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Pull The Wool
Dear friend you dont have to lie to me
When I ask you whats going on
Are you doin right or ya doing wrong
If you do right will there not be a lifting up
You misbehave
Sin is crouching by your grave
We can begin to make amends
Fill your sails full with wind
I know youre tossed and tempest turned, but make no mistake
Ill never sleep on you faith
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Now your sin, you must mask it
Your face is all riddled with guilt
Cover you like a blanket, but no warmth will it give
Now Im sittin here and cant believe all the measures youve taken
To cheat, lie and decieve me and all your friends
You got a lot a crazy things in life that you want to do in life, thats all right, but
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Lies in the nest enver ever let the birds get to rest
I can forgive, but I never can forget and lies in the nest never
Ever gave the birds no rest
Bricks built without straw were so weak they crumbled
To mud, just as your excuse with truth left you easily undone
Dont you run away
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0271 The Covering
It was not bright enough, not bright enough
to show itself to them, to all; to tempt
the world to bring it gifts; the coloured wool
would say to them look here, look here
it was not strong enough, not strong enough
to meet the heat, the cold; to venture
in the world’s bright gifts; the coloured wool
would warm it in the cold, the cold
it was not safe enough, not safe enough
to shield itself from hurt; to live its life
amid the strong, the weak; the coloured wool
would hide it from the hurt, the hurt
there was not care enough, not care enough;
the wool was knotted; slipped and slid
around its centre there; the coloured wool
is knotted here and here and here
there is not time enough, not time enough
to free the wool; the wool it would cast off
from off its centre there; the coloured wool
that never was the need, the need
there were not words enough, not words enough
to free itself; itself which never had the need
to bind itself in coloured wools; it did not trust
the bright, the strong, the safe, the care, the time.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Out on the Roofs of Hell
SING us a song in this cynical age,
Sing us a song, my friend,
While the Flesh and the Devil are all the rage
And Death seems the only end.
Give it the clatter of hoof-clipped bones
And a note like a dingo’s yell,
And the long, low sigh when the big mob moans
Out on the roofs of hell.
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides and Co.,
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides—
Over the roofs of hell we go
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides.
We take the route or we take the track,
Hell-doomed by the greed of man,
And we leave our wives in the scrubs out back
To struggle as best they can.
For the credit is short and the flour is low—
And this is the tale we tell—
A check must be made and the stock must go
Over the roofs of hell.
Wake ere the burst of the great white sun
Into the blazing skies,
Our limbs are stiff and the lids are gummed
Over our blighted eyes.
But our souls have perished in dust and heat,
And this is the tale we tell—
Our lives are ever a grim retreat
With Death on the roofs of hell.
They drivel and say how the bushman drinks,
But what do the townsfolk know?
The life is a hell to the man who thinks—
He must drink or his reason go.
Drink and drink, as the bushman knows,
Till he strip to the skin and yell;
Down for a change! for a rest! he goes
Down through the roofs of hell.
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides and Co.,
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides,
Down through the roofs of hell they go
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Cotton-Wool
Shun the brush and shun the pen,
Shun the ways of clever men,
When they prove that black is white,
Whey they swear that wrong is right,
When they roast the singing stars
Like chestnuts, in between the bars,
_Children, let a wandering fool
Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
When you see a clever man
Run as quickly as you can.
You must never, never, never
Think that Socrates was clever.
The cleverest thing I ever knew
Now cracks walnuts at the Zoo.
_Children, let a wandering fool
Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
Homer could not scintillate.
Milton, too, was merely great.
That's a very different matter
From talking like a frantic hatter.
Keats and Shelley had no tricks.
Wordsworth never climbed up sticks.
_Children, let a wandering fool
Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
Lincoln would create a gloom
In many a London drawing-room;
He'd be silent at their wit,
He would never laugh at it.
When they kissed Salome's toes,
I think he'd snort and blow his nose.
_Children, let a wandering fool
Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
They'd curse him for a silly clown,
They'd drum him out of London town.
Professor Flunkey, the historian,
Would say he was a dull Victorian.
Matthew, Mark, and Luke and John,
Bless the bed I rest upon.
_Children, let a wandering fool
Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
Amen.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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Great cry and little wool, as the man said who shaved the sow.
Great cry and little wool, said the fool, when he sheared a pig.
Great cry and little wool, as the Devil said when he sheared the sow.
Scottish Gaelic proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Great cry and little wool, as the fellow said when he sheared his hogs.
Great cry and little wool, quoth the devil, when he sheared his hogs.
A Tribute to Mr J. Graham Henderson, The World's Fair Judge
Thrice welcome home to Hawick, Mr J. Graham Henderson,
For by your Scotch tweeds a great honour you have won;
By exhibiting your beautiful tweeds at the World's Fair
You have been elected judge of Australian and American wools while there.
You had to pass a strict examination on the wool trade,
But you have been victorious, and not the least afraid,
And has been made judge of wools by Sir Henry Truman Good,
And was thanked by Sir Henry where he stood.
You have been asked by Sir Henry to lecture on wools there,
And you have consented to do so, which made your audience stare
When you let them see the difference betwixt good wool and bad;
You'll be sure to gain fresh honours, they will feel so glad.
To think they have found a clever man indeed,
That knows good wool and how to manufacture Scotch tweed,
I wish you success for many a long day,
Because your Scotch tweeds are the best, I venture to say.
May you always be prosperous wherever you go,
Always gaining fresh friends, but never a foe,
Because you are good and a very clever man,
And to gainsay it there's few people can.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The wool of a thousand sheep in good pasture at the least ought to yield fifty marks a year, the wool of two thousand one hundred marks, and so forth, counting by thousands.
quote by Robert Grosseteste
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blanket
Let not vanish the oversea service
With wool soft,
As the flash of fire-worms.
On the blue blanket,
‘Made in Korea’ printed,
Made Korean hands immortal,
But ‘SHEEP’ written nowhere.
As December threatened with mist,
Blanket kept me warm.
My soul shuddered a night,
Shaken by the fever storm,
And I crept tired,
Under blanket refugee like,
Then a Paracetamol pill lulled me.
Under the woolly blanket,
Bloom dreams amorous
At silvered fragrant night:
Entangled tender branches,
Then did chit bud fresh,
Within the folds unruly
Of the blanket blue.
Simple sheep on hillock grazed,
Giving wool great,
Eternal changed:
Things simple so changed great.
Evil showers heavily,
Earth is frozen,
And need a blanket to warm up.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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God is Good
God is Good
God is Great
Meet him
Now or later
When are you ready?
Be on time
With the Bomb
Be aplomb
Be cool
Wear Wool.
Don't be a fool.
We are all.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Maori's Wool
The Maoris are a mighty race -- the finest ever known;
Before the missionaries came they worshipped wood and stone;
They went to war and fought like fiends, and when the war was done
They pacified their conquered foes by eating every one.
But now-a-days about the pahs in idleness they lurk,
Prepared to smoke or drink or talk -- or anything but work.
The richest tribe in all the North in sheep and horse and cow,
Were those who led their simple lives at Rooti-iti-au.
'Twas down to town at Wellington a noble Maori came,
A Rangatira of the best, Rerenga was his name --
(The word Rerenga means a "snag" -- but until he was gone
This didn't strike the folk he met -- it struck them later on).
He stalked into the Bank they call the "Great Financial Hell",
And told the Chief Financial Fiend the tribe had wool to sell.
The Bold Bank Manager looked grave -- the price of wool was high.
He said, "We'll lend you what you need -- we're not disposed to buy.
"You ship the wool to England, Chief! -- You'll find it's good advice,
And meanwhile you can draw from us the local market price."
The Chief he thanked them courteously and said he wished to state
In all the Rooti-iti tribe his mana would be freat,
But still the tribe were simple folk, and did not understand
This strange finance that gave them cash without the wool in hand.
So off he started home again, with trouble on his brow,
To lay the case before the tribe at Rooti-iti-au.
They held a great korero in the Rooti-iti clan,
With speeches lasting half a day from every leading man.
They called themselves poetic names -- "lost children in a wood";
They said the Great Bank Manager was Kapai -- extra good!
And so they sent Rerenga down, full-powered and well-equipped,
To draw as much as he could get, and let the wool be shipped;
And wedged into a "Cargo Tank", full up from stern to bow,
A mighty clip of wool went Home from Rooti-iti-au.
It was the Bold Bank Manager who drew a heavy cheque;
Rerenga cashed it thoughtfully, then clasped him round the neck;
A hug from him was not at all a thing you'd call a lark --
You see he lived on mutton-birds and dried remains of shark --
But still it showed his gratitude; and, as he pouched the pelf,
"I'll haka for you, sir," he said, "in honour of yourself!"
The haka is a striking dance -- the sort they don't allow
In any place more civilized than Rooti-iti-au.
He "haka'd" most effectively -- then, with an airy grace,
Rubbed noses with the Manager, and vanished into space.
But when the wool return came back, ah me, what sighs and groans!
For every bale of Maori wool was loaded up with stones!
Yes -- thumping great New Zealand rocks among the wool they found;
On every rock the bank had lent just eighteen-pence a pound.
And now the Bold Bank Manager, with trouble on his brow,
Is searching vainly for the chief from Rooti-iti-au.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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I can see through almost any scam, especially one perpetrated by the federal government. I can see through it... they can't pull the wool over my eyes, it's absolutely freakin' impossible to pull the wool over my eyes about the government.
quote by Gary Coleman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Forget who is your Father
God is Great
He created you and me so ladies and gentleman
he is the only person to praise and pray
Cause some of us we pray Alan people you pray him
who is him God is the one who created us
so guys help me to Thank him every time i'm sick i call him cause
he is the hiller the killer of diseases in the world
Help me to sing.
How great is our God sing with me how great is our God
all we sing is how great is our God age to age praise his
Great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great great great great great
GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD..
Thank you Help me pliz.
poem by Ruvimbo Daisy Matsika
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Blow Out
In my mind and nailed into my heels.
All the time killing what I feel.
And everything I touch
[All wrapped up in cotton wool]
[All wrapped up and sugar coated]
turns to stone.
And everything I touch
[All wrapped up in cotton wool]
[All wrapped up and sugar coated]
turns stone.
I am fused just in case I blow out.
I am glued just because I crack out.
Everything I touch turns to stone.
Everything I touch
[All wrapped up in cotton wool]
[All wrapped up and sugar coated]
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winding Wool
She'd bring to me a skein of wool
And beg me to hold out my hands;
so on my pipe I cease to pull
And watch her twine the shining strands
Into a ball so snug and neat,
Perchance a pair of socks to knit
To comfort my unworthy feet,
Or pullover my girth to fit.
As to the winding I would sway,
A poem in my head would sing,
And I would watch in dreamy way
The bright yarn swiftly slendering.
The best I liked were coloured strands
I let my pensive pipe grow cool . . .
Two active and two passive hands,
So busy wining shining wool.
Alas! Two of those hands are cold,
And in these days of wrath and wrong,
I am so wearyful and old,
I wonder if I've lived too long.
So in my loneliness I sit
And dream of sweet domestic rule . . .
When gentle women used to knit,
And men were happy winding wool.
poem by Robert William Service
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Lucre
Filthy lucre,
And like the annulment of the weak and the unprofitable;
But it is appointed for mankind to ones die,
Then will the judgement be according to the Creator's own time.
Water, scarlet, wool and hyssop;
The blood of the goats and the calves are now poured on the ground,
But i am like the great shepherd of the sheep around you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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