An Old Master
We were cartin' lathes and palin's from the slopes of Mount St. Leonard,
With our axles near the road-bed and the mud as stiff as glue;
And our bullocks weren't precisely what you'd call conditioned nicely,
And meself and Messmate Mitchell had our doubts of gettin' through.
It had rained a tidy skyful in the week before we started,
But our tucker-bag depended on the sellin' of our load;
So we punched 'em on by inches, liftin' 'em across the pinches,
Till we struck the final section of the worst part of the road.
We were just congratulatin' one another on the goin',
When we blundered in a pot-hole right within the sight of goal,
Where the bush-track joins the metal. Mitchell, as he saw her settle,
Justified his reputation at the peril of his soul.
We were in a glue-pot, certain —- red and stiff and most tenacious;
Over naves and over axles —- waggon sittin' on the road.
''Struth,' says I, 'they'll never lift her. Take a shot from Hell to shift her.
Nothin' left us but unyoke 'em and sling off the blessed load.'
Now, beside our scene of trouble stood a little one-roomed humpy,
Home of an enfeebled party by the name of Dad McGee.
Daddy was, I pause to mention, livin' on an old-age pension
Since he gave up bullock-punchin' at the age of eighty-three.
Startled by our exclamations, Daddy hobbled from the shanty,
Gazin' where the stranded waggon looked like some half-foundered ship.
When the state o' things he spotted, 'Looks,' he says, 'like you was potted,'
And he toddles up to Mitchell. 'Here,' says he, 'gimme that whip.'
Well! I've heard of transformations; heard of fellers sort of changin'
In the face of sudden danger or some great emergency;
Heard the like in song and story and in bush traditions hoary,
But I nearly dropped me bundle as I looked at Dad McGee.
While we gazed he seemed to toughen; as his fingers gripped the handle
His old form grew straight and supple, and a light leapt in his eye;
And he stepped around the waggon, not with footsteps weak and laggin',
But with firm, determined bearin', as he flung the whip on high.
Now he swung the leaders over, while the whip-lash snarled and volleyed;
And they answered like one bullock, strainin' to each crack and clout;
But he kept his cursin' under till old Brindle made a blunder;
Then I thought all Hell had hit me, and the master opened out.
And the language! Oh, the language! Seemed to me I must be dreamin';
While the wondrous words and phrases only genius could produce
Roared and rumbled, fast and faster, in the throat of that Old Master —-
Oaths and curses tipped with lightning, cracklin' flames of fierce abuse.
Then we knew the man before us was a Master of our callin';
One of those great lords of language gone for ever from Out-back;
Heroes of an ancient order; men who punched across the border;
Vanished giants of the sixties; puncher-princes of the track.
Now we heard the timbers strainin', heard the waggon's loud complainin',
And the master cried triumphant, as he swung 'em into line,
As they put their shoulders to it, lifted her, and pulled her through it:
'That's the way we useter do it in the days o' sixty-nine!'
Near the foot of Mount St. Leonard lives an old, enfeebled party
Who retired from bullock-punchin' at the age of eighty-three.
If you seek him folk will mention, merely, that he draws the pension;
But to us he looms a Master -- Prince of Punchers, Dad McGee!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Related quotes
Country Roads ~ White Horse Road
By White Horse Tavern, White Horse Road
In olden days wound down;
And many a waggon bore its load
And many a bullock felt the goad
From town to country town.
Thro' Ringwood on, by hill and vale,
Their patient way they went.
Until they came to Lilydale,
The olden town of Lilydale.
And teamsters paused at Lilydale,
A place of calm content.
But days of bitumen and tar
Have changed the ancient mode;
And now the speeding motor car,
Where traffic-cops and bowsers are,
Go down the White Horse Road,
Upon a smooth, broad way they sail,
Till, sudden, up and down,
The bumps begin at Lilydale,
The rocky road to Lilydale,
The holey road to Lilydale,
A very peaceful town.
Beyond the town, the bumps are past,
And vexed springs settle down;
But many an angry look is cast
And many a curse speeds backwards fast
Toward that backward town.
On to the foothills leads the trail
By smooth and pleasant ways,
But, oh, that stretch thro' Lilydale!
The sleepy town of Lilydale,
Where folk still think, in Lilydale,
In terms of bullock drays.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Shanty On The Rise
When the caravans of wool-teams climbed the ranges from the West,
On a spur among the mountains stood `The Bullock-drivers' Rest';
It was built of bark and saplings, and was rather rough inside,
But 'twas good enough for bushmen in the careless days that died --
Just a quiet little shanty kept by `Something-in-Disguise',
As the bushmen called the landlord of the Shanty on the Rise.
City swells who `do the Royal' would have called the Shanty low,
But 'twas better far and purer than some toney pubs I know;
For the patrons of the Shanty had the principles of men,
And the spieler, if he struck it, wasn't welcome there again.
You could smoke and drink in quiet, yarn, or else soliloquise,
With a decent lot of fellows in the Shanty on the Rise.
'Twas the bullock-driver's haven when his team was on the road,
And the waggon-wheels were groaning as they ploughed beneath the load;
And I mind how weary teamsters struggled on while it was light,
Just to camp within a cooey of the Shanty for the night;
And I think the very bullocks raised their heads and fixed their eyes
On the candle in the window of the Shanty on the Rise.
And the bullock-bells were clanking from the marshes on the flats
As we hurried to the Shanty, where we hung our dripping hats;
And we took a drop of something that was brought at our desire,
As we stood with steaming moleskins in the kitchen by the fire.
Oh! it roared upon a fireplace of the good, old-fashioned size,
When the rain came down the chimney of the Shanty on the Rise.
They got up a Christmas party in the Shanty long ago,
While I camped with Jimmy Nowlett on the riverbank below;
Poor old Jim was in his glory -- they'd elected him M.C.,
For there wasn't such another raving lunatic as he.
`Mr. Nowlett, Mr. Swaller!' shouted Something-in-Disguise,
As we walked into the parlour of the Shanty on the Rise.
There is little real pleasure in the city where I am --
There's a swarry round the corner with its mockery and sham;
But a fellow can be happy when around the room he whirls
In a party up the country with the jolly country girls.
Why, at times I almost fancied I was dancing on the skies,
When I danced with Mary Carey in the Shanty on the Rise.
Jimmy came to me and whispered, and I muttered, `Go along!'
But he shouted, `Mr. Swaller will oblige us with a song!'
And at first I said I wouldn't, and I shammed a little too,
Till the girls began to whisper, `Mr. Swallow, now, ah, DO!'
So I sang a song of something 'bout the love that never dies,
And the chorus shook the rafters of the Shanty on the Rise.
Jimmy burst his concertina, and the bullock-drivers went
For the corpse of Joe the Fiddler, who was sleeping in his tent;
Joe was tired and had lumbago, and he wouldn't come, he said,
But the case was very urgent, so they pulled him out of bed;
And they fetched him, for the bushmen knew that Something-in-Disguise
Had a cure for Joe's lumbago in the Shanty on the Rise.
Jim and I were rather quiet while escorting Mary home,
'Neath the stars that hung in clusters, near and distant, from the dome;
And we walked so very silent -- being lost in reverie --
That we heard the settlers'-matches rustle softly on the tree;
And I wondered who would win her when she said her sweet good-byes --
But she died at one-and-twenty, and was buried on the Rise.
I suppose the Shanty vanished from the ranges long ago,
And the girls are mostly married to the chaps I used to know;
My old chums are in the distance -- some have crossed the border-line,
But in fancy still their glasses chink against the rim of mine.
And, upon the very centre of the greenest spot that lies
In my fondest recollection, stands the Shanty on the Rise.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Aesthete in the Avenue
Within the wooded avenue I stood,
And I was proud.
I looked upon the scene and found it good;
For here, I vowed,
Reigned Beauty rare. Sweet praises filled my mouth
For this, the loveliest city of the south;
Yet not a soul could hear,
Altho' my lyric praise with fervor flowed;
For, as I spoke, there rumbled down the road
A lorry-load of beer.
I tried again. I spoke of civic pride,
Aesthetic joy.
With those rare phrases, culled from far and wide,
Poets employ.
I waxed in aphoristic ecstasy,
Hymning the loveliness of sky and tree;
Yet not a single soul
Gave heed to me; for sudden thunders grew
As round the bend there lumbered into view
A waggon piled with coal.
'Goths!' I exclaimed. 'Did you raise Beauty here
In this green place
But for the sport of flinging coal and beer
In her sweet face?'
A large truck missed me by a hair's-breadth then
Manned by a crew of large, unlovely men
Who jeered and darned my eyes.
'Vandals!' I shouted. 'Nay, repent your sins!'
Then leapt again to dodge a load of skins
That smelled unto the skies.
Still on they came, truck, waggon, rank on rank,
I dodged, I leapt;
The threw myself upon a grassy bank
And there I wept,
Wept for the city . . . A park-keeper came,
A mean, ungracious man, who took my name.
'O man!' I cried. 'Alas,
See how I weep. Must beauty disappear?'
Said he: 'Buzz orf! You can't do that there 'ere.
Spoilin' our nice noo grass!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song of the Old Bullock-Driver
Far back in the days when the blacks used to ramble
In long single file ’neath the evergreen tree,
The wool-teams in season came down from Coonamble,
And journeyed for weeks on their way to the sea,
’Twas then that our hearts and our sinews were stronger,
For those were the days when the bushman was bred.
We journeyed on roads that were rougher and longer
Than roads where the feet of our grandchildren tread.
With mates who have gone to the great Never-Never,
And mates whom I’ve not seen for many a day,
I camped on the banks of the Cudgegong River
And yarned at the fire by the old bullock-dray.
I would summon them back from the far Riverina,
From days that shall be from all others distinct,
And sing to the sound of an old concertina
Their rugged old songs where strange fancies were linked.
We never were lonely, for, camping together,
We yarned and we smoked the long evenings away,
And little I cared for the signs of the weather
When snug in my hammock slung under the dray.
We rose with the dawn, were it ever so chilly,
When yokes and tarpaulins were covered with frost,
And toasted the bacon and boiled the black billy,
Where high on the camp-fire the branches were tossed.
On flats where the air was suggestive of ’possums,
And homesteads and fences were hinting of change,
We saw the faint glimmer of appletree blossoms
And far in the distance the blue of the range;
And here in the rain, there was small use in flogging
The poor, tortured bullocks that tugged at the load,
When down to the axles the waggons were bogging
And traffic was making a marsh of the road.
’Twas hard on the beasts on the terrible pinches,
Where two teams of bullocks were yoked to a load,
And tugging and slipping, and moving by inches,
Half-way to the summit they clung to the road.
And then, when the last of the pinches was bested,
(You’ll surely not say that a glass was a sin?)
The bullocks lay down ’neath the gum trees and rested —
The bullockies steered for the bar of the inn.
Then slowly we crawled by the trees that kept tally
Of miles that were passed on the long journey down.
We saw the wild beauty of Capertee Valley,
As slowly we rounded the base of the Crown.
But, ah! the poor bullocks were cruelly goaded
While climbing the hills from the flats and the vales;
’Twas here that the teams were so often unloaded
That all knew the meaning of ‘counting your bales.’
And, oh! but the best-paying load that I carried
Was one to the run where my sweetheart was nurse.
We courted awhile, and agreed to get married,
And couple our futures for better or worse.
And as my old feet grew too weary to drag on
The miles of rough metal they met by the way,
My eldest grew up and I gave him the waggon —
He’s plodding along by the bullocks to-day.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Lock And Load
Words and music by bob seger, craig frost, tim mitchell
Well i wish i had a nickel
For every time i fell and blamed somebody else
I'd give a ton of money to the ones i've hurt
And i'd still be sittin' pretty well
I've spent years losin' touch of what's right and what's real
Caught up in these missions of my own
And you're tellin' me you think i've done so damn well
While we're sittin' here a thousand miles from home
There's a hole in your wisdom, a hole in your sky
Two holes in your head where the light's supposed to get by
Time to lock and load
Time to get control
Time to search the soul
And start again
So many times i've seen chances disappear
I hesitate and watch them slip away
Like the time i fail to spend with the ones i love
And it's gone as sure as yesterday
All these users and fakers, big time takers
Manipulating everyone they see
I get caught up in their schemes and their useless dreams
And the only one i have to blame is me
I get turned 'round and twisted, pulled left and right
I can see where i'm goin', but i can't see the light
Time to lock and load
Come in from the cold
Take a different road
And start again
I can sit here, in the back half of my life
And wonder when the other shoe will fall
Or i can stand up, point myself home
And see if i've learned anything at all
Anything at all
Mediocrity is easy, the good things take time
The great need commitment, right down the line
Time to lock and load
Come in from the cold
Pay these debts i owe
And start again
I've been down this road
I've seen things get old
Time to get control
And start it all again
Time to lock and load
Time to get control
Time to search the soul
And start again
I've been down this road
I've seen things get old
Stand up, get bold
And start it all again
Time to lock and load
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Master
Master went a-hunting,
When the leaves were falling;
We saw him on the bridle path,
We heard him gaily calling.
'Oh master, master, come you back,
For I have dreamed a dream so black!'
A glint of steel from bit and heel,
The chestnut cantered faster;
A red flash seen amid the green,
And so good-bye to master.
Master came from hunting,
Two silent comrades bore him;
His eyes were dim, his face was white,
The mare was led before him.
'Oh, master, master, is it thus
That you have come again to us?'
I held my lady's ice-cold hand,
They bore the hurdle past her;
Why should they go so soft and slow?
It matters not to master.
poem by Arthur Conan Doyle
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Jim's Whip
Yes, there it hangs upon the wall
And never gives a sound,
The hand that trimmed its greenhide fall
Is hidden underground,
There, in that patch of sallee shade,
Beneath that grassy mound.
I never take it from the wall,
That whip belonged to him,
The man I singled from them all,
He was my husband, Jim;
I see him now, so straight and tall,
So long and lithe of limb.
That whip was with him night and day
When he was on the track;
I've often heard him laugh, and say
That when they heard its crack,
After the breaking of the drought,
The cattle all came back.
And all the time that Jim was here,
A-working on the run,
I'd hear that whip ring sharp and clear
Just about the set of sun,
To let me know that he was near
And that his work was done.
I was away that afternoon,
Penning the calves, when, a bang!
I heard his whip, 'twas rather soon -
A thousand echoes rang
And died away among the hills,
As towards the hut I sprang.
I made the tea and waited, but,
Seized by a sudden whim,
I went and sat outside the hut
And watched the light grow dim -
I waited there till after dark,
But not a sign of Jim.
The evening air was damp with dew,
Just as the clock struck ten
His horse came riderless - I knew
What was the matter then.
Why should the Lord have singled out
My Jim from other men?
I took the horse and found him, where
He lay beneath the sky,
With blood all clotted on his hair;
I felt too dazed to cry -
I held him to me as I prayed
To God that I might die.
But sometimes now I seem to hear -
Just when the air grows chill -
A single whip-crack, sharp and clear;
Re-echo from the hill,
That's Jim, to let me know he's near
And thinking of me still.
poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lock & Load
Words and music by bob seger, craig frost, tim mitchell
Well I wish I had a nickel
For every time I fell and blamed somebody else
Id give a ton of money to the ones Ive hurt
And Id still be sittin pretty well
Ive spent years losin touch of whats right and whats real
Caught up in these missions of my own
And youre tellin me you think Ive done so damn well
While were sittin here a thousand miles from home
Theres a hole in your wisdom, a hole in your sky
Two holes in your head where the lights supposed to get by
Time to lock and load
Time to get control
Time to search the soul
And start again
So many times Ive seen chances disappear
I hesitate and watch them slip away
Like the time I fail to spend with the ones I love
And its gone as sure as yesterday
All these users and fakers, big time takers
Manipulating everyone they see
I get caught up in their schemes and their useless dreams
And the only one I have to blame is me
I get turned 'round and twisted, pulled left and right
I can see where Im goin, but I cant see the light
Time to lock and load
Come in from the cold
Take a different road
And start again
I can sit here, in the back half of my life
And wonder when the other shoe will fall
Or I can stand up, point myself home
And see if Ive learned anything at all
Anything at all
Mediocrity is easy, the good things take time
The great need commitment, right down the line
Time to lock and load
Come in from the cold
Pay these debts I owe
And start again
Ive been down this road
Ive seen things get old
Time to get control
And start it all again
Time to lock and load
Time to get control
Time to search the soul
And start again
Ive been down this road
Ive seen things get old
Stand up, get bold
And start it all again
Time to lock and load
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Jim Shore
He prospered in an olden day
When down the rutted waggon track,
Thro' scenes that seem a world away,
His bullocks lumbered forth and back;
A tall old man, deep voiced, erect
Despite the load of years he bore,
His patriarchal beard, grey flecked,
He won from all men deep respect,
Doyen of drivers - old Jim Shore.
'Gee-off, Headman. Come here, Tony.
Darkey, Redman! Woo there, Roany.'
Goad upraised in stern pretending
Writhed aloft, yet ne'er descending
To fulfilment of the threat.
Men have said that never yet
Had Jim's whip-lash marked a hide
Of the sleek beasts that were his pride.
'Get on, Rodney! Steady, Moonlight!'
Thro' the disk or dappled moonlight,
Down the deep green ways of yore
Went the team of old Jim Shore.
The times have changed; it could not last,
The glamor of those halcyon days.
The loud exhaust, the siren's blast
Wake echoes now by old bush ways.
Yet oft, when dusk steals down the sky,
I sit again by my house door
To hear a ghostly team go by,
And, mingling with the night wind's sigh,
That rich deep voice of old Jim Shore.
'Gee-off, Headman. Stand up, Tony.
Darkey, Redman! Come here Roany!'
At the yoke I see them straining;
Waggon timbers are complaining;
As, from some vague spirit land,
I see the driver wave a hand,
As long ago he used to wave
Ere the years claimed him, and the grave.
'Up there , Major! Darby! Drummer!'
Again, as on some long lost summer,
The team drifts by and disappears
Down the green aisles of vanished years.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Bark School
It was built of bark and poles, and the floor was full of holes
Where each leak in rainy weather made a pool;
And the walls were mostly cracks lined with calico and sacks –
There was little need for windows in the school.
Then we rode to school and back by the rugged gully-track,
On the old grey horse that carried three or four;
And he looked so very wise that he lit the master's eyes
Every time he put his head in at the door.
He had run with Cobb and Co. – "that grey leader, let him go!"
There were men "as knowed the brand upon his hide",
And "as knowed it on the course". Funeral service: "Good old horse!"
When we burnt him in the gully where he died.
And the master thought the same. 'Twas from Ireland that he came,
Where the tanks are full all summer, and the feed is simply grand;
And the joker then in vogue said his lessons wid a brogue –
'Twas unconscious imitation, let the reader understand.
And we learnt the world in scraps from some ancient dingy maps
Long discarded by the public-schools in town;
And as nearly every book dated back to Captain Cook
Our geography was somewhat upside-down.
It was "in the book" and so – well, at that we'd let it go,
For we never would believe that print could lie;
And we all learnt pretty soon that when we came out at noon
"The sun is in the south part of the sky."
And Ireland! that was known from the coast-line to Athlone:
We got little information re the land that gave us birth;
Save that Captain Cook was killed (and was very likely grilled)
And "the natives of New Holland are the lowest race on earth".
And a woodcut, in its place, of the same degraded race
Seemed a lot more like a camel than the blackfellows that we knew;
Jimmy Bullock, with the rest, scratched his head and gave it best;
But his faith was sadly shaken by a bobtailed kangaroo.
But the old bark school is gone, and the spot it stood upon
Is a cattle-camp in winter where the curlew's cry is heard;
There's a brick school on the flat, but a schoolmate teaches that,
For, about the time they built it, our old master was "transferred".
But the bark school comes again with exchanges 'cross the plain –
With the Out-Back Advertiser; and my fancy roams at large
When I read of passing stock, of a western mob or flock,
With "James Bullock", "Grey", or "Henry Dale" in charge.
And I think how Jimmy went from the old bark school content,
With his "eddication" finished, with his pack-horse after him;
And perhaps if I were back I would take the self-same track,
For I wish my learning ended when the Master "finished" Jim.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Daddy's Moonshine Still
Folks say my daddy wasn't much of a man
For disobeying the laws of the land
Folks say that my daddy wasn't fit to kill
Oh and I know it was true what the people said
Cause we'd all've been better of dead
Than to live a life of shame and strife
Cause of daddy's moonshine still
My mama was always sweet and kind
But she grew old before her time
Worryin' about the way we had to live
Yeah my daddy put the wrinkles in my mama's face
He drunk his share of all he made
And just one more reason I grew to hate
My daddy's moonshine still
Chorus:
Daddy's moonshine still was good for nothin'
But to break mama's heart
And to tear our home apart
Make our lives a livin' hell
Them old mason jars that daddy made us wash
And set them out to sun on our back porch
'Til he got ready to take 'em up on the hill
And when daddy got word of the revenue
He made us kids help hide his brew
Made us swear that we never knew
About daddy's moonshine still
Yeah and two of my brothers drove across the state line
Once a week with a load of moonshine
And the wounds that came from that won't ever heal
Cause on a moonshine run one rainy night
My two brothers lost their lives
And oh my god how I despise
My daddy's moonshine still
Repeat Chorus
Well it broke mama's heart but she understood
The day that I left home for good
But I had to find me another way to live
Well I sent mama money nearly every day
And how I made it, well I'd rather not say
But at least it took me far away
From daddy's moonshine still
My bootlegging daddy was known quite well
And he made our home a livin' hell
And I ain't forgot it and I know that I never will
My mama finally died she just gave up
And daddy finally died from drinkin' that stuff
And bad memories haunt the rest of us
From daddy's moonshine still
Repeat Chorus
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Got Till It's Gone (feat. Q-Tip & Joni Mitchell)
Now why you wanna go and do dat love, huh
Now why you wanna go and do dat huh do that
Now why you wanna go and do dat love, huh
Now why you wanna go and do dat, do dat, do dat
I like this song huh,
What
On and on it seemed to go, that you don't know what you've got till it's gone
Repeat 3x
You don't know what you've got till it's gone
I've a feeling
Now believing
That you were the one I was meant to be with
Oh how I'm wishing, thinking dreaming, of you to love
That I was meant to be
That way
Got till it's gone (on and on)
Got till it's gone (on and on)
Yeah, yeah, yeah
On and on it seemed to go, that you don't know what you've got till it's gone
Repeat 3x
oh oh
What
Joni Mitchell never lies (lies, lies)
You never know what you've got till it's gone
I could turn back hands of time (mmm)
Make you fall in love with me again
So would you give me another chance to love
To love you the right way, come again
Got till it's gone (on and on)
Got till it's gone (on and on)
Joni Mitchell never lies
On and on it seemed to go, that you don't know what you've got till it's gone
Repeat 3x
What's that
Uh huh Yeah
Let me just wait'it for a minute (don't know what you've got till it's gone)
What
Now you realisin' when the nights go long
Right
Can't wait for to to say when you know that I'm wrong
Right
Get back for awhile
When I tell you to settle
I was working round the clock
But you girls' win the medal (I heard..I heard)
Talk about I heard you smith
But just check on the beat
That was out with the time
But my love you impeach
Now you're looking at the wall
..a hand cold
Breakin' in my house
Hangin' up then imposing
Now why you wanna go and do dat love, huh
Now why you wanna go and do dat huh
Now why you wanna go and do dat love, huh
Now why you wanna go and do dat, do dat, do dat
On and on it seems to go, that you don't know what you've got till it's gone
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Have you ever realized
Joni Mitchell never lies
Don't know what you've got till it's gone
Repeat and fade
song performed by by Janet Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Patch-Up
His dog was home Alone
He didn't even have a Bone
He layed there, with big sad Eye's
Waiting for his master and his Lie's
His master Staggered In
Really stinking of Gin
Began to tell his Dog
He's late because of the Fog
Now the Dog began to Grin
He knew lying was a Sin
He looked at his Master
And saw a Big Disaster
The night was clear as a Bell
No fog for miles, as he could Tell
So his master did Lie
I guess this would be Good-Bye
The dog packed his Bags
And got all his Tags
Snook out the back Door
Didn't want to see his master Anymore
That Dog did the best that he Can
And the Master was a real bad Man
So that dog took off, for the better Life
And with that bad Man he would have no more Strife
Two years later the Dog Reappeared
He was expecting the worst, he Feared
But that bad man had cleaned up his Act
And had a wife now, as a matter of Fact
Now that Dog had a big Smile
And waiting in the back all the While
Was the dogs new 'wife' and 'Pup'
Yes, there all together now, a Great Patch-Up
P.S. And they all had a Merry Christmas, and lived happily ever after.....
poem by David Darbyshire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rainbow Road
I was born a dirt poor man
All my life Ive had hard working hands
But I sang my song as I carried my load
Cause I had a dream about rainbow
Rainbow road
Then one day a man came along
Heard me playing and singing my songs
He bought me clothes and paid up every debt I owed
Sent me on my way down rainbow
Rainbow road
Then one night a man with a knife
Pushed me till I had to take his life
Fast as falling all my friends were gone
That old judge traded me a sentence for a song
Now Im living with this ball and chain
I had to wear a number before they ever heard my name
And like the dream Im growing old
But we still sing about rainbow
Rainbow road
Tag:
Rainbow road, rainbow road
Rainbow road, rainbow road
Rainbow road, rainbow road
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lord of the Flies
Oh Master my Master
Oh where have you been
I wallowed in filth and
I drowned in sin
Oh Master my Master
It's my rotten luck
To swim in the decay
And swallow the muck
Oh Master my Master
I stand in the fires
Surrounded by murderers
Thieves, cheaters, and liars
Oh Master my Master
the earth has turned red
Fluid with blood
Of the recently dead
Oh Master my Master
What's wrong with the world
The blackness unfolds
Like a flag that's unfurled
Oh Master my Master
You ignore my cries
And now I'm quite sure
You're the Lord of the Flies
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini
WHIP IT
DEVO
crack that whip
give the past the slip
step on a crack
break your momma's back
when a problem comes along
you must whip it
before the cream sits out too long
you must whip it
when something's going wrong
you must whip it
now whip it
into shape
shape it up
get straight
go forward
move ahead
try to detect it
it's not too late
to whip it
whip it good
when a good time turns around
you must whip it
you will never live it down
unless you whip it
no one gets their way
until they whip it
i say whip it
whip it good
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Me & Bobby Mcgee
(kristofferson/foster)
Busted flat in baton rouge
Headin for the train
Feelin nearly faded as my jeans
Bobby thumbed a diesel down
Just before it rained
Took us all the way to new orleans
I took my harpoon out of my dirty red bandanna
I was blowin sad while bobby sang the blues
With them windshield wipers slappin time
And bobby clappin hands
We finally sang up every song that driver knew
Freedoms just another word for nothin left to lose
And nothin aint worth nothin but its free
Feelin good was easy, lord, when bobby sang the blues
Buddy, that was good enough for me
Good enough for me and bobby mcgee
From the coal mines of kentucky
To the california sun
Bobby shared the secrets of my soul
Standin right beside me
Through everything Ive done
And every night he kept me from the cold
Then somewhere near salinas
I let him slip away
Lookin for the home I hope hell find
And Ill trade all my tomorrows for a single yesterday
Holdin bobbys body next to mine
Freedoms just another word for nothin left to lose
And nothin aint worth nothin but its free
Feelin good was easy, lord, when bobby sang the blues
Buddy, that was good enough for me
Good enough for me and bobby mcgee
Enough for me and bobby mcgee
Good enough for me and my bobby mcgee
I let him slip away
Lookin for the home I hope he finds
Enough for me and my bobby mcgee
Enough for me and my bobby mcgee, yeah
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whip It (Death Metal Version)
crack that whip
give the past the slip
step on a crack
break your momma's back
when a problem comes along
you must whip it
before the cream sits out too long
you must whip it
when something's going wrong
you must whip it
now whip it
into shape
shape it up
get straight
go forward
move ahead
try to detect it
it's not too late
to whip it
whip it good
when a good time turns around
you must whip it
you will never live it down
unless you whip it
no one gets their way
until they whip it
i say whip it
whip it good
song performed by by Moby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Lifted Me
I was sinking deep in sin,
Far from the peaceful shore,
Very deeply stained within,
Sinking to rise no more.
But the Master of the sea
Heard my despairing cry,
>From the waters lifted me.
Now safe am I.
Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help,
Love lifted me.
Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help
Love lifted me.
Souls in danger look above
Jesus completely saves
He will lift you by his love
Out of the angry waves
But the master of the sea
Billows His will obey
He your savior wants to be
Be saved today
Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help,
Love lifted me.
Love lifted me! Love lifted me!
When nothing else could help
Love lifted me.
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daddy Pop
Oh daddy
Oooh, sock it to me
See my brother talkin plently head
Steady wishin he could sleep in your bed
Steady wishin he was in your car
Just a steady wishin that he was who you are
Pop daddy - daddy pop
Brother steady talkin while
The girlies steady hop
Pop daddy - daddy pop
Punchin in the rock and roll clock (oh daddy)
See all the people wonder why
You set your goals high - high as the sky
See the people runnin from the truth
Livin in the past
When they need to be livin the new
Pop daddy (oh yeah) - daddy pop
Brother steady talkin while
The girlies steady hop
Pop daddy - daddy pop
Punchin in the rock and roll clock
Pop - daddy pop
Pop - punchin in the rock and roll clock
Talk, guitar, talk
(oh daddy)
Daddy pop is the writer and love is the book
U better look it over before you overlook
One - oh daddy
Two - oh yeah
Three - ooo, sock it to me
Four - oh (come on), your the best
See all my critics wastin time
Worryin about the daddy while he beat you blind
Get your life together - stop your cryin
Whenever you say that you cant -
Thats when you need to be tryin
Pop daddy - daddy pop (oh daddy)
Brother steady talkin while (steady, steady, steady)
The girlies steady hop
Pop daddy - daddy pop
Punchin in the rock and roll clock (punchin in... punchin in)
What kind of fool is this, that thinks daddy will miss
What kind of boy would dis, a list, as long as his-tory itself
I got grooves and grooves up on the shelf (oh daddy)
Deep purple concord jams (oh yeah)
This party I will slam (I dont think)
I dont think you understand (sock it to me)
Whatever you cant do - daddy can
The one and only daddy pop
(oh daddy) one and only - daddy pop
Pop daddy - daddy pop (oh no, my brother)
Brother steady talkin while
The girlies steady hop (there aint no stoppin)
Pop daddy - daddy pop (check the record, yeah!)
Punchin in the rock and roll clock
Poppa daddys commin
(ring di di ding) comebodys calling
The jesters on the phone!
Oh yeah?
Rosie tell him I aint home
He just one in a long line that wanna see me!
Daddy pop
(oh daddy)
(oh yeah)
(oh daddy)
(oh yeah)
Daddy pop (oh daddy)
Daddy pop (oh yeah)
Daddy pop (oh daddy)
Daddy pop (oh yeah)
Daddy pop lead the band
As I step to the mic and lend a hand (oh daddy)
To the funky groove, lets make the whole house move
Yo band let me hear you say ooooo ((ooooo)) (oh yeah)
Thats right, were gonna turn this mother out tonight
We aint leavin til they (oh daddy)
Gonna have to turn off the lights
And if they do then what we gonna do?
((trash it up cause we aint through)) (oh yeah)
Yeah hit it, its time to get with it, huh
I aint no angel so 2 hell with playin innocent (oh daddy)
Those who came to party know just what Im talkin about
So come on yall (oh yeah)
Wave your hand in the air, everybody
Wave your hand in the air (oh daddy)
For the funkiest band in the land and dont forget
The p-a-r-t-y-m-a-n (oh yeah)
Peace (daddy pop) (oh daddy)
Yeah, peace (daddy pop) (oh yeah)
Like I said right about now (daddy pop) (oh daddy)
Npg is like aaaaaaaa (daddy pop) (oh yeah)
Ha!
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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