| Come all ye rounders if you want to hear the tale
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| Of a tape recorder man
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| He travelled far and wide through the dusty countryside
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| The tape recorder man
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| Collecting songs of love, collecting songs of blood
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| Sometimes songs of evil men and sometimes songs of good
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| And sing irie aritty ardie and sing irie arrity anne
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| He said the age of the machine would make us all the same
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| The tape recorder man
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| And we should tape record the songs the old men sing
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| The tape recorder man
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| Because when the old were gone, there’d be no more songs
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| Just mechanical din
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| And sing irie aritty ardie and sing irie arrity anne
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| At a music festival he presented to the world some of the folk greats
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| Then, with a condescending smile, he introduced us all to some electronic fakes
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| Saying 'The old folks don’t need gimmicks to make the music new
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| But here’s a group of college kids who apparently do'
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| And sing irie aritty ardie and sing irie arrity anne
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| And he left the stage to seek some nerdy boffin geeks who sounded like the
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| Pogues
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| Singing like the BeeGees, dancing like freaks, playing modular Moogs
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| I met him in the dressing room at the end of the show
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| I said you used to be my hero but tonight you’ve fallen low
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| And sing irie aritty ardie and sing irie arrity anne
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| I said tape recorder man damn your Memorex
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| What about innovation, man, what about art and sex?
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| He couldn’t share my point of view, and he freely said so
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| So me and the tape recorder man quickly came to blows
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| I hit out at his shoulder where his tape recorder hung
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| It slipped to the floor with a crash, the strap must’ve been undone
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| And sing irie aritty ardie and sing irie arrity anne
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| It exploded like a bomb from the first world war
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| And seven spools of folk recordings rolled across the floor
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| A random burst of yodelling rubbed up against the heads
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| That woozy crazy spool was like John Cage or Varese
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| I cried 'Tape recorder man, this I won’t forget
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| This is folk music… concrete!'
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| And sing irie aritty ardie and sing irie arrity anne |