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'Cruel Coppinger' is the tale of one of the 'wild, strange, lawless characters that roamed along the north coast of Cornwall during the middle and latter years of the [18th] century' R.S.Hawker 1893

Details of Coppinger's life are sketchy at best, although a detailed ballad was thought to have been written, the first verse of which was recounted by Hawker thusly:
“Will you hear of the Cruel Coppinger?He came from a foreign kind;He was brought to us by the salt water,He was carried away by the wind.”
www.gutenberg.org/files/45316/45316-h/45316-h.htm#Page_123

The remaining verses were thought to be lost to time, until they were discovered behind a Penryn sofa by a certain J. Gaskell, whilst watching an episode of the popular local documentary 'Poldark'.

lyrics

Will you hear of the cruel Coppinger?
He came from foreign kind
He was brought to us by salt water,
But sure he'll be carried away by the wind.

Will you hear a moment of this man
Thrown at us by the storm
From the waves to my fair mothers arms
From wild ocean to tended lawn

Do the right thing, mama, do the right thing for you
Do the right thing for heaven's sake
It's the right thing to do

She carried him to her family's home
And tended to him, but oh
he spat and cursed at his fortune
finding no word to say cept 'no'

He dressed himself in heirlooms
Took a place before the fire
Sat at the head of the table
As the landlord and the squire

Sat atop the seat of power
His mandate now complete
He took the good and worthy
And wiped them on his feet

He stocked and archived labour
He hoarded up the fruits
He watched the branches wither
While he cut through the roots

Do the right thing, mama, do the right thing for you
Do the right thing for heaven's sake
It's the right thing to do

And when the gentry and the clergymen
Come round a visiting
They'll take a slice of his pie
But they won't question a bloody thing

Leaving with rooks beak and feathers
And a bitter tasting mouth
A cat's skin and head in their pocket
As they scuttle off back south

He'd put lock on every gate
And toll on every bridle path
He'd double every rent
Cut the living wage in half

Will he stop at nothing
Will nothing stop his laugh
Oh, Mama, put your man to rights
Or drown him in his bath

Do the right thing, mama, do the right thing for you
Do the right thing for heaven's sake
It's the right thing to do


Do the right thing, mama, do the right thing for you
Do the right thing for heaven's sake
It's the right thing to do

I repeat this story every day,
But they say my voice is mute
I have lived this moment a thousand times
With the lie I can't refute

I holler warning but they don't hear
I try to sing but to no avail
And weep into the silence
When I see his black ship sail

To drag a harvest to the manacles
Another crop of good men
To grasp at once for reflected stars
Before getting dragged down again

Just to sell off the family silver
When it's washed up on the beach
Is nothing here worth saving?
Is nothing beyond his reach?

Do the right thing, mama, do the right thing for you
Do the right thing for heaven's sake
It's the right thing to do

So, fine people of the mainland
Listen to my plea
When some tory rocks up on your coast
Pray remember me
Consider whether hell
Has any virtue that they lack
As you kick the fuckers in the arse and
Send the fuckers back

Do the right thing, mama, do the right thing for you
Do the right thing for heaven's sake
It's the right thing to do

credits

from Do the right thing EP, released February 29, 2016

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Julian Gaskell UK

Described by angry locals as the bastard son of Waits, Strummer, Reinhardt and Rachmaninov, Julian Gaskell’s music over the last 20 years has followed a wayward path of withering agricultural-folk, klezmer accordion, overly-lyrical punk, gypsy-jazz guitar, tangos, waltzes, rhumbas and skiffled-up boogie-woogie piano. ... more

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