hiding?
Which of you fellahs wants a broken jaw?
Which of you sheilas wants to tango?
Tango with the old chain-saw?
See-saw rippety-rip saw,
See-saw rip-saw,rippety-rip-rip-saw,
See-saw rippety-rip saw,
Tango with the old chain-saw!
War Song of the Conservationists
To the tune of The Marseillaise.
We are here to save this kauri.
Listen! We are speaking for the trees.
Both the Pakeha and the Maori
Uniting in our common pleas.
So you will not cut down our forests
And you will not harm a single bough,
We join hands in solidarity
And keep our woodland vigil now.
Oh no this must not be!
Oh yes you must now see!
Begone, begone, leave our bush now.
We‘re speaking for the trees.
We are speaking for the kakapos.
We are representing native birds.
It is genocide what you propose.
You should listen to their words.
If birds could speak they would all tell you
Of their helpless desperation,
As you starve, deprive and drive them
Down the road to their extinction.
And so we are their voice!
And so we are their voice!
Save us, save us, we are so few!
We‘re speaking for the birds.
We are going into battle now.
Oh yes, we are going into war.
We will not be driven like cattle now,
Therefore go and stick your big chain-saw!
You may have the force of law behind you,
And be lumberjacks brawny and strong,
But we have a duty to the future
And we are sure we cannot be wrong.
Come on, brave little boys!
Come on, with your loud toys!
Grow up, grow up, don‘t be a bore.
Go stick your big chain-saw!
Woodsman Spare that Tree
And should I say please,
I could beg on my knees
To show your kind mercy and pardon this tree.
Would the ice in your heart
Melt to water and depart,
You would feel in your soul that your eyes can see.
But I fear that your greed will say you must not heed
My humble request for the life of this tree.
And dare I now ask
You abandon this task
To cut down in its prime this great forest one.
Let your heart not be stone
But please leave this tree alone
To still prosper and grow in the rain and the sun.
But I fear that your greed will say you must not heed
My humble request for the life of this tree.
The Song of The Kakapo
Down in the bush at night, we‘re feeling gloomy.
Cor blimey, strike a light, we‘re feeling glum.
We are the kakapo,
Last of our race you know.
Boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom, b-o-o-o-o-m.
We scuttle on the ground. It‘s rather clumsy.
We cannot fly around, from tree to tree.
We‘ve lost our wings you see.
Some call it atrophy.
Boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom, b-o-o-o-o-m.
We‘re clad in gold and green. We‘re rather pretty.
Owl-parrots, we have seen much better days.
Pretty polly‘s getting old
Dressed in his green and gold.
Boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom, b-o-o-o-o-m.
We have a problem here. It‘s a sad story.
Our females disappeared long time ago.
If we can‘t find a hen,
What shall we turn to then?
Boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom, b-o-o-o-o-m.
Sing like a cockatoo, feel like a budgie.
Where will we get one though this time of night?
Less innuendo.
This is a family show.
Boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom, b-o-o-o-o-m.
We are the kakapo. We‘re feeling boomy.
Cor blimey, here we go, booming again.
We are the booming kind.
Watch out you don‘t go blind.
Boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom boom, boom-de-de-boom, b-o-o-o-o-m.
The First Tree
At dawning of creation day,
All in the world’s beginning,
The empty land quite barren lay.
No forest birds were singing.
A seed came floating from the sky,
A-falling down from heaven.
And there it lay for many a day
Until it started growing.
The tree grew strong in sun and rain
Until it cast a shadow.
And everywhere that shadow lay,
New trees were sure to follow.
The parent tree burst into bud
With radiant coloured petals.
From every flower there flew a bird
And in its branches settled.
The forest now was full of song
And overflowed with colour.
With sweetness filled from dusk to dawn.
No world could now be fuller.
For a printable WORD version of Tane Matua, click on these files:
0.doc1.doc
2.doc
3.doc
4.doc
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