Johnee Jingo
He was just fifteen, he was a new trainee
He lied about it for the opportunity
To defend the border his life was sworn
Though not a generation was native born
Johnee jingo
Johnee jingo
He had lost the battle but won the war
When the generals said he couldnt fight no more
He was proud and bitter at what hed done
So he passed it off to his favorite son
Johnee jingo
Johnee jingo
Jingo dont you fight for me
Jingo dont you speak for me
To the man who owns the land
Were all the same
But when his grip begins to slip
Then hell be calling out your name
Johnee jingo
And the throne, the pulpit, and the politician
Create a thirst for power in the common man
Its a taste for blood passed off as bravery
Or just patriotism hiding bigotry
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
After All
Please trip them gently, they dont like to fall
(oh by jingo)
Theres no room for anger, were all very small
(oh by jingo)
Were painting our faces and dressing in thoughts from the skies, from paradise
But they think that were holding a secretive ball
Wont someone invite them
Theyre just taller children, (oooo), thats all, after all
Man is an obstacle, sad as the clown
(oh by jingo)
So hold on to nothing, and he wont let you down
(oh by jingo)
Some people are marching together and some on their own
Quite alone
Others are running, the smaller ones crawl
But some sit in silence, theyre just older children
(oooo), thats all, after all
I sing with impertinence, shading impermanent chords,
With my words
Ive borrowed your time and Im sorry I called
But the thought just occurred that were nobodys children at all, (oooo), after all
Live to your rebirth and do what you will
(oh by jingo)
Forget all Ive said, please bear me no ill
(oh by jingo)
After all, after all
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It could not be happening because this sort of thing did not happen. Any contradictory evidence could be safely ignored.
Terry Pratchett in Jingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One of the universal rules of happiness is: always be wary of any helpful item that weighs less than its operating manual.
Terry Pratchett in Jingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Instead of a treasure, coals! [""'Rum,' I hopes! 'Baccy,' I thinks! 'Tracts,' by jingo!"" Sailor's remark on discovering that he had picked up a bottle of tracts.]
The results of being a coward
As I look at myself in the mirror
I am not pleased with my reflection
the person that I have become
is not what I used to be.
I had standards and guidelines of loyalty
was happy to be loved by so many
my family that nurtured me so intense
but now I have lost it all.
I am in agony every single day
my conscience pricks me while I am awake
Can't get up the courage to make it right
instead I wollow in my own self pity.
I hope that one day soon
I will have the strength and courage
to speak out what I have done
and get a healing for myself
poem by Johnee Kemp
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Exhuming Mccarthy
Youre beautiful more beautiful than me
Youre honorable more honorable than me
Loyal to the bank of america
Its a sign of the times
Its a sign of the times
Youre sharpening stones, walking on coals
To improve your business acumen.
Sharpening stones, walking on coals,
To improve your business acumen.
Vested interest united ties, landed gentry rationalize
Look who bought the myth, by jingo, buy america
Its a sign of the times
Its a sign of the times
Youre sharpening stones, walking on coals
To improve your business acumen.
Sharpening stones, walking on coals,
To improve your business acumen.
Enemy sighted, enemy met, Im addressing the realpolitik
Look who bought the myth, by jingo, buy america
let us not assassinate this man further senator,
Youve done enough. have you no sense of decency, sir?
At long last, have you left no sense of decency?
Youre sharpening stones, walking on coals
To improve your business acumen.
Sharpening stones, walking on coals,
To improve your business acumen.
Enemy sighted, enemy met, Im addressing the realpolitik
Youve seen start and youve seen quit
(Im addressing the table of content)
I always thought of you as quick
Exhuming mccarthy
(meet me at the book burning)
Exhuming mccarthy
(meet me at the book burning)
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bingo! ! !
Bingo, go, in, big, gin, on, no, bog;
And, i won the jackpot in the land of beautiful roses!
For, the muse of love was there to guide me on.
Bingo! ! !
Lingo, bingo, jingo, dingo;
And, i wo the jackpot in the land of beautiful roses!
For, the muse of love was there to guide me on.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Tin God
A new age is dawning
On fewer than expected
Business is usual
Thats how the headline read
Some shaky modern saviors
Have now been resurrected
In all this excitement
You may have been misled
People want a miracle
They say oh lord, cant you see us?
Were tryin to make a livin down here
And keep the children fed
But, from little dark motel rooms
To six flags over jesus
How are the mighty fallen
So the Bible said
You dont have to pray to a little tin god
Step out of the way for a little tin god
You might fear the reaper, you might fear the rod
But you never have to get down on your knees
You dont have to holler, please, please
No, you never have to get down on your knees
For a little tin god
The cowboys name was jingo
And he knew that there was trouble
So in a blaze of glory
He rode out of the west
No one was ever certain
What it was that he was sayin
But they loved it when he told them
They were better than the rest
But you dont have to pray for a little tin god
Step out of the way for a little tin god
You might hate to system, hate the job
But you never have to get down on your knees
You dont have to holler, please, please
No, you never have to get down on your knees
For a little tin god
Throw down a rope from heaven
And lead the flock to water
The man in the middle would have you think
That you have no other choice
But to wander in the wilderness
Of all the upturned faces
If you stop and listen long enough
You will hear your own small voice
But you dont have to pray to a little tin god
Step out of the way for a little tin god
You might fear the reaper, fear the rod
But you never have to get down on your knees
You dont have to holler, please, please
No, you never have to get down on your knees
You dont have to holler, please, please
You never have to get down on your knees
For a little tin god
song performed by by Don Henley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bingo
The daughter of the village Maire
Is very fresh and very fair,
A dazzling eyeful;
She throws upon me such a spell
That though my love I dare not tell,
My heart is sighful.
She has the cutest brown caniche,
The French for "poodle" on a leash,
While I have Bingo;
A dog of doubtful pedigree,
Part pug or pom or chow maybe,
But full of stingo.
The daughter of the village Maire
Would like to speak with me, I'll swear,
In her sweet lingo;
But parlez-vous I find a bore,
For I am British to the core,
And so is Bingo
Yet just to-day as we passed by,
Our two dogs haulted eye to eye,
In friendly poses;
Oh, how I hope to-morrow they
Will wag their tails in merry play,
And rub their noses.
* * * * * * *
The daughter of the village Maire
Today gave me a frigid stare,
My hopes are blighted.
I'll tell you how it came to pass . . .
Last evening in the Square, alas!
My sweet I sighted;
And as she sauntered with her pet,
Her dainty, her adored Frolette,
I cried: "By Jingo!"
Well, call it chance or call it fate,
I made a dash . . . Too late, too late!
Oh, naughty Bingo!
The daughter of the village Maire
That you'll forgive me, is my prayer
And also Bingo.
You should have shielded your caniche:
You saw my dog strain on his leash
And like a spring go.
They say that Love will find a way -
It definitely did, that day . . .
Oh, canine noodles!
Now it is only left to me
To wonder - will your offspring be
Poms, pugs or poodles?
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Vanguard [1]
While the crippled cruisers stagger where the blind horizon dips,
And the ocean ooze is rising round the sunken battle-ships,
While the battered wrecks, unnoticed, with their mangled crews drift past—
Let me fire one gun for Russia, though that gun should be the last.
’Tis a struggle of the Ages, and the White Man’s star is dim,
There is little jubilation, for the game has got too grim;
But though Russia’s hope seems shattered, and the Russian star seems set,
It may mean the Dawn for Russia—and my hope’s in IVAN yet!
Let the Jingo in his blindness cant and cackle as he will;
But across the path from Asia run the Russian trenches still!
And the sahib in his rickshaw may loll back and smoke at ease,
While the haggard, ragged heroes man the battered batteries.
’Tis the first round of the struggle of the East against the West,
Of the fearful war of races—for the White Man could not rest.
Hold them, IVAN! staggering bravely underneath your gloomy sky;
Hold them, IVAN! we shall want you pretty badly by-and-bye!
Fighting for the Indian empire, when the British pay their debt;
Never Britain watched for BLUCHER as he’ll watch for IVAN yet!
It means all to young Australia—it means life or death to us,
For the vanguard of the White Man is the vanguard of the Russ!
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Can Be A Republican, I'm A Genocrat
Oh, "rorty" was a mid-Victorian word
Which meant "fine, splendid, jolly,"
And often to me it has reoccurred
In moments melancholy.
For instance, children, I think it rorty
To be with people over forty.
I can't say which, come eventide,
More tedious I find;
Competing with the juvenile stride,
Or meeting the juvenile mind.
So I think it rorty, yes, and nifty,
To be with people over fifty.
The pidgin talk the youthful use
Bypasses conversation.
I can't believe the code they choose
Is a means of communication.
Oh to be with people over sixty
Despite their tendency to prolixty!
The hours a working parent keeps
Mean less than Latin to them,
Wherefore they disappear in jeeps
Till three and four A.M.
Oh, to be with people you pour a cup for
Instead of people you have to wait up for!
I've tried to read young mumbling lips
Till I've developed a slant-eye,
And my hearing fails at the constant wails
Of, If I can't, why can't I?
Oh, to be beside a septuagenarian,
Silent upon a peak in Darien!
They don't know Hagen from Bobby Jones,
They never heard of Al Smith,
Even Red Grange is beyond their range,
And Dempsey is a myth.
Oh golly, to gabble upon the shoulder
Of someone my own age, or even older!
I'm tired of defining hadn't oughts.
To opposition mulish,
The thoughts of youth are long long thoughts,
And Jingo! Aren't they foolish!
All which is why, in case you've wondered
I'd like a companion aged one hundred.
poem by Ogden Nash
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Dont Want To Fight Anymore
Dont want to fight anymore oh no
Dont want to cry anymore no more
Dont want to fight anymore oh no
Dont want to cry anymore no more
One nation
One family
No limitation
No enemy
No I dont want to fight anymore
No I dont, I dont, no I dont
No I dont want to cry anymore
Dont want to cry
No I dont, I dont
No I dont, oh no
No weapons
No secrecy
All slogans
Blind loyalty
No I dont want to fight anymore
No I dont, I dont, no I dont, no I dont
No I dont want to cry anymore
No I dont, I dont, no I dont, no I dont
You know I dont, you know I dont
You know I dont, you know I dont want to cry
You know I dont, you know I dont
You know I dont, you know I dont
You know I dont, you know I dont
You know I dont, you know I dont want to fight
You know I dont, you know I dont
No righteous
No cruelty
No weapons
No self-defence
No quarrel
No arrogance
No hurt you
Rise above revenge
No I dont want to fight anymore
No I dont, no I dont dont dont
No I dont want to cry anymore
No I dont no I dont
Do I want to fight anymore oh no
Dont want to cry anymore no more
I dont no I dont
No I dont want to fight anymore
I dont no I dont
Dont want to fight anymore oh no
Dont want to cry anymore no more
No I dont want to fight anymore
No I dont no I dont
No I dont want to cry anymore
No I dont no I dont no I dont!
song performed by by Howard Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bourke
I’ve followed all my tracks and ways,from old bark school to Leicester Square,
I’ve been right back to boyhood’s days, and found no light or pleasure there.
But every dream and every track—and there were many that I knew—
They all lead on, or they lead back, to Bourke in Ninety-one, and two.
No sign that green grass ever grew in scrubs that blazed beneath the sun;
The plains were dust in Ninety-two, that baked to bricks in Ninety-one.
On glaring iron-roofs of Bourke, the scorching, blinding sandstorms blew,
And there was nothing beautiful in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
Save grit and generosity of hearts that broke and healed again—
The hottest drought that ever blazed could never parch the hearts of men;
And they were men in spite of all, and they were straight, and they were true,
The hat went round at trouble’s call, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
They drank, when all is said and done, they gambled, and their speech was rough—
You’d only need to say of one—‘He was my mate!’ that was enough.
To hint a bushman was not white, nor to his Union straight and true,
Would mean a long and bloody fight in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
The yard behind the Shearers’ Arms was reckoned best of battle grounds,
And there in peace and quietness they fought their ten or fifteen rounds;
And then they washed the blood away, and then shook hands, as strong men do—
And washed away the bitterness—in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
The Army on the grand old creek was mighty in those days gone by,
For they had sisters who could shriek, and brothers who could testify;
And by the muddy waterholes, they tackled sin till all was blue—
They took our bobs and damned our souls in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
By shanty bars and shearing sheds, they took their toll and did their work—
But now and then they lost their heads, and raved of hotter hells than Bourke:
The only message from the dead that ever came distinctly through—
Was—‘Send my overcoat to hell’—it came to Bourke in Ninety-two.
I know they drank, and fought, and died—some fighting fiends on blazing tracks—
I don’t remember that they lied, or crawled behind each others’ backs;
I don’t remember that they loafed, or left a mate to battle through—
Ah! men knew how to stick to men in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
They’re scattered wide and scattered far—by fan-like tracks, north, east, and west—
The cruel New Australian star drew off the bravest and the best.
The Cape and Klondyke claim their bones, the streets of London damned a few,
And jingo-cursed Australia mourns for Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
For ever westward in the land, Australians hear—and will not heed—
The murmur of the board-room, and the sure and stealthy steps of greed—
Bourke was a fortress on the track! and garrisons were grim and true
To hold the spoilers from Out Back, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
I hear it in the ridges lone, and in the dread drought-stricken wild—
I hear at times a woman’s moan—the whimper of a hungry child:
And—let the cynics say the word: ‘a godless gang, a drunken crew’—
But these were things I never heard in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
They say that things have changed out there, and western towns have altered quite:
They don’t know how to drink and swear, they’ve half forgotten how to fight;
They’ve almost lost the strength to trust, the faith in mateship to be true—
The heart that grew in drought and dust in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
We’ve learned to laugh the bitter laugh since then—we’ve travelled, you and I;
The sneaking little paragraph, the dirty trick, the whispered lie
Are known to us—the little men—whose souls are rotten through and through—
We called them scabs and crawlers then, in Ninety-one and Ninety-two.
And could I roll the summers back, or bring the dead time on again;
Or from the grave or world-wide track, call back to Bourke the vanished men,
With mind content I’d go to sleep, and leave those mates to judge me true,
And leave my name to Bourke to keep—the Bourke of Ninety-one and two.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Get A Grip
I see it on the tv, its playing on my mind,
Everything I see has got something to do with killing my brother.
Just another mind game? or maybe its a sign,
When the child with a gun holds it up to the head of his brother.
Well that aint nice. gotta get a grip, gotta get a hold on life,
Gotta get a grip cause youre gonna slip, yeah.
Somebody tell me, where did we lose?
Wheres the point that we lost the control to live with each other?
Mister politician, searching for a lie.
Whats the truth? will the youth find the proof for a revolution?
Cause that aint nice, gotta get a grip, gotta get a hold on life
Gotta get a grip cause youre gonna slip, on ice,
Gotta get a grip, gotta get a hold on life
Gotta get a grip cause youre gonna slip
Gotta get a hold of the situation, gotta get you into my life,
Gotta get a hold and get it moving.
I cant tell you what you need to know its up to you, oh yeah
That aint nice, gotta get a grip, gotta get a hold on life
Gotta get a grip, cause youre gonna slip, on ice,
Gotta get a grip, gotta get a hold on life
Gotta get a grip cause youre gonna slip.
Gotta get a hold of the situation, gotta get a hold on life,
Gotta get a grip and get it moving,
I cant tell you what you need to know, its up to you, oh yeah.
Dont your blood run cold, dont the sorrow show,
Hold on tight to what you have.
See it in your eyes, dont it make you cry,
Get a grip and shake the can.
Get a grip, yeah, get a grip, yeah, get a grip, yeah,
Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip, get a grip, get a hold.
Get a grip on life, get a grip on life, get a grip on life,
Yeah get a grip.
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How The Favourite Beat Us
"Aye," said the boozer, "I tell you it's true, sir,
I once was a punter with plenty of pelf,
But gone is my glory, I'll tell you the story
How I stiffened my horse and got stiffened myself.
"'Twas a mare called the Cracker, I came down to back her,
But found she was favourite all of a rush,
The folk just did pour on to lay six to four on,
And several bookies were killed in the crush.
"It seems old Tomato was stiff, though a starter;
They reckoned him fit for the Caulfield to keep.
The Bloke and the Donah were scratched by their owner,
He only was offered three-fourths of the sweep.
"We knew Salamander was slow as a gander,
The mare could have beat him the length of the straight,
And old Manumission was out of condition,
And most of the others were running off weight.
"No doubt someone 'blew it', for everyone knew it,
The bets were all gone, and I muttered in spite,
'If I can't get a copper, by Jingo, I'll stop her,
Let the public fall in, it will serve the brutes right.'
"I said to the jockey, 'Now, listen, my cocky,
You watch as you're cantering down by the stand,
I'll wait where that toff is and give you the office,
You're only to win if I lift up my hand.'
"I then tried to back her -- 'What price is the Cracker?'
'Our books are all full, sir,' each bookie did swear;
My mind, then, I made up, my fortune I played up
I bet every shilling against my own mare.
"I strolled to the gateway, the mare, in the straight way
Was shifting and dancing, and pawing the ground,
The boy saw me enter and wheeled for his canter,
When a darned great mosquito came buzzing around.
"They breed 'em at Hexham, it's risky to vex 'em,
They suck a man dry at a sitting, no doubt,
But just as the mare passed, he fluttered my hair past,
I lifted my hand, and I flattened him out.
"I was stunned when they started, the mare simply darted
Away to the front when the flag was let fall,
For none there could match her, and none tried to catch her --
She finished a furlong in front of them all.
"You bet that I went for the boy, whom I sent for
The moment he weighed and came out of the stand --
"Who paid you to win it? Come, own up this minute."
"Lord love yer," said he, "why, you lifted your hand."
`'Twas true, by St Peter, that cursed 'muskeeter'
Had broke me so broke that I hadn't a brown,
And you'll find the best course is when dealing with horses
To win when you're able, and keep your hands down."
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dont Fight It
Live long enough youre bound to find
Moonshinell make a man go blind
Never can tell what the brew will do
But theres times youll wind up feelin so fine
Some women seem to have a knack
Theyll turn you on and leave you flat
Never can tell whos playin for keeps
So tell me now whats holding you back
I know your heart can take it
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
Itll do your heart so good
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
Itll only do you good
Dont fight itll do your heart so good
Do what mama do
Do what daddy do
When you gonna make up your mind
You can run but love will find you
Ready or not here it comes
Some people when they hear a groove
Shake their heads cause they just cant approve
Well I turn up the music till its shakin the sky
Is everybody ready to move
Theres times you wanna shake yourself
Theres nights you wanna yell for help
You can fly when youre standing still
N theres nothing wrong with raising some hell
Tonight were gonna raise it
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
Dont fight itll do your heart so good
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
Dont fight it
song performed by by Kenny Loggins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Arthur
Arthur was born just a plain simple man
In a plain simple working class position
Though the world was hard and its ways were set
He was young and he had so much ambition
All the way he was overtaken
By the people who make the big decisions
But he tried and he tried for a better life
And a way to improve his own condition
If only life were easy it would be such fun
Things would be more equal and be plenty for everyone
Arthur the worlds gone and passed you by
Dont you know it, dont you know it
You can cry, cry all night but it wont make it right
Dont ya know it, dont ya know it
Arthur we know and we sympathize
Dont ya know it, dont ya know it
Arthur we like you and want to help you
Somebody loves you dont you know it
How is your life and your shangri-la
And your long lost land of hallelujah
And your hope and glory has passed you by
Cant you see what the world is doing to ya
And now we see your children
Sailing off in the setting sun
To a new horizon
Where theres plenty for everyone
Arthur, could be
That the world was wrong
Dont ya know it, dont ya know it
Arthur, could be
You were right all along
Dont ya know it, I hope ya know it
Now we know and we sympathize
Wed like to help you and understand you
Dont ya know it, dont ya know it
Somebody loves you, dont ya know it
Dont ya know it, dont ya know it
Arthur the worlds gone and passed you by
Dont ya know it, dont ya know it
You can cry, cry all night
But it wont make it right
Dont ya know it, dont ya know it
Arthur we read you and understand you
Arthur we like you and want to help you
Oh! we love you and want to help you
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Armistice Day (1953)
Don't jeer because we celebrate
Armistice Day,
Though thirty years of sorry fate
Have passed away.
Though still we gaurd the Sacred Flame,
And fly the Flag,
That World War Two with grief and shame
Revealed--a rag.
For France cannot defend to-day
Her native land;
And she is far to proud to pray
For helping hand.
Aye, though she stands amid the Free,
In love with life,
No more her soil will shambles be
In world-war strife.
Still we who tend the deathless Flame
Of Verdun speak;
It is our glory and our shame,
For we are weak.
We have too much of blood and blight
To answer for . . .
No, France will never, never fight
Another war!
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fight
You know some days I like me.
Some days I dont.
Some days I try with passion.
Sometimes I wont.
I might just hold my guard up,
And lock my heart up tight,
But its the door thats open,
Letting in the light.
Theres a battle raging
Inside of me.
Its a holy struggle,
And it wont let go of me.
No, no, no,
I dont want to stop the fighting,
Wo, wo, wo,
I just want to live right.
I used to sit and ponder
If Id be fine,
If jesus lived his own life,
And I lived mine.
But love is such a magnet,
It pulled me night and day,
Until my needy heart
Just couldnt stay away.
Life can drive you crazy,
Or just about.
But even when its most frustrating,
This kids not walking out.
No, no, no,
I dont want to stop the fighting,
Wo, wo, wo,
Sure its tough but I wont deny it,
No, no, no,
I dont want to waste my life hiding,
Wo, wo, wo,
I just want to live right.
Ive made up my mind now,
I dont want to lose out, (unguarded)
Beginning to see now,
What the fight is about, (unguarded heart)
I gotta stay open,
Keep defenses all down, (unguarded)
Dont want to be hiding,
When the love comes round.
No, no, no,
I dont want to stop the fighting,
Wo, wo, wo,
I just want to live right.
No, no, no,
I dont want to stop the fighting,
Wo, wo, wo,
Sure its tough but I wont deny it,
No, no, no,
I dont want to waste my life hiding,
Wo, wo, wo,
I just want to live right.
No, no, no,
I dont want to stop the fight, now,
Wo, wo, wo,
I just want to live right, now.
No, no, no,
I dont want to stop the fighting,
Wo, wo, wo,
I just want to live right.
No, no, no,
I just cant stop the fighting,
Wo, wo, wo,
If I want to live right.
No, no, no,
I dont want to stop the fighting,
Wo, wo, wo,
I just want to live right.
No, no, no...
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prison Shoe Romp
Are ya listenin boy the man he hung see
Youve heard it said thats what he done for me
Did ya hear that girl -- the man he calls your name
You best go to him its he not me can loose your chains
Then well commence to walk sometime in prison shoes
Well walk an walk an walk away our blues
Ida done better
From cradle to coffin
In between theres just too much walkin
I aint no odd man out -- junk hiding junk
I aint nothin to speak of
Just put it in the back an leave it off the rack
No I aint what youre used to
Did ya taste that boy
That blood is as sweet as wine
Yeh I got it on me all the time
Well do some runnin too
You me an ruby-lu
Spin black blades an Ill unwind
Just let me go to sleep the lord my soul to keep
Dont talk just keep it on your mind
Cant you see that sun shinin in your face has the same
He came an took your place
But you dont give a rip an down to hell you slip
You squack and squack boy you lost your grip
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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