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The Good Old Concertina

’Twas merry when the hut was full
Of jolly girls and fellows.
We danced and sang until we burst
The concertina’s bellows.
From distant Darling to the sea,
From the Downs to Riverina,
Has e’er a gum in all the west
Not heard the concertina?

’Twas peaceful round the campfire blaze,
The long white branches o’er us;
We’d play the tunes of bygone days,
To some good old bush chorus.
Old Erin’s harp may sweeter be,
The Scottish pipes blow keener;
But sing an old bush song for me
To the good old concertina.

’Twas cosy by the hut-fire bright
When the pint pot passed between us;
We drowned the voice of the stormy night
With the good old concertina’s.
Though trouble drifts along the years,
And the pangs of care grow keener,
My heart is gladdened when it hears
That good old concertina.

poem by Henry Lawson
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When I was at school I used to scream in trains, in those concertina things between the carriages. I used to try to be so good that sometimes I couldn't bear it any more.

quote by Jane Birkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Hanover Winter Song

Ho, a song by the fire;
Pass the pipes, pass the bowl.
Ho, a song by the fire
With a skoal, with a skoal.
Ho, a song by the fire;
Pass the pipes with a skoal,
For the wolf-wind is wailing at the doorways,
And the snow drifts deep along the road,
And the ice gnomes are marching from their Norways,
And the great white cold walks abroad.

But, here by the fire, we defy frost and storm;
Ha, ha we are warm, and we have our heart's desire.
For here, we're good fellows, and the beechwood and the bellows;
And the cup is at the lip in the pledge of fellowship.
Oh, here by the fire, we defy frost and storm;
Ha, ha, we are warm, and we have our heart's desire.
For here we're good fellows, and the beechwood and the bellows.
And the cup is at the lip in the pledge of fellowship,
Of fellowship

Pile the logs on the fire;
Fill the pipes, pass the bowl.
Pile the logs on the fire
With a skoal, with a skoal.
Pile the logs on the fire;
Fill the pipes with a skoal,
For the fire goblins flicker on the ceiling,
And the wine witch glitters in the glass,
And the smoke wraiths are drifting, curling, reeling,
And the sleigh bells jingle as they pass.

But, here by the fire, we defy frost and storm;
Ha, ha we are warm, and we have our heart's desire.
For here, we're good fellows, and the beechwood and the bellows;
And the cup is at the lip in the pledge of fellowship.
Oh, here by the fire, we defy frost and storm;
Ha, ha, we are warm, and we have our heart's desire.
For here we're good fellows, and the beechwood and the bellows.
And the cup is at the lip in the pledge of fellowship,
Of fellowship

Oh, a God is the fire;
Pull the pipes, drain the bowl.
Oh, a God is the fire
With a skoal, with a skoal.
Oh, a God is the fire;
Pull the pipes with a skoal,
For the room has a spirit in the embers,
Tis a God and our fathers knew his name,
And they worship'd him in long-forgot Decembers,
And their hearts leap'd high with the flame.

poem by Richard Hovey
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Anybody who has listened to certain kinds of music, or read certain kinds of poetry, or heard certain kinds of performances on the concertina, will admit that even suicide has its brighter aspects.

Stephen Leacock in 1912
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lea

Heres to the few. who fared - my love
Only for you - I cared - my love
Ive given it hope, and I know its only you
Encased in silence
Heres to the you - who saved - my love
Only to you - I gave - my love
Ive given it thought, and its not all that appears
Chorus:
Lea, how long will you still want me to want you
In and around you
Lea, my concertina
Will you still want me to want you
Heres to the you - who dared - my love
Only with you - I shared - my love
Ive given it though, and its not all that appears
Chorus
Bridge:
Who cares - what the cynics say
I care - if only youre on your way
Lea - dont let the same be true
Lea - do you still want me to want you

song performed by by Toto
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Premonition

DEAR heart, good-night!
Nay, list awhile that sweet voice singing
When the world is all so bright,
And the sound of song sets the heart a-ringing,
Oh, love, it is not right—
Not then to say, 'Good-night.'
Dear heart, good-night!
The late winds in the lake weeds shiver,
And the spray flies cold and white.
And the voice that sings gives a telltale quiver —
'Ah, yes, the world is bright,
But, dearest heart, good-night!'
Dear heart, good-night!
And do not longer seek to hold me!
For my soul is in affright
As the fearful glooms in their pall enfold me.
See him who sang how white
And still; so, dear, good-night.
Dear heart, good-night!
Thy hand I'll press no more forever,
And mine eyes shall lose the light;
For the great white wraith by the winding river
Shall check my steps with might.
So, dear, good-night, good-night!

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Difference Of Touch: In D Minor KV 466 And Variations On The Theme Of Paganini

The difference of touch: in D minor KV 466 and Variations on a theme of Paganini
the robin hops from the tips of the rose bush
spilling snow dust
sprinkling skeins of early dew
dusting with its uppity tail fan
a caterpillar
softly dousing concertina

then it trips up the clothesline
stops and grips it in its claws
sways and balances with its tail fanning out

chirps clucks tweets
and repeats itself
all the way down again
and up the scale

comes back once more to skip a note or two

and tumbles
sweeps past the old toy bicycle leaning against the wire fence

the claw marks hardly visible on the spray of frost-like snow on the balustrade

light ephemeral peripatetic

the dulcet flexions rising and falling on the tympana without breath of motion

or vibration

crisp colliding notes rising and falling

as the first tentative drops of drizzle before the rain

the robin gone to sing full throttle on wing

poem by T. Wignesan
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My Old Kentucky Home, Good Night!

1 The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home,
2 'Tis summer, the darkies are gay,
3 The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom
4 While the birds make music all the day.
5 The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
6 All merry, all happy and bright:
7 By'n by Hard Times comes a knocking at the door,
8 Then my old Kentucky Home, good night!

9 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
10 We will sing one song
11 For the old Kentucky Home,
12 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.

13 [Solo] They hunt no more for the possum and the coon
14 On the meadow, the hill and the shore,
15 They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
16 On the bench by the old cabin door.
17 The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,
18 With sorrow where all was delight:
19 The time has come when the darkies have to part,
20 Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!

21 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
22 We will sing one song
23 For the old Kentucky Home,
24 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.

25 [Solo] The head must bow and the back will have to bend,
26 Wherever the darkey may go:
27 A few more days, and the trouble all will end
28 In the field where the sugar-canes grow.
29 A few more days for to tote the weary load,
30 No matter 'twill never be light,
31 A few more days till we totter on the road,
32 Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!

33 [Chorus] Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more to-day!
34 We will sing one song
35 For the old Kentucky Home,
36 For the old Kentucky Home, far away.

poem by Stephen C. Foster
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Pioneers

They came of bold and roving stock that would not fixed abide;
There were the sons of field and flock since e’er they learned to ride;
We may not hope to see such men in these degenerate years
As those explorers of the bush – the brave old pioneers.

‘Twas they who rode the trackless bush in heat and storm and drought;
‘Twas they that heard the master-word that called them further out;
‘Twas they that followed up the trail the mountain cattle made
And pressed across the mighty range where now their bones are laid.

But now the times are dull and slow, the brave old days are dead
When hardy bushmen started out, and forced their way ahead
By tangled scrub and forests grim towards the unknown west,
And spied the far off promised land from off the ranges’ crest.

Oh! Ye, that sleep in lonely graves by far-off ridge and plain,
We drink to you in silence now as Christmas comes again,
The men who fought the wilderness through rough unsettled years –
The founders of our nation’s life, the brave old pioneers.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Good Girl

I'll be a good girl
You will not have to worry about me
I will sing a sweet lullaby in your sleep
Even though the nightmare is
Creeping on the back of my mind

Because they always whisper to me

Good girls don't laugh hard
Good girls don't play heart
Good girls don't cry bad
Good girls don't show dark

Good girls don't taste devil
Good girls don't ring the bell
Good girls don't touch the hell
Good girls don't break the shell

I'll be your perfect girl
I will do as your loving little angel
I'll walk the path that you choose me to follow
Even though I want to run
I want to run beyond the sea

Because they always pushing me

Good girls don't make a mess
Good girls always do the best
Good girls don't kick hornet's nest
Good girls always take less rest

Good girls always tell the right
Good girls never need to hide
Good girls always shine and bright
Good girls never want anyone sad

I'll be your sweet girl
So you couldn't find a fault on me
You won't see a flaw from my dead body
Even though oh,
I'm twisted and rotten inside

Because they always preaching me

Good girls always keep promise
Good girls always loved to be kissed
Good girls always glow in breeze
Good girls always easy to be missed

Good girls always create a great ballad
Good girls always leave the jealous mad
Good girls always have a clear path
Good girls always be a strong impact

I'll be your only precious girl
There will be century ahead
Before you could throw me heartlessly
There will be ageless of wait
Before you could accuse me guilty

But they never satisfied and say

Good girls is merely an act
Good girls is only beautiful facade
Good girls save cruelty inside
Good girls could manipulate the fact

Good girls just looked innocence
Good girls never defeated in reason
Good girls secretly use their presence
Good girls always own the last person

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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My Audience

I addressed the audience
As a compere that hassled
Passing fabulists of renown,
Forging documents of rarity.

The folds of my skin
Seemed to concertina,
Like the bash of the drum
And the ache of the pen.

I folded my irate finger
With astounding success,
Feeling the gawk
Of my own invention and practice.

The lurching heat of detesters
Combed my hair,
Fixing grins and grimaces
With alarming nuisance.

The audience clapped afresh,
Flapping the face
While spectres spent
Their troubles with perception.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Good To Be Back

Written by pam reswick/steve werfel
Background vocals: natalie cole
Let me look at you, just look at you
Youre a sight for sore eyes, yes you are
If you knew how many nights I spent holding you so tight
Then Id wake up and were still apart
Now youre really near and Im really here
And I can wrap my arms around you, yes I can
This is just like I remember, no I think its even better
Maybe even more than I can stand
Baby, its good to be back, so good to be back
Baby, its good to be back in your arms again
Baby, its good to be back, so good to be back
Honey, its good to be back with you, oh yeah
Well its not the first time weve been apart
But as far as Im concerned its the last
I dont care what we have to do to stay together from now on
But those days away from you are past
cause when I go through the day and I havent seen your face
Seems like nothing that I do feels right
Youre the one I wanna see when I wake up every day
Youre the one I wanna kiss goodnight
Baby, its good to be back, so good to be back
Baby, its good to be back in your arms again (ooh)
Baby, its good to be back, so good to be back
Honey, its good to be back with you
So good, so good, so good, so good, so good with you, baby
So good with you
Why dont you start me up with just one kiss
Thats just one of the things Ive missed
You better kiss me once again til it finally settles in
Well, I think I could get used to this
Baby, its good to be back, so good, so good to be back, real good
Baby, its good to be back in your arms again, I just got to say it
Good to be back, so good to be back
Honey, its good to be back with you
Baby, its good to be back, feels mighty good to be back
Baby, its good to be back with you
Baby, its good to be back, so good, so good to be back
Aw honey, honey its good to be back with you
And its so good to be back, aw sing it girls
Yeah, good to be back, I like the way you sang
Baby, its good to be back in youre arms again
Sang, sang, sang, sang
And its so good to be back...

song performed by by Natalie Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where Home Was

'TWAS yesterday; 'twas long ago:
And for this flaunting grimy street,
And for this crowding to and fro,
And thud and roar of wheels and feet,
Were elm-trees and the linnet's trill,
The little gurgles of the rill,
And breath of meadow-flowers that blow
Ere roses make the summer sweet.

'Twas long ago; 'twas yesterday:
Our peach would just be new with leaves,
The swallow pair that used to lay
Their glimmering eggs beneath our eaves
Would flutter busy with their brood,
And, haply, in our hazel-wood,
Small village urchins hide at play,
And girls sit binding blue-bell sheaves.

Was the house here, or there, or there?
No landmark tells. All changed; all lost;
As when the waves that fret and tear
The fore-shores of some level coast
Roll smoothly where the sea-pinks grew.
All changed, and all grown old anew;
And I pass over, unaware,
The memories I am seeking most.

But where these huddled house-rows spread,
And where this thickened air hangs murk
And the dim sun peers round and red
On stir and haste and cares and work,
For me were baby's daisy-chains
,For me the meetings in the lanes,
The shy good-morrows softly said
That paid my morning's lying lurk.

Oh lingering days of long ago,
Not until now you passed away.
Years wane between and we unknow;
Our youth is always yesterday
.But, like a traveller home who craves
For friends and finds forgotten graves,
I seek you where you dwelt, and, lo,
Even farewells not left to say.

poem by Augusta Davies Webster
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Zen EDTA

My dream is
to chelate
the chrome-coated,
heavy lead machinery
that processes
and manufactures
my stock of mass-produced
thoughts
and the residue of their
components.

I want to wash their clawing ligands
from my rusting porphyrin rings,
And dissolve them in the disemboguing
trails that flood through my insight.

I want to watch them
crush, fold, and collapse
in the concertina
of bathetic synthesis,
the incondite structures
that manifest
my impulses and my impressions.

I want the irritated skin,
the suspension
of nausea and discomfort,
the fever, the headache
of detoxification—

and I want the lucid feeling
of knowing that nothing remains.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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When the Bush Begins to Speak

They know us not in England yet, their pens are overbold;
We're seen in fancy pictures that are fifty years too old.
They think we are a careless race - a childish race, and weak;
They'll know us yet in England, when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.

'The leaders that will be', the men of southern destiny,
Are not all found in cities that are builded by the sea;
They learn to love Australia by many a western creek,
They'll know them yet in England, when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.

All ready for the struggle, and waiting for the change,
The army of our future lies encamped beyond the range;
Australia, for her patriots, will not have far to seek;
They'll know her yet in England when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.

We'll find the peace and comfort that our fathers could not find,
Or some shall strike the good old blow that leaves a mark behind.
We'll find the Truth and Liberty our fathers came to seek,
Or let them know in England when the bush begins to speak;
When the bush begins to speak,
When the bush begins to speak,
When the west by Greed's invaded, and the bush begins to speak.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Portrait Of A Barmaid

Metallic waves of people jar
Through crackling green toward the bar

Where on the tables chattering-white
The sharp drinks quarrel with the light.

Those coloured muslin blinds the smiles,
Shroud wooden faces in their wiles —

Sometimes they splash like water (you
Yourself reflected in their hue).

The conversation loud and bright
Seems spinal bars of shunting light

In firework-spurting greenery.
O complicate machinery

For building Babel, iron crane
Beneath your hair, that blue-ribbed mane

In noise and murder like the sea
Without its mutability!

Outside the bar where jangling heat
Seems out of tune and off the beat —

A concertina's glycerine
Exudes, and mirrors in the green

Your soul: pure glucose edged with hints
Of tentative and half-soiled tints.

poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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So Good So Right

This one is special for all the ladies
You never know I was that type of man
So good so right so good so, so good so
right so good so
So good so right so good so, so good so
right so good so
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
But you keep on watching the time,
Wondering what's on my mind
So you say you can't stay too long, cause
You know what I'm all a...
What I'm all about, what I'm all about
I don't have to sing and shout, what I'm
All about
You know what I'm all about
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Yes it's the truth it's the fact, I'm coming
To you straight from
The back in a mastering room style
Don't be shy, don't you lie, look into my
Eye
I'll tell you why, I'll teach you about
Feeling high
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Never before have you seen this, so I say
This feeling sink within my head, oh yea,
Oh yea
Never before have you believe it, so I mean
What I say
You just got to be yourself
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Yea, feel so good about something so
Right could it last another night
A feel so good about something so right
A feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
So good so right so good so, so good so
Right so good so
So good so right so good s, so good so
Right so good so
Yes it is the strife of my life, to explain
What's in my brain
If you believe what I say, baby, baby
A check in, check in, check check, check in
Check in
Check in, check in, check in, a check in,
Check in, check into my hotel
A feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
A feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
So good, so right, so good, so right, so
Good, so right
So right, I feel so good could it last
Another night
A feel so right could it last another
Night
A feel so good something so right, so
Good
Lord, I said I feel so right
A feel so good, oh could it last another
Night
A feel so right, oh could it last another
Night
A feel so good oh could it last another
Night
A feel so right oh could it last another
Night
So good, o right, so good, so right, so
Good, so good, so right

song performed by by Ziggy Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be Good Johnny

Skip de skip, up the road
Off to school we go
Dont you be a bad boy johnny
Dont you slip up
Or play the fool
Oh no ma, oh no da,
Ill be your golden boy
I will obey evry golden rule
Get told by the teacher
Not to day-dream
Told by my mother:
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good be good (johnny)
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good (johnny)
Be good be good.
Are you going to play football this year, john?
No!
Oh, well you must be going to play cricket this year then,
Are you johnny?
No! no! no!
Boy, you sure are a funny kid, johnny, but I like you! so tell me,
What kind of a boy are you, john?
I only like dreaming
All the day long
Where no one is screaming
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good be good (johnny)
Be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Be good be good be good
Johnny!

song performed by by Men At Work
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Were A Good Friend

If I closed my eye-eyes
It did't hurt quite so ba-a-ad
'Cause tonight I just lo-o-ost
The best friend I ever ha-a-ad
You were a maveri-ick
Runnin' all away from New Orlea-eans
We'd tell stories 'round the campfire
Late at night when it was down
To just you and me-ee-ee
Good friend
Why did you have to go?
Just when I was gettin' to know you
I'll sing this song to show
You were a goo-ood friend
They don't make 'em quite like you
And in my memory you'll always be
A good good frie-iend to me
You said I got a home, boy-oy
Haven't seen it for so lo-o-ong
Said I'm goin' home, boy-oy
My work is done
I can feel it in my bo-o-ones
Good friend
Why did you have to go?
Just when I was gettin' to know you
I'll sing this song to show
You were a good friend
They don't make 'em quite like you
And in my memory you'll always be
A good good frie-iend to me
Good-good friend
Why did you have to go?
Just when I was gettin' to know you
I'll sing this song to show
You were a good friend
They don't make 'em quite like you
And in my memory you'll always be
A goo-ood friend to me
And in my memory you'll always be
A good good frie-iend - to me...

song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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