Doc Sifers
Of all the doctors I could cite you to in this-'ere town
Doc Sifers is my favorite, jes' take him up and down!
Count in the Bethel Neighberhood, and Rollins, and Big Bear,
And Sifers' standin's jes' as good as ary doctor's there!
There's old Doc Wick, and Glenn, and Hall, and Wurgler, and McVeigh,
But I'll buck Sifers 'ginst 'em all and down 'em any day!
Most old Wick ever knowed, I s'pose, was _whisky!_ Wurgler--well,
He et morphine--ef actions shows, and facts' reliable!
But Sifers--though he ain't no sot, he's got his faults; and yit
When you _git_ Sifers one't, you've got _a doctor_, don't fergit!
He ain't much at his office, er his house, er anywhere
You'd natchurly think certain far to ketch the feller there.--
But don't blame Doc: he's got all sorts o' cur'ous notions--as
The feller says; his odd-come-shorts, like smart men mostly has.
He'll more'n like be potter'n 'round the Blacksmith Shop; er in
Some back lot, spadin' up the ground, er gradin' it agin.
Er at the workbench, planin' things; er buildin' little traps
To ketch birds; galvenizin' rings; er graftin' plums, perhaps.
Make anything! good as the best!--a gunstock--er a flute;
He whittled out a set o' chesstmen one't o' laurel root,
Durin' the Army--got his trade o' surgeon there--I own
To-day a finger-ring Doc made out of a Sesesh bone!
An' glued a fiddle one't far me--jes' all so busted you
'D a throwed the thing away, but he fixed her as good as new!
And take Doc, now, in _ager_, say, er _biles_, er _rheumatiz_,
And all afflictions thataway, and he's the best they is!
Er janders--milksick--I don't keer--k-yore anything he tries--
A abscess; getherin' in yer yeer; er granilated eyes!
There was the Widder Daubenspeck they all give up far dead;
A blame cowbuncle on her neck, and clean out of her head!
First had this doctor, what's-his-name, from 'Puddlesburg,' and then
This little red-head, 'Burnin' Shame' they call him--Dr. Glenn.
And they 'consulted' on the case, and claimed she'd haf to die,--
I jes' was joggin' by the place, and heerd her dorter cry,
And stops and calls her to the fence; and I-says-I, 'Let me
Send Sifers--bet you fifteen cents he'll k-yore her!' 'Well,' says
she,
'Light out!' she says: And, lipp-tee-cut! I loped in town, and rid
'Bout two hours more to find him, but I kussed him when I did!
He was down at the Gunsmith Shop a-stuffin' birds! Says he,
'My sulky's broke.' Says I, 'You hop right on and ride with me!'
I got him there.--'Well, Aunty, ten days k-yores you,' Sifers said,
'But what's yer idy livin' when yer jes' as good as dead?'
And there's Dave Banks--jes' back from war without a scratch--one
day
Got ketched up in a sickle-bar, a reaper runaway.--
His shoulders, arms, and hands and legs jes' sawed in strips! And
Jake
Dunn starts far Sifers--feller begs to shoot him far God-sake.
Doc, 'course, was gone, but he had penned the notice, 'At Big Bear--
Be back to-morry; Gone to 'tend the Bee Convention there.'
But Jake, he tracked him--rid and rode the whole endurin' night!
And 'bout the time the roosters crowed they both hove into sight.
Doc had to ampitate, but 'greed to save Dave's arms, and swore
He could a-saved his legs ef he'd ben there the day before.
Like when his wife's own mother died 'fore Sifers could be found,
And all the neighbors far and wide a' all jes' chasin' round;
Tel finally--I had to laugh--it's jes' like Doc, you know,--
Was learnin' far to telegraph, down at the old deepo.
But all they're faultin' Sifers far, there's none of 'em kin say
He's biggoty, er keerless, er not posted anyway;
He ain't built on the common plan of doctors now-a-days,
He's jes' a great, big, brainy man--that's where the trouble lays!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Related quotes
Bein' Back Home
HOME agin, an' home to stay —
Yes, it's nice to be away.
Plenty things to do an' see,
But the old place seems to me
Jest about the proper thing.
Mebbe 'ts 'cause the mem'ries cling
Closer 'round yore place o' birth
'N ary other spot on earth.
W'y it's nice jest settin' here,
Lookin' out an' seein' clear,
'Thout no smoke, ner dust, ner haze
In these sweet October days.
What's as good as that there lane,
Kind o' browned from last night's rain?
'Pears like home has got the start
When the goal's a feller's heart.
What's as good as that there jay
Screechin' up'ards towards the gray
Skies? An' tell me, what's as fine
As that full-leafed pumpkin vine?
Tow'rin' buildin's — yes, they're good;
But in sight o' field and wood,
Then a feller understan's
'Bout the house not made with han's
Let the others rant an' roam
When they git away from home;
Jest gi' me my old settee
An' my pipe beneath a tree;
Sight o' medders green an' still,
Now and then a gentle hill.
Apple orchards, full o' fruit,
Nigh a cider press to boot —
That's the thing jest done up brown;
D'want to be too nigh to town;
Want to have the smells an' sights,
An' the dreams o' long still nights,
With the friends you used to know
In the keerless long ago.—
Same old cronies, same old folks,
Same old cider, same old jokes.
Say, it's nice a-gittin' back,
When yore pulse is growin' slack,
An' yore breath begins to wheeze
Like a fair-set valley breeze;
Kind o' nice to set aroun'
On the old familiar groun',
Knowin' that when Death does come,
That he'll find you right at home.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Jim
He was jes a plain ever'-day, all-round kind of a jour.,
Consumpted-Iookin'-- but la!
The jokeiest, wittiest, story-tellin', song-singin', laughin'est, jolliest
Feller you ever saw!
Worked at jes coarse work, but you kin bet he was fine enough in his talk,
And his feelin's too!
Lordy! Ef he was on'y back on his bench ag'in to-day, a- carryin' on
Like he ust to do!
Any shopmate'll tell you there never was, on top o' dirt,
A better feller'n Jim!
You want a favor, and couldn't git it anywheres else--
You could git it o' him!
Most free-heartedest man thataway in the world, I guess!
Give up ever' nickel he's worth--
And ef you'd a-wanted it, and named it to him, and it was his,
He'd a-give you the earth!
Allus a reachin' out, Jim was, and a-he'ppin' some
Pore feller onto his feet--
He'd a-never a-keered how hungry he was hisse'f,
So's the feller got somepin' to eat!
Didn't make no differ'nce at all to him how he was dressed,
He ust to say to me--,
'You togg out a tramp purty comfortable in winter-time, a huntin' a job,
And he'll git along!' says he.
Jim didn't have, ner never could git ahead, so overly much
O' this world's goods at a time--.
'Fore now I've saw him, more'n onc't, lend a dollar, and haf to, more'n
likely,
Turn round and borry a dime!
Mebby laugh and joke about it hisse'f fer awhile-- then jerk his coat,
And kindo' square his chin,
Tie on his apern, and squat hisse'f on his old shoe-bench,
And go to peggin' ag'in!
Patientest feller too, I reckon, 'at ever jes natchurly
Coughed hisse'f to death!
Long enough after his voice was lost he'd laugh in a whisper and say
He could git ever'thing but his breath--
'You fellers,' he'd sorto' twinkle his eyes and say,
'Is a-pilin' onto me
A mighty big debt fer that-air little weak-chested ghost o' mine to pack
Through all Eternity!'
Now there was a man 'at jes 'peared-like, to me,
'At ortn't a-never a-died!
'But death hain't a-showin' no favors,' the old boss said--
'On'y to Jim!' and cried:
And Wigger, who puts up the best sewed-work in the shop--
Er the whole blame neighborhood--,
He says, 'When God made Jim, I bet you He didn't do anything else that day
But jes set around and feel good!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Who Santy-Claus Wuz
Jes' a little bit o' feller--I remember still--
Ust to almost cry fer Christmas, like a youngster will.
Fourth o' July's nothin' to it!--New Year's ain't a smell!
Easter-Sunday--Circus-day--jes' all dead in the shell!
Lawzy, though! at night, you know, to set around an' hear
The old folks work the story off about the sledge an' deer,
An' 'Santy' skootin' round the roof, all wrapt in fur an' fuzz--
Long afore
I knowed who
'Santy-Claus' wuz!
Ust to wait, an' set up late, a week er two ahead;
Couldn't hardly keep awake, ner wouldn't go to bed;
Kittle stewin' on the fire, an' Mother settin' here
Darnin' socks, an' rockin' in the skreeky rockin'-cheer;
Pap gap', an' wonder where it wuz the money went,
An' quar'l with his frosted heels, an' spill his liniment;
An' me a-dreamin' sleigh-bells when the clock 'ud whir an' buzz,
Long afore
I knowed who
'Santy-Claus' wuz!
Size the fire-place up an' figger how 'Ole Santy' could
Manage to come down the chimbly, like they said he would;
Wisht 'at I could hide an' see him--wunderd what he'd say
Ef he ketched a feller layin' fer him thataway!
But I _bet_ on him, an' _liked_ him, same as ef he had
Turned to pat me on the back an' say, 'Look here, my lad,
Here's my pack,--jes' he'p yourse'f, like all good boys does!'
Long afore
I knowed who
'Santy-Claus' wuz!
Wisht that yarn was true about him, as it 'peared to be--
Truth made out o' lies like that-un's good enough fer me!--
Wisht I still wuz so confidin' I could jes' go wild
Over hangin' up my stockin's, like the little child
Climbin' in my lap to-night, an' beggin' me to tell
'Bout them reindeers, and 'Old Santy' that she loves so well
I'm half sorry fer this little-girl-sweetheart of his--
Long afore
She knows who
'Santy-Claus' is!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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When The Hearse Comes Back
A thing 'at's 'bout as tryin' as a healthy man kin meet
Is some poor feller's funeral a-joggin' 'long the street:
The slow hearse and the hosses-- slow enough, to say at least,
Fer to even tax the patience of gentleman deceased!
The low scrunch of the gravel-- and the slow grind of the wheels--,
The slow, slow go of ev'ry woe 'at ev'rybody feels!
So I ruther like the contrast when I hear the whip-lash crack
A quickstep fer the hosses,
When the
Hearse
Comes
Back!
Meet it goin' to'rds the cimet'ry, you'll want to drap yer eyes--
But ef the plumes don't fetch you, it'll ketch you otherwise--
You'll haf to see the caskit, though you'd ort to look away
And 'conomize and save yer sighs fer any other day!
Yer sympathizin' won't wake up the sleeper from his rest--
Yer tears won't thaw them hands o' his 'at's froze acrost his breast!
And this is why-- when airth and sky's a gittin blurred and black--
I like the flash and hurry
When the
Hearse
Comes
Back!
It's not 'cause I don't 'preciate it ain't no time fer jokes,
Ner 'cause I' got no common human feelin' fer the folks--;
I've went to funerals myse'f, and tuk on some, perhaps--
Fer my hearth's 'bout as mal'able as any other chap's--,
I've buried father, mother-- But I'll haf to jes' git you
To 'excuse me,' as the feller says--. The p'int I'm drivin' to
Is simply when we're plum broke down and all knocked out o' whack,
It he'ps to shape us up like,
When the
Hearse
Comes
Back!
The idy! Wadin round here over shoe-mouth deep in woe,
When they's a graded 'pike o' joy and sunshine don't you know!
When evening strikes the pastur', cows'll pull out fer the bars,
And skittish-like from out the night'll prance the happy stars.
And so when my time comes to die, and I've got ary friend
'At wants expressed my last request-- I'll mebby, rickommend
To drive slow, ef they haf to, goin' 'long the out'ard track,
But I'll smile and say, 'You speed 'em
When the
Hearse
Comes
Back!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Doctor's Story
Good folks ever will have their way
Good folks ever for it must pay.
But we, who are here and everywhere,
The burden of their faults must bear.
We must shoulder others' shame,
Fight their follies, and take their blame:
Purge the body, and humor the mind;
Doctor the eyes when the soul is blind;
Build the column of health erect
On the quicksands of neglect:
Always shouldering others' shame-
Bearing their faults and taking the blame!
Deacon Rogers, he came to me;
"Wife is a-goin' to die," said he.
'Doctors great, an' doctors small,
Haven't improved her any at all.
'Physic and blister, powders and pills,
And nothing sure but the doctors' bills!
"Twenty women, with remedies new,
Bother my wife the whole day through.
'Sweet as honey, or bitter as gall
Poor old woman, she takes 'em all.
'Sour or sweet, whatever they choose;
Poor old woman, she daren't refuse.
'So she pleases whoe'er may call,
An' Death is suited the best of all.
'Physic and blister, powder an' pill
Bound to conquer, and sure to kill!"
Mrs. Rogers lay in her bed,
Bandaged and blistered from foot to head.
Blistered and bandaged from head to toe,
Mrs. Rogers was very low.
Bottle and saucer, spoon and cup,
On the table stood bravely up;
Physics of high and low degree;
Calomel, catnip, boneset tea;
Everything a body could bear,
Excepting light and water and air.
I opened the blinds; the day was bright,
And God gave Mrs. Rogers some light.
I opened the window; the day was fair,
And God gave Mrs. Rogers some air.
Bottles and blisters, powders and pills,
Catnip, boneset, sirups and squills;
Drugs and medicines, high and low,
I threw them as far as I could throw.
"What are you doing?" my patient cried;
"Frightening Death," I coolly replied.
"You are crazy!" a visitor said:
I flung a bottle at his head.
Deacon Rogers he came to me,
'Wife is a-gettin' her health," said he.
"I really think she will worry through;
She scolds me just as she used to do.
'All the people have poohed an' slurred,
All the neighbors have had their word;
"'Twere better to perish, some of 'em say,
Than be cured in such an irregular way."
"Your wife," said I, "had God's good care,
And His remedies, light and water and air.
"All of the doctors, beyond a doubt,
Couldn't have cured Mrs. Rogers without.'
Tle deacon smiled and bowed his head;
Then your bill is nothing," he said.
"God's be the glory, as you sayl
God bless you, Doctor! Good day! Good day!"
If ever I doctor that woman again,
I'll give her medicine made by men.
poem by Will Carleton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Noey's Night-Piece
'They ain't much 'tale' about it!' Noey said.--
'K'tawby grapes wuz gittin' good-n-red
I rickollect; and Tubb Kingry and me
'Ud kindo' browse round town, daytime, to see
What neighbers 'peared to have the most to spare
'At wuz git-at-able and no dog there
When we come round to git 'em, say 'bout ten
O'clock at night when mostly old folks then
Wuz snorin' at each other like they yit
Helt some old grudge 'at never slep' a bit.
Well, at the _Pars'nige_--ef ye'll call to mind,--
They's 'bout the biggest grape-arber you'll find
'Most anywheres.--And mostly there, we knowed
They wuz _k'tawbies_ thick as ever growed--
And more'n they'd _p'serve_.--Besides I've heerd
Ma say k'tawby-grape-p'serves jes 'peared
A waste o' sugar, anyhow!--And so
My conscience stayed outside and lem me go
With Tubb, one night, the back-way, clean up through
That long black arber to the end next to
The house, where the k'tawbies, don't you know,
Wuz thickest. And t'uz lucky we went _slow_,--
Fer jest as we wuz cropin' tords the gray-
End, like, of the old arber--heerd Tubb say
In a skeered whisper, 'Hold up! They's some one
Jes slippin' in here!--and _looks like a gun_
He's carryin'!' I _golly!_ we both spread
Out flat aginst the ground!
''What's that?' Tubb said.--
And jest then--'_plink! plunk! plink!_' we heerd something
Under the back-porch-winder.--Then, i jing!
Of course we rickollected 'bout the young
School-mam 'at wuz a-boardin' there, and sung,
And played on the melodium in the choir.--
And she 'uz 'bout as purty to admire
As any girl in town!--the fac's is, she
Jest _wuz_, them times, to a dead certainty,
The belle o' this-here bailywick!--But--Well,--
I'd best git back to what I'm tryin' to tell:--
It wuz some feller come to serenade
Miss Wetherell: And there he plunked and played
His old guitar, and sung, and kep' his eye
Set on her winder, blacker'n the sky!--
And black it _stayed_.--But mayby she wuz 'way
From home, er wore out--bein' _Saturday!_
'It _seemed_ a good-'eal _longer_, but I _know_
He sung and plunked there half a' hour er so
Afore, it 'peared like, he could ever git
His own free qualified consents to quit
And go off 'bout his business. When he went
I bet you could a-bought him fer a cent!
'And now, behold ye all!--as Tubb and me
Wuz 'bout to raise up,--right in front we see
A feller slippin' out the arber, square
Smack under that-air little winder where
The _other_ feller had been standin'.--And
The thing he wuz a-carryin' in his hand
Wuzn't no _gun_ at all!--It wuz a _flute_,--
And _whoop-ee!_ how it did git up and toot
And chirp and warble, tel a mockin'-bird
'Ud dast to never let hisse'f be heerd
Ferever, after sich miracalous, high
Jim-cracks and grand skyrootics played there by
Yer Cousin Rufus!--Yes-sir; it wuz him!--
And what's more,--all a-suddent that-air dim
Dark winder o' Miss Wetherell's wuz lit
Up like a' oyshture-sign, and under it
We see him sort o' wet his lips and smile
Down 'long his row o' dancin' fingers, while
He kindo' stiffened up and kinked his breath
And everlastin'ly jest blowed the peth
Out o' that-air old one-keyed flute o' his.
And, bless their hearts, that's all the 'tale' they is!'
And even as Noey closed, all radiantly
The unconscious hero of the history,
Returning, met a perfect driving storm
Of welcome--a reception strangely warm
And _unaccountable_, to _him_, although
Most _gratifying_,--and he told them so.
'I only urge,' he said, 'my right to be
Enlightened.' And a voice said: '_Certainly:_--
During your absence we agreed that you
Should tell us all a story, old or new,
Just in the immediate happy frame of mind
We knew you would return in.'
So, resigned,
The ready flutist tossed his hat aside--
Glanced at the children, smiled, and thus complied.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Tugg Martin
I.
Tugg Martin's tough.--No doubt o' that!
And down there at
The town he come from word's bin sent
Advisin' this-here Settle-ment
To kindo' _humor_ Tugg, and not
To git him hot--
Jest pass his imperfections by,
And he's as good as pie!
II.
They claim he's _wanted_ back there.--Yit
The officers they mostly quit
_Insistin'_ when
They notice Tugg's so _back'ard_, and
Sorto' gives 'em to understand
He druther not!--A Deputy
(The slickest one you ever see!)
Tackled him _last_--'disguisin' then,'
As Tugg says, 'as a gentlemen!'--
You 'd ort o' hear _Tugg_ tell it!--_My_!
I thought I'd _die_!
III.
The way it wuz;--Tugg and the rest
The boys wuz jest
A-kindo' gittin' thawed out, down
At 'Guss's Place,' fur-end o' town,
One night, when, first we knowed,
Some feller rode
Up in a buggy at the door,
And hollered fer some one to come
And fetch him some
Red-licker out--And whirped and swore
That colt he drove wuz '_Thompson's_' shore!
IV.
Guss went out, and come in agin
And filled a pint and tuck it out--
Stayed quite a spell--then peeked back in,
Half-hid-like where the light wuz dim,
And jieuked his head
At Tugg and said,--
'Come out a minute--here's a gent
Wants you to take a drink with him.'
V.
Well--Tugg laid down his cards and went--
In fact, _we all_
Got up, you know,
_Startin'_ to go--
When in reels Guss aginst the wall,
As white as snow,
Gaspin',--'_He's tuck Tugg!--wher's my gun_?'
And-sir, outside we heerd
The hoss snort and kick up his heels
Like he wuz skeerd,
And then the buggy-wheels
Scrape--and then Tugg's voice hollerun',--
'I'm bested!--Good-bye, fellers!' . . . 'Peared
S' all-fired suddent,
Nobody couldn't
Jest git it fixed,--tel hoss and man,
Buggy and Tugg, off through the dark
Went like the devil beatin' tan-
Bark!
VI.
What _could_ we do? . . . We filed back to
The bar: And Guss jest _looked_ at us,
And we looked back 'The same as you,'
Still sayin' nothin'--And the sap
It stood in every eye,
And every hat and cap
Went off, as we teched glasses solemnly,
And Guss says-he:
'Ef it's 'good-bye' with Tugg, fer _shore_,--I say
God bless him!--Er ef they
Aint railly no _need_ to pray,
I'm not reniggin!--board's the play,
And here's God bless him, anyway!'
VII.
It must a-bin an hour er so
We all set there,
Talkin o' pore
Old Tugg, you know,
'At never, wuz ketched up before--
When--all slow-like--the door-
Knob turned--and Tugg come shamblin' in,
Hand-cuffed'--'at's what he wuz, I swear!--
Yit smilin,' like he hadn't bin
Away at all! And when we ast him where
The _Deputy_ wuz at,--'I don't know where,' Tugg said,--
'All _I_ know is--he's dead.'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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My Dancin'-Days Is Over
What is it in old fiddle-chunes 'at makes me ketch my breath
And ripples up my backbone tel I'm tickled most to death?--
Kindo' like that sweet-sick feelin', in the long sweep of a swing,
The first you ever swung in, with yer first sweet-heart, i jing!--
Yer first picnic--yer first ice-cream--yer first o' _ever'thing_
'At happened 'fore yer dancin'-days wuz over!
I never understood it--and I s'pose I never can,--
But right in town here, yisterd'y, I heerd a pore blindman
A-fiddlin' old 'Gray Eagle'--_And_-sir! I jes stopped my load
O' hay and listened at him--yes, and watched the way he 'bow'd,'--
And back I went, plum forty year', with boys and girls I knowed
And loved, long 'fore my dancin'-days wuz over!--
At high noon in yer city,--with yer blame Magnetic-Cars
A-hummin' and a-screetchin' past--and bands and G.A.R.'s
A-marchin'--and fire-ingines.--_All_ the noise, the whole street through,
Wuz lost on me!--I only heerd a whipperwill er two,
It 'peared-like, kindo' callin' 'crost the darkness and the dew,
Them nights afore my dancin'-days wuz over.
T'uz Chused'y-night at Wetherell's, er We'nsd'y-night at Strawn's,
Er Fourth-o'-July-night at uther Tomps's house er John's!--
With old Lew Church from Sugar Crick, with that old fiddle he
Had sawed clean through the Army, from Atlanty to the sea--
And yit he'd fetched, her home ag'in, so's he could play fer me
One't more afore my dancin'-days wuz over!
The woods 'at's all ben cut away wuz growin' same as then;
The youngsters all wuz boys ag'in 'at's now all oldish men;
And all the girls 'at _then_ wuz girls--I saw 'em, one and all,
As _plain_ as then--the middle-sized, the short-and-fat, and tall--
And, 'peared-like, I danced 'Tucker' fer 'em up and down the wall
Jes like afore my dancin' days wuz over!
* * * * *
Yer _po_-leece they can holler 'Say! _you_, Uncle! drive ahead!--
You can't use _all_ the right-o'-way!'--fer that wuz what they said!--
But, jes the same,--in spite of all 'at you call 'interprise
And prog-gress of _you_-folks Today,' we're all of _fambly-ties_--
We're all got feelin's fittin' fer the _tears_ 'at's in our eyes
Er the _smiles_ afore our dancin'-days is over.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Them Flowers
Take a feller 'at's sick and laid up on the shelf,
All shaky, and ga'nted, and pore--
Jes all so knocked out he can't handle hisself
With a stiff upper-lip any more;
Shet him up all alone in the gloom of a room
As dark as the tomb, and as grim,
And then take and send him some roses in bloom,
And you can have fun out o' him!
You've ketched him 'fore now--when his liver was sound
And his appetite notched like a saw--
A-mockin' you, mayby, fer romancin' round
With a big posy-bunch in yer paw;
But you ketch him, say, when his health is away,
And he's flat on his back in distress,
And _then_ you kin trot out yer little bokay
And not be insulted, I guess!
You see, it's like this, what his weaknesses is,--
Them flowers makes him think of the days
Of his innocent youth, and that mother o' his,
And the roses that _she_ us't to raise:--
So here, all alone with the roses you send--
Bein' sick and all trimbly and faint,--
My eyes is--my eyes is--my eyes is--old friend--
Is a-leakin'--I'm blamed ef they ain't!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Pet Coon
Noey Bixler ketched him, and fetched him in to me
When he's ist a little teenty-weenty baby-coon
'Bout as big as little pups, an' tied him to a tree;
An' Pa gived Noey fifty cents, when he come home at noon.
Nen he buyed a chain fer him, an' little collar, too,
An' sawed a hole in a' old tub an' turnt it upside-down;
An' little feller'd stay in there and won't come out fer you--
'Tendin' like he's kindo' skeered o' boys 'at lives in town.
_Now_ he aint afeard a bit! he's ist so fat an' tame,
We on'y chain him up at night, to save the little chicks.
Holler 'Greedy! Greedy!' to him, an' he knows his name,
An' here he'll come a-waddle-un, up fer any tricks!
He'll climb up my leg, he will, an' waller in my lap,
An' poke his little black paws 'way in my pockets where
They's beechnuts, er chinkypins, er any little scrap
Of anything, 'at's good to eat--an' _he_ don't care!
An' he's as spunky as you please, an' don't like dogs at all.--
Billy Miller's black-an'-tan tackled him one day,
An' 'Greedy' he ist kindo' doubled all up like a ball,
An' Billy's dog he gived a yelp er two an' runned away!
An' nen when Billy fighted me, an' hit me with a bone,
An' Ma she purt'nigh ketched him as he dodged an' skooted thro'
The fence, she says, 'You better let my little boy alone,
Er 'Greedy,' next he whips yer dog, shall whip you, too!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tom Johnson's Quit
A passel o' the boys last night--
An' me amongst 'em--kindo got
To talkin' Temper'nce left an' right,
An' workin' up 'blue-ribbon,' _hot_;
An' while we was a-countin' jes'
How many bed gone into hit
An' signed the pledge, some feller says,--
'Tom Johnson's quit!'
We laughed, of course--'cause Tom, you know,
_He's_ spiled more whisky, boy an' man,
And seed more trouble, high an' low,
Than any chap but Tom could stand:
And so, says I '_He's_ too nigh dead.
Far Temper'nce to benefit!'
The feller sighed agin, and said--
'Tom Johnson's quit!'
We all _liked_ Tom, an' that was why
We sorto simmered down agin,
And ast the feller ser'ously
Ef he wa'n't tryin' to draw us in:
He shuck his head--tuck off his hat--
Helt up his hand an' opened hit,
An' says, says he, 'I'll _swear_ to that--
Tom Johnson's quit!'
Well, we was stumpt, an' tickled too,--
Because we knowed ef Tom _had_ signed
Ther wa'n't no man 'at wore the 'blue'
'At was more honester inclined:
An' then and there we kindo riz,--
The hull dern gang of us 'at bit--
An' th'owed our hats and let 'er whizz,--
'_Tom Johnson's quit!_'
I've heerd 'em holler when the balls
Was buzzin' 'round us wus 'n bees,
An' when the ole flag on the walls
Was flappin' o'er the enemy's,
I've heerd a-many a wild 'hooray'
'At made my heart git up an' git--
But Lord!--to hear 'em shout that way!--
'_Tom Johnson's quit!_'
But when we saw the chap 'at fetched
The news wa'n't jinin' in the cheer,
But stood there solemn-like, an' reched
An' kindo wiped away a tear,
We someway sorto' stilled agin,
And listened--I kin hear him yit,
His voice a-wobblin' with his chin,--
'Tom Johnson's quit--
'I hain't a-givin' you no game--
I wisht I was!... An hour ago,
This operator--what's his name--
The one 'at works at night, you know?--
Went out to flag that Ten Express,
And sees a man in front of hit
Th'ow up his hands an' stagger--yes,--
_Tom Johnson's quit_.'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Joney
Had a hare-lip-- Joney had:
Spiled his looks, and Joney knowed it:
Fellers tried to bore him, bad--
But ef ever he got mad,
He kep' still and never showed it.
'Druther have his mouth all pouted
And split up, and like it wuz,
Than the ones 'at laughed about it.
Purty is as purty does!
Had to listen ruther clos't
'Fore you knowed 'what he wuz givin'
You; and yet, without no boast,
Joney he wuz jest the most
Entertainin' talker livin'!
Take the Scriptur's and run through 'em,
Might say, like a' auctioneer,
And 'ud argy and review 'em
'At wuz beautiful to hear!
Hare-lip and inpediment,
Both wuz bad, and both ag'in' him--
But the old folks where he went,
'Preared like, knowin' his intent,
'Scused his mouth fer what wuz in him.
And the childern all loved Joney--
And he loved 'em back, you bet--!
Putt their arms around him-- on'y
None had ever kissed him yet!
In young company, someway,
Boys 'ud grin at one another
On the sly; and girls 'ud lay
Low, with nothin' much to say,
Er leave Joney with their mother.
Many and many a time he's fetched 'em
Candy by the paper sack,
And turned right around and ketched 'em
Makin mouths behind his back!
S'prised sometimes, the slurs he took--.
Chap said onc't his mouth looked sorter
Like a fish's mouth 'ud look
When he'd be'n jerked off the hook
And plunked back into the worter--.
Same durn feller-- it's su'prisin',
But it's facts-- 'at stood and cherred
From the bank that big babtizin'
'Pike-bridge accident occurred--!
Cherred for Joney while he give
Life to little childern drowndin'!
Which wuz fittenest to live--
Him 'at cherred, er him 'at div'
And saved thirteen lives...? They found one
Body, three days later, floated
Down the by-o, eight mile' south,
All so colored-up and bloated--
On'y knowed him by his mouth!
Had a hare-lip-- Joney had--
Folks 'at filed apast all knowed it--.
Them 'at ust to smile looked sad,
But ef he thought good er bad,
He kep' still and never showed it.
'Druther have that mouth, all pouted
And split up, and like it wuz,
Than the ones 'at laughed about it--.
Purty is as purty does!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jap Miller
Jap Miller down at Martinsville's the blamedest feller yit!
When _he_ starts in a-talkin' other folks is apt to quit!--
'Pears like that mouth o' his'n wuz n't made fer nuthin' else
But jes' to argify 'em down and gether in their pelts:
He'll talk you down on tariff; er he'll talk you down on tax,
And prove the pore man pays 'em all--and them's about the fac's!--
Religen, law, er politics, prize-fightin', er base-ball--
Jes' tetch Jap up a little and he'll post you 'bout 'em all.
And the comicalist feller ever tilted back a cheer
And tuck a chaw tobacker kind o' like he did n't keer.--
There's where the feller's strength lays,--he's so
common-like and plain,--
They haint no dude about old Jap, you bet you--nary grain!
They 'lected him to Council and it never turned his head,
And did n't make no differunce what anybody said,--
He didn't dress no finer, ner rag out in fancy clothes;
But his voice in Council-meetin's is a turrer to his foes.
He's fer the pore man ever' time! And in the last campaign
He stumped old Morgan County, through the sunshine and the rain,
And helt the banner up'ards from a-trailin' in the dust,
And cut loose on monopolies and cuss'd and cuss'd and cuss'd!
He'd tell some funny story ever' now and then, you know,
Tel, blame it! it wuz better 'n a jack-o'-lantern show!
And I'd go furder, yit, to-day, to hear old Jap norate
Than any high-toned orator 'at ever stumped the State!
W'y, that-air blame Jap Miller, with his keen sircastic fun,
Has got more friends than ary candidate 'at ever run!
Do n't matter what _his_ views is, when he states the same to you,
They allus coincide with your'n, the same as two and two:
You _can't_ take issue with him--er, at least, they haint no sense
In startin' in to down him, so you better not commence.--
The best way's jes' to listen, like your humble servant does,
And jes' concede Jap Miller is the best man ever wuz!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Grocery
'Hullo, Alice!'
'Hullo, Leon!'
'Say, Alice, gi' me a couple
O' them two for five cigars,
Will yer?'
'Where's your nickel?'
'My! Ain't you close!
Can't trust a feller, can yer.'
'Trust you! Why
What you owe this store
Would set you up in business.
I can't think why Father 'lows it.'
'Yer Father's a sight more neighbourly
Than you be. That's a fact.
Besides, he knows I got a vote.'
'A vote! Oh, yes, you got a vote!
A lot o' good the Senate'll be to Father
When all his bank account
Has run away in credits.
There's your cigars,
If you can relish smokin'
With all you owe us standin'.'
'I dunno as that makes 'em taste any diff'rent.
You ain't fair to me, Alice, 'deed you ain't.
I work when anythin's doin'.
I'll get a carpenterin' job next Summer sure.
Cleve was tellin' me to-day he'd take me on come Spring.'
'Come Spring, and this December!
I've no patience with you, Leon,
Shilly-shallyin' the way you do.
Here, lift over them crates o' oranges
I wanter fix 'em in the winder.'
'It riles yer, don't it, me not havin' work.
You pepper up about it somethin' good.
You pick an' pick, and that don't help a mite.
Say, Alice, do come in out o' that winder.
Th' oranges c'n wait,
An' I don't like talkin' to yer back.'
'Don't you! Well, you'd better make the best o' what
you can git.
Maybe you won't have my back to talk to soon.
They look good in pyramids with the 'lectric light on 'em,
Don't they?
Now hand me them bananas
An' I'll string 'em right acrost.'
'What do yer mean
'Bout me not havin' you to talk to?
Are yer springin' somethin' on me?'
'I don't know 'bout springin'
When I'm tellin' you right out.
I'm goin' away, that's all.'
'Where? Why?
What yer mean - goin' away?'
'I've took a place
Down to Boston, in a candy store
For the holidays.'
'Good Land, Alice,
What in the Heavens fer!'
'To earn some money,
And to git away from here, I guess.'
'Ain't yer Father got enough?
Don't he give yer proper pocket-money?'
'He'd have a plenty, if you folks paid him.'
'He's rich I tell yer.
I never figured he'd be close with you.'
'Oh, he ain't. Not close.
That ain't why.
But I must git away from here.
I must! I must!'
'You got a lot o' reason in yer
To-night.
How long d' you cal'late
You'll be gone?'
'Maybe for always.'
'What ails yer, Alice?
Talkin' wild like that.
Ain't you an' me goin' to be married
Some day.'
'Some day! Some day!
I guess the sun'll never rise on some day.'
'So that's the trouble.
Same old story.
'Cause I ain't got the cash to settle right now.
You know I love yer,
An' I'll marry yer as soon
As I c'n raise the money.'
'You've said that any time these five year,
But you don't do nothin'.'
'Wot could I do?
Ther ain't no work here Winters.
Not fer a carpenter, ther ain't.'
'I guess you warn't born a carpenter.
Ther's ice-cuttin' a plenty.'
'I got a dret'ful tender throat;
Dr. Smiles he told me
I mustn't resk ice-cuttin'.'
'Why haven't you gone to Boston,
And hunted up a job?'
'Have yer forgot the time I went expressin'
In the American office, down ther?'
'And come back two weeks later!
No, I ain't.'
'You didn't want I should git hurted,
Did yer?
I'm a sight too light fer all that liftin' work.
My back was commencin' to strain, as 'twas.
Ef I was like yer brother now,
I'd ha' be'n down to the city long ago.
But I'm too clumsy fer a dancer.
I ain't got Arthur's luck.'
'Do you call it luck to be a disgrace to your folks,
And git locked up in jail!'
'Oh, come now, Alice,
`Disgrace' is a mite strong.
Why, the jail was a joke.
Art's all right.'
'All right!
All right to dance, and smirk, and lie
For a livin',
And then in the end
Lead a silly girl to give you
What warn't hers to give
By pretendin' you'd marry her -
And she a pupil.'
'He'd ha' married her right enough,
Her folks was millionaires.'
'Yes, he'd ha' married her!
Thank God, they saved her that.'
'Art's a fine feller.
I wish I had his luck.
Swellin' round in Hart, Schaffner & Marx fancy suits,
And eatin' in rest'rants.
But somebody's got to stick to the old place,
Else Foxfield'd have to shut up shop,
Hey, Alice?'
'You admire him!
You admire Arthur!
You'd be like him only you can't dance.
Oh, Shame! Shame!
And I've been like that silly girl.
Fooled with your promises,
And I give you all I had.
I knew it, oh, I knew it,
But I wanted to git away 'fore I proved it.
You've shamed me through and through.
Why couldn't you hold your tongue,
And spared me seein' you
As you really are.'
'What the Devil's the row?
I only said Art was lucky.
What you spitfirin' at me fer?
Ferget it, Alice.
We've had good times, ain't we?
I'll see Cleve 'bout that job agin to-morrer,
And we'll be married 'fore hayin' time.'
'It's like you to remind me o' hayin' time.
I've good cause to love it, ain't I?
Many's the night I've hid my face in the dark
To shut out thinkin'!'
'Why, that ain't nothin'.
You ain't be'n half so kind to me
As lots o' fellers' girls.
Gi' me a kiss, Dear,
And let's make up.'
'Make up!
You poor fool.
Do you suppose I care a ten cent piece
For you now.
You've killed yourself for me.
Done it out o' your own mouth.
You've took away my home,
I hate the sight o' the place.
You're all over it,
Every stick an' stone means you,
An' I hate 'em all.'
'Alice, I say,
Don't go on like that.
I can't marry yer
Boardin' in one room,
But I'll see Cleve to-morrer,
I'll make him --'
'Oh, you fool!
You terrible fool!'
'Alice, don't go yit,
Wait a minit,
I'll see Cleve --'
'You terrible fool!'
'Alice, don't go.
Alice --' (Door slams)
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Bear Family
Wunst, 'way West in Illinoise,
Wuz two Bears an' their two boys:
An' the two boys' names, you know,
Wuz--like _ours_ is,--Jim an' Jo;
An' their _parunts'_ names wuz same's,
All big grown-up people's names,--
Ist _Miz_ Bear, the neighbers call
'Em, an' _Mister_ Bear--'at's all.
Yes--an' Miz Bear scold him, too,
Ist like grown folks _shouldn't_ do!
Wuz a grea'-big river there,
An', 'crosst that, 's a mountain where
Old Bear said some day he'd go,
Ef she don't quit scoldin'so!
So, one day when he been down
The river, fishin', 'most to town,
An' come back 'thout no fish a-tall,
An' Jim an' Jo they run an' bawl
An' tell their ma their pa hain't fetch'
No fish,--she scold again an' ketch
Her old broom up an' biff him, too.--
An' he ist cry, an' say, '_Boo-hoo_!
I _told_ you what I 'd do some day'.'
An' he ist turned an' runned away
To where's the grea'-big river there,
An' ist _splunged_ in an' swum to where
The mountain's at, 'way th'other side,
An' clumbed up there. An' Miz Bear _cried_--
An' little Jo an' little Jim--
Ist like their ma--bofe cried fer him!--
But he clumbed on, _clean out o' sight_,
He wuz so mad!--An' served 'em right!
Nen--when the Bear got 'way on top
The mountain, he heerd somepin' flop
Its wings--an' somepin' else he heerd
A-rattlin'-like.--An' he wuz _skeerd_,
An' looked 'way up, an'--_Mercy sake!_--
It wuz a' Eagul an' a SNAKE!
An'-sir! the Snake, he bite an' kill'
The Eagul, an' they bofe fall till
They strike the ground--_k'spang-k'spat!_--
Wite where the Bear wuz standin' at!
An' when here come the Snake at him,
The Bear he think o' little Jim
An' Jo, he did--an' their ma, too,--
All safe at home; an' he ist flew
Back down the mountain--an' could hear
The old Snake rattlin', sharp an' clear,
Wite clos't behind!--An' Bear he's so
All tired out, by time, you know,
He git down to the river there,
He know' he can't _swim_ back to where
His folks is at. But ist wite nen
He see a boat an' six big men
'At's been a-shootin' ducks: An' so
He skeerd them out the boat, you know,
An' ist jumped in--an' Snake _he_ tried
To jump in, too, but failed outside
Where all the water wuz; an' so
The Bear grabs one the things you row
The boat wiv an' ist whacks the head
Of the old Snake an' kills him dead!--
An' when he's killed him dead, w'y, nen
_The old Snake's drownded dead again_!
Nen Bear set in the boat an' bowed
His back an' rowed--an' rowed--an' rowed--
Till he's safe home--so tired he can't
Do nothin' but lay there an' pant
An' tell his childern, 'Bresh my coat!'
An' tell his wife, 'Go chain my boat!'
An' they're so glad he's back, they say
'They _knowed_ he's comin' thataway
To ist surprise the dear ones there!'
An' Jim an' Jo they dried his hair
An' pulled the burrs out; an' their ma
She ist set there an' helt his paw
Till he wuz sound asleep, an' nen
She tell' him she won't scold again--
Never--never--never--
Ferever an' ferever!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Bessie's Boil
Says I to my Missis: "Ba goom, lass! you've something I see, on your mind."
Says she: "You are right, Sam, I've something. It 'appens it's on me be'ind.
A Boil as 'ud make Job jealous. It 'urts me no end when I sit."
Says I: "Go to 'ospittel, Missis. They might 'ave to coot it a bit."
Says she: "I just 'ate to be showin' the part of me person it's at."
Says I: "Don't be fussy; them doctors see sights more 'orrid than that."
So Misses goes off togged up tasty, and there at the 'ospittel door
They tells 'er to see the 'ouse Doctor, 'oose office is Room Thirty-four.
So she 'unts up and down till she finds it, and knocks and a voice says: "Come in,"
And there is a 'andsome young feller, in white from 'is 'eels to 'is chin.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis. "It 'urts me for fair when I sit,
And Sam (that's me 'usband) 'as asked me to ask you to coot it a bit."
Then blushin' she plucks up her courage, and bravely she shows 'im the place,
And 'e gives it a proper inspection, wi' a 'eap o' surprise on 'is face.
Then 'e says wi' an accent o' Scotland: "Whit ye hae is a bile, Ah can feel,
But ye'd better consult the heid Dockter; they caw him Professor O'Niel.
He's special for biles and carbuncles. Ye'll find him in Room Sixty-three.
No charge, Ma'am. It's been a rare pleasure. Jist tell him ye're comin' from me."
So Misses she thanks 'im politely, and 'unts up and down as before,
Till she comes to a big 'andsome room with "Professor O'Neil" on the door.
Then once more she plucks up her courage, and knocks, and a voice says: "All right."
So she enters, and sees a fat feller wi' whiskers, all togged up in white.
"I've got a big boil," says my Missis, "and if ye will kindly permit,
I'd like for to 'ave you inspect it; it 'urts me like all when I sit."
So blushin' as red as a beet-root she 'astens to show 'im the spot,
And 'e says wi' a look o' amazement: "Sure, Ma'am, it must hurt ye a lot."
Then 'e puts on 'is specs to regard it, and finally says wi' a frown:
"I'll bet it's as sore as the divvle, especially whin ye sit down.
I think it's a case for the Surgeon; ye'd better consult Doctor Hoyle.
I've no hisitation in sayin' yer boil is a hill of a boil."
So Misses she thanks 'im for sayin' her boil is a hill of a boil,
And 'unts all around till she comes on a door that is marked: "Doctor Hoyle."
But by now she 'as fair got the wind up, and trembles in every limb;
But she thinks: "After all, 'e's a Doctor. Ah moosn't be bashful wi' 'im."
She's made o' good stuff is the Missis, so she knocks and a voice says: "Oos there?"
"It's me," says ma Bessie, an' enters a room which is spacious and bare.
And a wise-lookin' old feller greets 'er, and 'e too is togged up in white.
"It's the room where they coot ye," thinks Bessie; and shakes like a jelly wi' fright.
"Ah got a big boil," begins Missis, "and if ye are sure you don't mind,
I'd like ye to see it a moment. It 'urts me, because it's be'ind."
So thinkin' she'd best get it over, she 'astens to show 'im the place,
And 'e stares at 'er kindo surprised like, an' gets very red in the face.
But 'e looks at it most conscientious, from every angle of view,
Then 'e says wi' a shrug o' 'is shoulders: "Pore Lydy, I'm sorry for you.
It wants to be cut, but you should 'ave a medical bloke to do that.
Sye, why don't yer go to the 'orsespittel, where all the Doctors is at?
Ye see, Ma'am, this part o' the buildin' is closed on account o' repairs;
Us fellers is only the pynters, a-pyntin' the 'alls and the stairs."
poem by Robert William Service
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The Happy Little Cripple
I'm thist a little cripple boy, an' never goin' to grow
An' get a great big man at all!--'cause Aunty told me so.
When I was thist a baby onc't, I falled out of the bed
An' got 'The Curv'ture of the Spine'--'at's what the Doctor said.
I never had no Mother nen--fer my Pa runned away
An' dassn't come back here no more--'cause he was drunk one day
An' stobbed a man in thish-ere town, an' couldn't pay his fine!
An' nen my Ma she died--an' I got 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'
I'm nine years old! An' you can't guess how much I weigh, I bet!--
Last birthday I weighed thirty-three!--An' I weigh thirty yet!
I'm awful little fer my size--I'm purt' nigh littler 'nan
Some babies is!--an' neighbers all calls me 'The Little Man!'
An' Doc one time he laughed an' said: 'I 'spect, first thing you know,
You'll have a little spike-tail coat an' travel with a show!'
An' nen I laughed--till I looked round an' Aunty was a-cryin'--
Sometimes she acts like that, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the Spine.'
I set--while Aunty's washin'--on my little long-leg stool,
An' watch the little boys an' girls a-skippin' by to school;
An' I peck on the winder, an' holler out an' say:
'Who wants to fight The Little Man 'at dares you all today?'
An', nen the boys climbs on the fence, an' little girls peeks through,
An' they all says: 'Cause you're so big, you think we're 'feared o' you!'
An' nen they yell, an' shake their fist at me, like I shake mine--
They're thist in fun, you know, 'cause I got 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'
At evening, when the ironin's done, an' Aunty's fixed the fire,
An' filled an' lit the lamp, an' trimmed the wick an' turned it higher,
An' fetched the wood all in fer night, an' locked the kitchen door,
An' stuffed the ole crack where the wind blows in up through the floor--
She sets the kittle on the coals, an' biles an' makes the tea,
An' fries the liver an' the mush, an' cooks a egg fer me;
An' sometimes--when I cough so hard--her elderberry wine
Don't go so bad fer little boys with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'
But Aunty's all so childish-like on my account, you see,
I'm 'most afeard she'll be took down--an' 'at's what bothers me!--
'Cause ef my good old Aunty ever would git sick an' die,
I don't know what she'd do in heaven--till _I_ come, by an' by:--
Fer she's so ust to all my ways, an' ever'thing, you know,
An' no one there like me, to nuss an' worry over so!--
'Cause all the little childerns there's so straight an' strong an' fine,
They's nary angel 'bout the place with 'Curv'ture of the Spine!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Doctor
Pay some attention
Want to get it right
Ooo-how about you
Minds under pressure
Happens every night
Ooo-let it go
(pre-chorus)
Love is like a knife
It cuts deep and wide
And i-i-i oughta know
Lay your hands on me
I prescribe a pill
Ooo-how about now
Tensions a buildin
Need to let it out
Ooo-let it go
Love is like a knife
It cuts deep and wide
And i-i-i oughta know
Call me the doctor
Makes you feel good
Make it feel better now
Everybody should
Its my own opinion
Its my point of view
If you really need it now
Call me the doctor doctor feel good- hey
I make house calls
In the middle of the night
Ooo-to get you right
Come a little closer
Is it pleasure is it pain
Ooo-Ive got the cure
Love is like a knife
It cuts deep and wide
And i-i-i oughta know
Call me the doctor
Makes you feel good
Make it feel better now
Everybody should
Its my own opinion
Its my point of view
If you really need it now
Call me the doctor doctor feel good- hey
(solo)
Love is like a knife
It cuts deep and wide
And i-i-i oughta know
Call me the doctor
Makes you feel good
Make it feel better now
Everybody should
Its my own opinion
Its my point of view
If you really need it now
Call me the doctor doctor feel good- hey
Call me the doctor
Makes you feel good
Make it feel better now
Everybody should
Its my own opinion
Its my point of view
If you really need it now
Call me the doctor doctor feel good- hey
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Float Away
Every time I close my eyes I start to drift away- thinkin bout some days gone by how
Time just floats away- every time I hear that song puts a smile on my face- brings me back to
Good friends and times that money cant replace
[d:] everytime I close my eyes Im lost in a daze
[d:] thinkin bout the things that I really want to say
[jr:] and all the old games we played at nickel nickel arcade
[jr:] workin at the donut shop, dreamed of getting paid
[d:] and when the dishes got dirty, we got cascade
[d:] and when the weather was hot, we got a spot in the shade
[jr:] well no lie before we high, always rockin fresh fades
[jr:] before the spade and the stage we was drinkin underage
Every time I close my eyes I start to drift away- thinkin bout some days gone by how time just
Floats away- every time I hear that song puts a smile on my face- brings me back to good friends
And times that money cant replace
[jr:] now I was drivin down the ave
[d:] we on the radio now
[jr:] you know the good times weve had
[d:] when were in front of the crowds
[jr:] always holdin it down for myself and the boys
[d:] and back in 95s when we first got live
[jr:] now we was 18 years old on the run having fun
[d:] playing shows in the sun, no bus when we begun
[jr:] we had a van and a plan doin shows every night
[d:] now the california dream we be livin that life
Every time I close my eyes I start to drift away- thinkin bout some days gone by how time just
Floats away- every time I hear that song puts a smile on my face- brings me back to good friends
And times that money cant replace
[bridge]
When your time comes and youre numbers up
All you have in life is whats left in your cup
When the whistle blows and the partys over
Dont let em drag you out bored and sober
When whats done is done and what said is said
And the dreams youve had are lying in your bed
Let your memories be filled with no regrets
Theres no second chance, theres no turning back so..
Every time I close my eyes I start to drift away- thinkin bout some days gone by how time just
Floats away- every time I hear that song puts a smile on my face- brings me back to good friends
And times that money cant replace
song performed by by Kottonmouth Kings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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