A Ballad Of Pikeville
Down in Southern Arizona where the Gila monster thrives,
And the 'Mescalero,' gifted with a hundred thousand lives,
Every hour renounces one of them by drinking liquid flame
The assassinating wassail that has given him his name;
Where the enterprising dealer in Caucasian hair is seen
To hold his harvest festival upon his village-green,
While the late lamented tenderfoot upon the plain is spread
With a sanguinary circle on the summit of his head;
Where the cactuses (or cacti) lift their lances in the sun,
And incautious jackass-rabbits come to sorrow as they run,
Lived a colony of settlers-old Missouri was the State
Where they formerly resided at a prehistoric date.
Now, the spot that had been chosen for this colonizing scheme
Was as waterless, believe me, as an Arizona stream.
The soil was naught but ashes, by the breezes driven free,
And an acre and a quarter were required to sprout a pea.
So agriculture languished, for the land would not produce,
And for lack of water, whisky was the beverage in use-
Costly whisky, hauled in wagons many a weary, weary day,
Mostly needed by the drivers to sustain them on their way.
Wicked whisky! King of Evils! Why, O, why did God create
Such a curse and thrust it on us in our inoffensive state?
Once a parson came among them, and a holy man was he;
With his ailing stomach whisky wouldn't anywise agree;
So he knelt upon the _mesa_ and he prayed with all his chin
That the Lord would send them water or incline their hearts to gin.
Scarcely was the prayer concluded ere an earthquake shook the land,
And with copious effusion springs burst out on every hand!
Merrily the waters gurgled, and the shock which gave them birth
Fitly was by some declared a temperance movement of the earth.
Astounded by the miracle, the people met that night
To celebrate it properly by some religious rite;
And 'tis truthfully recorded that before the moon had sunk
Every man and every woman was devotionally drunk.
A half a standard gallon (says history) per head
Of the best Kentucky prime was at that ceremony shed.
O, the glory of that country! O, the happy, happy folk.
By the might of prayer delivered from Nature's broken yoke!
Lo! the plains to the horizon all are yellowing with rye,
And the corn upon the hill-top lifts its banners to the sky!
Gone the wagons, gone the drivers, and the road is grown to grass,
Over which the incalescent Bourbon did aforetime pass.
Pikeville (that's the name they've given, in their wild, romantic way,
To that irrigation district) now distills, statistics say,
Something like a hundred gallons, out of each recurrent crop,
To the head of population-and consumes it, every drop!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Poison Whisky
(ed king - ronnie vanzant)
Daddy was a cajun, raised on southern land
And so my kinfolks tell me, was a street-fightin man.
Well, they rushed him down to see the doctor
Hey doctor, wont you check his head?
The only thing that was wrong with him
Was johnny walkers red
He drank ole poison whisky
til it killed him dead.
It happened back in the bayou many years ago
Satan came to take him and he did it real slow
Well, they rushed him back to see the doctor
The doctor just shook his head,
Twenty years of rotgut whisky
Done killed the poor man dead.
He drank ole poison whisky
til it killed him dead.
Take a tip from me, people... brothers cant you see
Aint no future in ole poison whisky.
Theyre gonna rush you down to see the doctor,
The doctors gonna shake his head.
The only thing hes gonna tell ya
Stop drinkin johnny walkers red
Dont drink poison whisky, dont you drink it boy.
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Captain’s Well
From pain and peril, by land and main,
The shipwrecked sailor came back again;
And like one from the dead, the threshold cross'd
Of his wondering home, that had mourned him lost.
Where he sat once more with his kith and kin,
And welcomed his neighbors thronging in.
But when morning came he called for his spade.
'I must pay my debt to the Lord,' he said.
'Why dig you here?' asked the passer-by;
'Is there gold or silver the road so nigh?'
'No, friend,' he answered: 'but under this sod
Is the blessed water, the wine of God.'
'Water! the Powow is at your back,
And right before you the Merrimac,
'And look you up, or look you down,
There 's a well-sweep at every door in town.'
'True,' he said, 'we have wells of our own;
But this I dig for the Lord alone.'
Said the other: 'This soil is dry, you know.
I doubt if a spring can be found below;
'You had better consult, before you dig,
Some water-witch, with a hazel twig.'
'No, wet or dry, I will dig it here,
Shallow or deep, if it takes a year.
'In the Arab desert, where shade is none,
The waterless land of sand and sun,
'Under the pitiless, brazen sky
My burning throat as the sand was dry;
'My crazed brain listened in fever dreams
For plash of buckets and ripple of streams;
'And opening my eyes to the blinding glare,
And my lips to the breath of the blistering air,
'Tortured alike by the heavens and earth,
I cursed, like Job, the day of my birth.
'Then something tender, and sad, and mild
As a mother's voice to her wandering child,
'Rebuked my frenzy; and bowing my head,
I prayed as I never before had prayed:
'Pity me, God! for I die of thirst;
Take me out of this land accurst;
'And if ever I reach my home again,
Where earth has springs, and the sky has rain,
'I will dig a well for the passers-by,
And none shall suffer from thirst as I.
'I saw, as I prayed, my home once more,
The house, the barn, the elms by the door,
'The grass-lined road, that riverward wound,
The tall slate stones of the burying-ground,
'The belfry and steeple on meeting-house hill,
The brook with its dam, and gray grist mill,
'And I knew in that vision beyond the sea,
The very place where my well must be.
'God heard my prayer in that evil day;
He led my feet in their homeward way,
'From false mirage and dried-up well,
And the hot sand storms of a land of hell,
'Till I saw at last through the coast-hill's gap,
A city held in its stony lap,
'The mosques and the domes of scorched Muscat,
And my heart leaped up with joy thereat;
'For there was a ship at anchor lying,
A Christian flag at its mast-head flying,
'And sweetest of sounds to my homesick ear
Was my native tongue in the sailor's cheer.
'Now the Lord be thanked, I am back again,
Where earth has springs, and the skies have rain,
'And the well I promised by Oman's Sea,
I am digging for him in Amesbury.'
His kindred wept, and his neighbors said
'The poor old captain is out of his head.'
But from morn to noon, and from noon to night,
He toiled at his task with main and might;
And when at last, from the loosened earth,
Under his spade the stream gushed forth,
And fast as he climbed to his deep well's brim,
The water he dug for followed him,
He shouted for joy: 'I have kept my word,
And here is the well I promised the Lord!'
The long years came and the long years went,
And he sat by his roadside well content;
He watched the travellers, heat-oppressed,
Pause by the way to drink and rest,
And the sweltering horses dip, as they drank,
Their nostrils deep in the cool, sweet tank,
And grateful at heart, his memory went
Back to that waterless Orient,
And the blessed answer of prayer, which came
To the earth of iron and sky of flame.
And when a wayfarer weary and hot,
Kept to the mid road, pausing not
For the well's refreshing, he shook his head;
'He don't know the value of water,' he said;
'Had he prayed for a drop, as I have done,
In the desert circle of sand and sun,
'He would drink and rest, and go home to tell
That God's best gift is the wayside well!'
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Habits have no eye for merits
I cannot afford to buy whisky.
I am settled with country liqueur.
Used to it, I lost taste for whisky.
The whisky offered was put aside.
I cannot risk taking women to bed.
I am settled with masturbation.
Used to it, I lost taste for sex.
I have my mate masturbate for me.
15.06.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Everything's Turning To White
Late on a Friday my husband went up to the mountains with three friends
They took provisions and bottles of bourbon to last them all through the weekend
One hundred miles they drove just to fish in a stream
And there's so much water so close to home
When they arrived it was cold and dark; they set up their camp quickly
Warmed up with whisky they walked to the river where the water flowed past darkly
In the moonlight they saw the body of a young girl floating face down
And there's so much water so close to home
When he hold me now I'm pretending
I feel like I'm frozen inside
And behind my eyes
song performed by by Kasey Chambers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Whisky the truth seeker
Took a shot of whisky
No a lot to kill me
Sensors,
Were heightened
But not frighten
Visions were slow
But to show
The reflections of a broken man
Past is shown to the man
All thanks the whisky,
The seeker of truth for the broken man.
Rock In The Weary Land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Yes my love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
None of this moves me,
I should be weeping but it only hurts when I yawn
I let it blow through me, and its gone!
Im dressed like a scarecrow
Stripped of all my power, as if some judge in judgement said
Off with his great coat, and his head!
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Meaningless movies
On the screen behind the band thats blowing flowing shapes
Half of their music is on tape
My mentor and champion is busy tilting at the windows of his stately home
The daemon hes grappling
Is his own!
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Yes my love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
His letter lies open
His accusations flow like poison from his every word
My heart would be broken, but for her
The fag-end of winter
Im in shock! Im on the ropes! I dont know whats become!
She plucks the splinter from my thumb
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Yes my love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
In the weary land!
My rock in a weary land
My rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
In a weary land
Hey!
A rock in a weary land
A rock in a weary land
A rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock in a weary land
In a weary land!
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Rock In A Weary Land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Yes my love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
None of this moves me,
I should be weeping but it only hurts when I yawn
I let it blow through me, and its gone!
Im dressed like a scarecrow
Stripped of all my power, as if some judge in judgement said
Off with his great coat, and his head!
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Meaningless movies
On the screen behind the band thats blowing flowing shapes
Half of their music is on tape
My mentor and champion is busy tilting at the windows of his stately home
The daemon hes grappling
Is his own!
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Yes my love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
His letter lies open
His accusations flow like poison from his every word
My heart would be broken, but for her
The fag-end of winter
Im in shock! Im on the ropes! I dont know whats become!
She plucks the splinter from my thumb
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Yes my love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
In the weary land!
My rock in a weary land
My rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
In a weary land
Hey!
A rock in a weary land
A rock in a weary land
A rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock in a weary land
In a weary land!
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Rock In The Weary Land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Yes my love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
None of this moves me,
I should be weeping but it only hurts when I yawn
I let it blow through me, and its gone!
Im dressed like a scarecrow
Stripped of all my power, as if some judge in judgement said
Off with his great coat, and his head!
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Meaningless movies
On the screen behind the band thats blowing flowing shapes
Half of their music is on tape
My mentor and champion is busy tilting at the windows of his stately home
The daemon hes grappling
Is his own!
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Yes my love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
His letter lies open
His accusations flow like poison from his every word
My heart would be broken, but for her
The fag-end of winter
Im in shock! Im on the ropes! I dont know whats become!
She plucks the splinter from my thumb
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
Yes my love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
My love is my rock
In the long, low, weary land
In the weary land!
My rock in a weary land
My rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
In a weary land
Hey!
A rock in a weary land
A rock in a weary land
A rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my love is my rock in a weary land
My love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock is my love is my rock in a weary land
In a weary land!
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Holy Dan
It was in the Queensland drought;
And over hill and dell,
No grass – the water far apart,
All dry and hot as hell.
The wretched bullock teams drew up
Beside a water-hole –
They’d struggled on through dust and drought
For days to reach this goal.
And though the water rendered forth
A rank, unholy stench,
The bullocks and the bullockies
Drank deep their thirst to quench.
Two of the drivers cursed and swore
As only drivers can.
The other one, named Daniel,
Best known as Holy Dan,
Admonished them and said it was
The Lord’s all-wise decree;
And if they’d only watch and wait,
A change they’d quickly see.
’Twas strange that of Dan’s bullocks
Not one had gone aloft,
But this, he said, was due to prayer
And supplication oft.
At last one died but Dan was calm,
He hardly seemed to care;
He knelt beside the bullock’s corpse
And offered up a prayer.
"One bullock Thou has taken, Lord,
And so it seemeth best.
Thy will be done, but see my need
And spare to me the rest!"
A month went by. Dan’s bullocks now
Were dying every day,
But still on each occasion would
The faithful fellow pray,
"Another Thou has taken, Lord,
And so it seemeth best.
Thy will be done, but see my need,
And spare to me the rest!"
And still they camped beside the hole,
And still it never rained,
And still Dan’s bullocks died and died,
Till only one remained.
Then Dan broke down – good Holy Dan –
The man who never swore.
He knelt beside the latest corpse,
And here’s the prayer he prore.
"That’s nineteen Thou has taken, Lord,
And now You’ll plainly see
You’d better take the bloody lot,
One’s no damn good to me."
The other riders laughed so much
They shook the sky around;
The lightning flashed, the thunder roared,
And Holy Dan was drowned.
poem by Anonymous Oceania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
By Hut, Homestead And Shearing Shed,
By hut, homestead and shearing shed,
By railroad, coach and track-
By lonely graves where rest the dead,
Up-Country and Out-Back:
To where beneath the clustered stars
The dreamy plains expand-
My home lies wide a thousand miles
In Never-Never Land.
It lies beyond the farming belt,
Wide wastes of scrub and plain,
A blazing desert in the drought,
A lake-land after rain;
To the skyline sweeps the waving grass,
Or whirls the scorching sand-
A phantom land, a mystic realm!
The Never-Never Land.
Where lone Mount Desolation lies
Mounts Dreadful and Despair-
'Tis lost beneath the rainless skies
In hopeless deserts there;
It spreads nor-west by No-Man's Land
Where clouds are seldom seen
To where the cattle stations lie
Three hundred miles between.
The drovers of the Great Stock Routes
The strange Gulf country Know
Where, travelling from the southern droughts,
The big lean bullocks go;
And camped by night where plains lie wide,
Like some old ocean's bed,
The watchmen in the starlight ride
Round fifteen hundred head.
Lest in the city I forget
True mateship after all,
My water-bag and billy yet
Are hanging on the wall;
And I, to save my soul again,
Would tramp to sunsets grand
With sad-eyed mates across the plain
In Never-Never Land.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Never, Never Land
By hut, homestead and shearing shed,
By railroad, coach and track-
By lonely graves where rest the dead,
Up-Country and Out-Back:
To where beneath the clustered stars
The dreamy plains expand-
My home lies wide a thousand miles
In Never-Never Land.
It lies beyond the farming belt,
Wide wastes of scrub and plain,
A blazing desert in the drought,
A lake-land after rain;
To the skyline sweeps the waving grass,
Or whirls the scorching sand-
A phantom land, a mystic realm!
The Never-Never Land.
Where lone Mount Desolation lies
Mounts Dreadful and Despair-
'Tis lost beneath the rainless skies
In hopeless deserts there;
It spreads nor-west by No-Man's Land
Where clouds are seldom seen
To where the cattle stations lie
Three hundred miles between.
The drovers of the Great Stock Routes
The strange Gulf country Know
Where, travelling from the southern droughts,
The big lean bullocks go;
And camped by night where plains lie wide,
Like some old ocean's bed,
The watchmen in the starlight ride
Round fifteen hundred head.
Lest in the city I forget
True mateship after all,
My water-bag and billy yet
Are hanging on the wall;
And I, to save my soul again,
Would tramp to sunsets grand
With sad-eyed mates across the plain
In Never-Never Land.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Love Is My Rock In The Weary Land
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
Yes my love is my rock in the long low weary land
None of this moves me
I should be weeping but it only hurts when I yawn
I let it blow through me and it's gone
I'm dressed like a scarecrow
stripped of all my power as if some judge in judgement said
"Off with his greatcoat and his head !"
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
Meaningless movies
on the screen behind the band that's blowing, throwing shapes
Half of the music is on tape
My mentor and champion
is busy tilting at the windmills of his stately home
The demon he's grappling is his own
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
His letter lies open
His accusations flow like poison from his every word
My heart would be broken but for Her
The fag-end of winter
I'm in shock, I'm on the ropes, I don't know what's to come
She plucks the splinter from my thumb
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
My love is my rock in the long low weary land
Yes my love is my rock in the long low weary land
In the weary land
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Ballad Of Ira Hayes
(Peter LaFarge)
Gather round me people and a story I will tell
?Bout a brave young Indian lad, you should remember well,
From a tribe of Pima Indians, a proud and peaceful band
Who farmed the Phoenix Valley out in Arizona land.
Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkling water rushed
Till the white man stole the water rights and the running water hushed.
Ira's folks was hungry, their fields grew thick with weeds,
But when war came Ira volunteered and forgot the white man's greed.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war.
Well, they battled up Iwo Jima Hill, two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again.
And after the fight was over and Old Glory proudly raised,
Among the men who held her high was an Indian, Ira Hayes.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war.
Well, Ira Hayes returned a hero, celebrated throughout the land,
He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand.
But he's just a Pima Indian, no food, no friend, no chance,
And nobody cared what Ira did and when do the Indians dance.
Well, Ira took to drinking hard, jail often was his home,
They used to let him raise the flag there and lower it just like you'd throw a dog a bone.
And Ira died drunk early one morning all alone in the land he'd fought to save.
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was the grave for Ira Hayes.
Call him drunken Ira Hayes, he won't answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking Indian or Marine who went to war.
Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes, but his lan
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I Had A Dream
I had a dream
As though it seemed
Just the other day,
And you were there
Just like my prayer
Answering the words I prayed.
You took my hand
You helped me stand
And I rose to meet your eyes,
And as I stood
The way a man should
You were gone, and I knew not why.
I looked around
You couldnt be found
Then for you I cried as I spoke
“Why did you leave”
“Come back to me please”
But you didnt, so I awoke.
I had a dream
As though it seemed
Just the other night.
And you were there
Just like my prayer
Standing in the moon light.
You gave me a smile
Which I longed for a while
Joy was in my heart and soul
I began to smile
Just like a child
As my memories of you began to grow.
I thought of our past
As I wished it would always last
But you shook your head sadly No
So I shed a tear
Which dissapeared
And sadly again, I awoke.
I had a dream
as though it seemed
Late last night
And you were there
Just like my prayer
My woman, my wife and my life.
I took your hand
As I am your man
Together we will be
I wouldnt let go
as you shook your head no,
Together you and me.
I gave you a kiss
Which I did miss
Then you began to weep
You cried saying that I will awake
Without you to a new day
Then I said “no”, I will sleep
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Captain Jims Drunken Dream
Well you country fools in your one horse town you can laugh at me
But its plain as rain that youve never been down to the southern sea
To see me now is like watching a fish on dry land
I only wish you could see me down in the islands
Mister, thats my home.
What a fool I was to leave the only happiness Ive known
You see me coming, you wink your eye and call me captain jim
And when I dont do nothin but walk on by you say baby get a load of him
All I need is the sea and the sky and I know where I stand
Instead of you hicks straight out of the sticks deciding I aint a man
Youll never understand
Up here Im a whisky bum but down there Im a king
Sounds just like the angels up in heaven
When they sing
Welcome home, welcome home
Such a sight to see
Instead of some salvation army sister
Singing nearer my God to thee
Now I know that yankee whisky has taken away my mind
And I know that rum is the only drink suitable to mankind
And I know this tree Im under is shaped entirely wrong
I need to see a gentle palm tree and I wont wait to long
I can feel that its coming on strong
The first cold wind of winter is flapping in my clothes
Showing me the way with the direction that it blows
Welcome home, welcome home
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Some Choose a Whisky Death.
Some choose a whisky death.
A taxpaying
coward’s death.
Slower
but with the same end
result
as tightening noose
or piercing bullet
or life
in general.
Some choose a whisky death.
While Death’s Icy Hand
raises frosty jug of
beer
they
burn bridges
and candles
in both ends
in blind challenge,
accepting,
knowing
THEY
would drink
piss
or poison
or bottled
spring
water
if it could fill up
the hollow
space
inside them.
poem by Carsten Thomsen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wedding In Paris
Wedding in Paris
Coming out of the church after the wedding there were
smiles and cameras clicked, from the steps I could look
down into a park, a tramp was going through a bin
looking for something to eat, he found and ate what looked
like a half eaten pizza. With all the clatter going on
I slipped away, had a whisky in a bar across the road,
saw the tramp coming out of the park, my idea was to give
him some money for food, but I was self-conscious and
hated the thought of looking patronizing so I had another
whisky instead.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Secret Whisky Cure
’Tis no tale of heroism, ’tis no tale of storm and strife,
But of ordinary boozing, and of dull domestic life—
Of the everlasting friction that most husbands must endure—
Tale of nagging and of drinking—and a secret whisky cure.
Name of Jones—perhaps you know him—small house-agent here in town—
(Friend of Smith, you know him also—likewise Robinson and Brown),
Just a hopeless little husband, whose deep sorrows were obscure,
And a bitter nagging Missis—and death seemed the only cure.
’Twas a common sordid marriage, and there’s little new to tell—
Save the pub to him was Heaven and his own home was a hell:
With the office in between them—purgatory to be sure—
And, as far as Jones could make out—well, there wasn’t any cure.
’Twas drink and nag—or nag and drink—whichever you prefer—
Till at last she couldn’t stand him any more than he could her.
Friends and relatives assisted, telling her (with motives pure)
That a legal separation was the only earthly cure.
So she went and saw a lawyer, who, in accents soft and low,
Asked her firstly if her husband had a bank account or no;
But he hadn’t and she hadn’t, they in fact were very poor,
So he bowed her out suggesting she should try some liquor cure.
She saw a drink cure advertised in the Sydney Bulletin—
Cure for brandy, cure for whisky, cure for rum and beer and gin,
And it could be given secret, it was tasteless, swift and sure—
So she purchased half a gallon of that Secret Whisky Cure.
And she put some in his coffee, smiling sweetly all the while,
And he started for the office rather puzzled by the smile—
Smile or frown he’d have a whisky, and you’ll say he was a boor—
But perhaps his wife had given him an overdose of Cure.
And he met a friend he hadn’t seen for seven years or more—
It was just upon the threshold of a private bar-room door—
And they coalised and entered straight away, you may be sure—
But of course they hadn’t reckoned with a Secret Whisky Cure.
Jones, he drank, turned pale, and, gasping, hurried out the back way quick,
Where, to his old chum’s amazement, he was violently sick;
Then they interviewed the landlord, but he swore the drink was pure—
It was only the beginning of the Secret Whisky Cure.
For Jones couldn’t stand the smell of even special whisky blends,
And shunned bar-rooms to the sorrow of his trusty drinking friends:
And they wondered, too, what evil genius had chanced to lure
Him from paths of booze and friendship—never dreaming of a Cure.
He had noticed, too, with terror that a something turned his feet,
When a pub was near, and swung him to the other side the street,
Till he thought the devils had him, and his person they’d immure
In a lunatic asylum where there wasn’t any Cure.
He consulted several doctors who were puzzled by the case—
As they mostly are, but never tell the patient to his face—
Some advised him ‘Try the Mountains for this malady obscure:’
But there wasn’t one could diagnose a Secret Whisky Cure.
And his wife, when he was sober?—Well, she nagged him all the more!
And he couldn’t drown his sorrow in the pewter as of yore:
So he shot himself at Manly and was sat upon by Woore,
And found rest amongst the spirits from the Secret Whisky Cure.
And the moral?—well, ’tis funny—or ’tis woman’s way with men—
She’s remarried to a publican who whacks her now and then,
And they get on fairly happy, he’s a brute and he’s a boor,
But she’s never tried her second with a Secret Whisky Cure.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Ballad Of Ira Hayes
(peter lafarge)
Gather round me people and a story I will tell
bout a brave young indian lad, you should remember well,
From a tribe of pima indians, a proud and peaceful band
Who farmed the phoenix valley out in arizona land.
Down their ditches for a thousand years the sparkling water rushed
Till the white man stole the water rights and the running water hushed.
Iras folks was hungry, their fields grew thick with weeds,
But when war came ira volunteered and forgot the white mans greed.
Call him drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking indian or marine who went to war.
Well, they battled up iwo jima hill, two hundred and fifty men
But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again.
And after the fight was over and old glory proudly raised,
Among the men who held her high was an indian, ira hayes.
Call him drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking indian or marine who went to war.
Well, ira hayes returned a hero, celebrated throughout the land,
He was wined and speeched and honored, everybody shook his hand.
But hes just a pima indian, no food, no friend, no chance,
And nobody cared what ira did and when do the indians dance.
Well, ira took to drinking hard, jail often was his home,
They used to let him raise the flag there and lower it just like youd throw a dog a bone.
And ira died drunk early one morning all alone in the land hed fought to save.
Two inches of water in a lonely ditch was the grave for ira hayes.
Call him drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking indian or marine who went to war.
Yeah, call him drunken ira hayes, but his land is till as dry
And his ghost, well, thats lying thirsty in the ditch where ira died.
Call him drunken ira hayes, he wont answer anymore,
Not that whiskey drinking indian or marine who went to war.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Native Son
Ive seen many moons through these wrinkled eyes
The years have made me old but theyve made me wise
Now the white man lives where our rivers run
For now better days have passed
We walk the streets of broken glass
Our people vanished as snow before the summer sun
Like dogs we were driven from this place
Such injustice, time will not erase
All these changes cannot be undone
When you feel the anger inside of you
Hold your head high - let your aim be true
Though your heart beats like a drum
My native son
Once there was a time my little one
Before the wagons - before the soldiers guns
When this land was ours as far as the eagle flies
No white flag - no broken truce
With few words one can speak the truth - I dont hear it
Time wont heal it now
With each new day that comes to pass
Will the great spirit free us all at last?
He said we were the chosen ones
For all we had theres nothin left
We wont forgive - we cant forget
You know that your day will come
My native son
With each new day that comes to pass
Will the great spirit free us all at last?
What has happened can never be undone
When I was young - not yet a man
The sun rose and set upon our land
We were the chosen ones
My native son
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!