Brass Spittoons
Clean the spittoons, boy.
Detroit,
Chicago,
Atlantic City,
Palm Beach.
Clean the spittoons.
The steam in hotel kitchens,
And the smoke in hotel lobbies,
And the slime in hotel spittoons:
Part of my life.
Hey, boy!
A nickel,
A dime,
A dollar,
Two dollars a day.
Hey, boy!
A nickel,
A dime,
A dollar,
Two dollars
Buy shoes for the baby.
House rent to pay.
Gin on Saturday,
Church on Sunday.
My God!
Babies and gin and church
And women and Sunday
All mixed with dimes and
Dollars and clean spittoons
And house rent to pay.
Hey, boy!
A bright bowl of brass is beautiful to the Lord.
Bright polished brass like the cymbals
Of King David’s dancers,
Like the wine cups of Solomon.
Hey, boy!
A clean spittoon on the altar of the Lord.
A clean bright spittoon all newly polished—
At least I can offer that.
Com’mere, boy!
poem by Langston Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Clean
Eat clean,
Live clean,
Sleep clean,
dress clean,
Walk clean,
Learn clean,
Play clean,
Think clean,
dance clean,
Talk clean,
Sing clean,
work clean,
Because the world around you is watching what you do;
You are the only one on this earth,
So live and let us live too.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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100,000 Pennies
I broke into the bank on Sunday,
You should see the money I got.
I couldn't drag it home 'til Monday,
'Cause it sure weighed an awful lot.
Then I sat down to count it,
And much to my surprise,
A whole lotta little brown, little round coins,
Rolled out before my eyes
Chorus:
I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
Not a solitary dollar or a dime,
And I don't believe there's many,
Rich men with a problem like mine.
And I don't think this is any
Kind of ending to a perfect crime.
I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
And I'm spendin' it a penny at a time!
Now a steak sure would taste delicious,
And I've forgot how a beer would feel,
But the man just might get suspicious,
If I gave him eight hundred pennies for a meal.
So I guess I'll just weigh myself again,
And buy me another stick of gum,
I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies, Lord!
And I'm livin' like a penniless bum!
Chorus:
I've got a hundred thousand dollars worth of pennies,
Not a solitary dollar or a dime,
And I don't believe there's many,
Rich men with a problem like mine.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black Market White Baby Dealer
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
My black market white baby dealer
Is rooting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Kidnaps clean, fresh white babies for me
Clean, fresh white babies for me
My smile is dime a dozen
My lips are cherry red
My eyes are blue like the sky is blue
I got good shoulders under my head
I look like your mother
I look like your great-aunt
So sit me down in the family photo
And everyone tells me that i, I look just like you
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
He brings back
Oh my god, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
He brings back
Oh charlie, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
I come post-production
I dont need natal care
Im already fully assembled
Down to the very last part, its all there
So take me to your family
So take me to your home
Buddy, take me in as your next generation
And Ill take you out of the lost one and into mine
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nutbush City Limit
A CHURCH HOUSE GIN HOUSE
A SCHOOL HOUSE OUT HOUSE
ON HIGHWAY NUMBER NINETEEN
THE PEOPLE KEEP THE CITY CLEAN
THEY CALL IT
NUTBUSH OH NUTBUSH
CALL IT NUTBUSH CITY LIMITS
TWENTY-FIVE WAS THE SPEED LIMIT
MOTORCYCLE NOT ALLOWED IN IT
YOU GO TO THE STORE ON FRIDAY
YOU GO TO CHURCH ON SUNDAY
THEY CALL IT
NUTBUSH OH NUTBUSH
CALL IT NUTBUSH CITY LIMITS
YOU GO TO THE FIELDS ON WEEKDAYS
AND HAVE A PICNIC ON LABOR DAY
YOU GO TO TOWN ON SATURDAY
BUT GO TO THE CHURCH EV'RY SUNDAY
THEY CALL IT
NUTBUSH OH NUTBUSH
CALL IT NUTBUSH CITY LIMITS
NO WHISKEY FOR SALE
YOU CAN'T COP NO BAIL
SALT PORK AND MOLASSES
IS ALL YOU GET IN JAIL
THEY CALL IT
NUTBUSH OH NUTBUSH
CALL IT NUTBUSH CITY LIMITS
LITTLE OLD TOWN IN TENNESSEE
THAT'S CALLED A QUIET LITTLE OLD
COMMUNITY
A ONE-HORSE TOWN YOU HAVE TO
WATCH
WHAT YOU'RE PUTTIN' DOWN IN OLD
NUTBUSH
THEY CALL IT
NUTBUSH OH NUTBUSH
CALL IT NUTBUSH CITY LIMITS
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You come before me this morning with clean hands and clean collars. I want you to have clean tongues, clean manners, clean morals and clean characters.
quote by John Burns
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wash Yourself
Wash yourself and make yourself clean,
And appear before me with your nakedness and let me love you;
For the faithful city has now become a harlot and,
Your wine is now mixed with water!
You've sold yourself to many and,
Of your beautiful bush which now lay bare;
But everything in life is for a season.
As white as snow and as red as crimson,
But do work towards your dreams always and be clean;
For the smell of your muse is now heard everywhere!
And i want you to wash yourself and be clean.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nutbush City Limits
(t. turner)
Producer (73): ike turner
Album: nutbush city limits(73),the collected recordings(94)
Producers (91): c. j. mackintosh and dave dorrell
Album: simply the best (91)
Producers(93): chris lord-alge,roger davies and tina turner
Album: whats love got to do with it (93)
A church house gin house
A school house outhouse
On highway number nineteen
The people keep the city clean
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits
Twenty-five for speed limit
Motorcicle not allowed in it
You go to store on friday
You go to church on sunday
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits
You go to the fields on weekdays
And have a picnic on labor day
You go to town on saturday
And go to church every sunday
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits
No whiskey for sale
If you get drunk no bail
Salt pork and molasses
Is all you get in jail
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits
A little old town in tennessee
A quiet little community
A one-horse town
You have to watch what youre putting down
In old nutbush, oh nutbush
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cleanest Man....
he is clean
he prides about the beard
that he has
just shaven
he is clean
there is no hair left on his head
no hair between his thighs
and legs
he is clean
his chest is bare now
his heart slowly
beating
he is clean as he
is empty
like a room without
furniture and
drapes
he is clean and without
sin
he who has not done
anything
and can do not wrong again...
he is clean now
for he is dead....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nutbush City Limts
Words and music by tina turner
Theres a church house, gin house,
School house, outhouse.
On u.s. 19,
Hey, the people keep the city clean.
They call it nutbush, nutbush,
Nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
25 is the speed limit,
Motorcycles not allowed in it.
Go to town on saturday,
Go to church on sunday.
Up in ... up in ... nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
Say it again...
Work the fields on weekdays,
Have a picnic every labor day.
Go to town on a friday,
Be in church on a sunday.
Up in ... up in ... nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
Little old town,
Down in tennessee.
A real quiet community,
A real quiet southern community.
Not much happens in nutbush;
You can hear the corn grow.
Got to watch out for the police,
Drivin through nutbush.
Got to watch out for the police,
If youre drivin through nutbush.
Watch out for the police,
Watch out for the police.
Keep an eye out for the police,
Keep an eye out for the police.
An eye out for the police.
Nutbush city limits,
Nutbush city limits,
Nutbush city limits.
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hesitation Blues
Well, a nickel is a nickel, a dime is a dime
I need a new man, lord I know I wont mind.
Tell me how long, dear, do I have to wait ?
Can I get you now, dear, must I hesitate ?
Well now, the eagle on the dollar says in God we trust
You say you wont obey me, you wanna see that dollar first
How long, dear, do I have to wait ?
Can I get you now, dear, mm, must I hesitate ?
Lord, if the river was made of whiskey an I was a duck,
Id just swim to the bottom an Id never come up.
How long, dear, mm, do I have to wait ?
Why, can I get you now, dear, mm, must I hesitate ?
Now theres rocks down in the ocean and theres fish in the sea,
I know you mean the whole world to me.
How long, dear, must I have to wait ?
Can I get you now, dear, mm, must I hesitate ?
I got them hesitation stockings, I got them hesitation shoes,
Lord knows I got them hesitation blues.
Tell me, how long do I have to wait ?
Why, can I get you now, dear, mm, must I hesitate ?
Yeah!
That sounds good!
That sounds ...
song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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White Babies
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
He brings back
Oh my god, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
My smile is dime a dozen
My lips are cherry red
My eyes are blue like the sky is blue
I got good shoulders under my head
I look like your mother
I look like your great-aunt
Sit me down in your family photo
And everyone tells me that i, I look just like you
(I changed this verse for you)
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clean Up The World
Clean Up The World
Where have we gone?
We’ve drifted away
Too many years
Nothin’ to say
Too many years
Intentional lies
Too many years
Collegiate-laundered hipplets
Drivin’ us to demise
Got to clean up the world, clean up the world
Clean up the world, clean up the world
We’ve got to put that yuppie back in its cage
Along came McRonald
We got in its way
Too many years
Puppeteers played
Too many years
Stealing us blind
Too many years
Of totalitarians smothering us from the right
Got to clean up the world, clean up the world
Clean up the world, clean up the world
We’ve got to put that yuppie back in its cage
Their Wall Street money’s been holdin’ us fast
Ideals shallow and vain
They sell us all just to make it last
Revolution of ‘89 today
We got to clean up the world, clean up the world
Clean up the world, clean up the world
We’ve got to put that yuppie back in its cage
Self-centered cosmos
Material gain
Too many years
Deflecting their blame
Too many years
Stuffin’ their cart
Too many years
Deceit inside the head
Instead of love in their heart
Got to clean up the world, clean up the world
Clean up the world, clean up the world
We’ve got to put that yuppie back in its grave
Copyright 1992 Will Fiala
poem by Will Fiala
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Toilet
Every one
use
The toilet
Clean
Take water
And clean...
Clean is
Importent
her clean
Is not
Impress other's...
It is helpfull for
Healthy good
Life...
For clean
Toilet...
All ways
With your use...!
Some
human are
Use
The toilet
At animals...
You...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clean Up Your Own Backyard
(words & music by b. strange - s. davis)
Back porch preacher preaching at me
Acting like he wrote the golden rules
Shaking his fist and speeching at me
Shouting from his soap box like a fool
Come sunday morning hes lying in bed
With his eye all red, with the wine in his head
Wishing he was dead when he oughta be
Heading for sunday school
Clean up your own backyard
Oh dont you hand me none of your lines
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine
Drugstore cowboy criticizing
Acting like hes better than you and me
Standing on the sidewalk supervising
Telling everybody how they ought to be
Come closing time most every night
He locks up tight and out go the lights
And he ducks out of sight and he cheats on his wife
With his employee
Clean up your own backyard
Oh dont you hand me none of your lines
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine
Armchair quarterbacks always moanin
Second guessing people all day long
Pushing, fooling and hanging on in
Always messing where they dont belong
When you get right down to the nitty-gritty
Isnt it a pity that in this big city
Not a one alittle bitty manll admit
He could have been a little bit wrong
Clean up your own backyard
Oh dont you hand me, dont you hand me none of your lines
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chicago Sestina
I am surprised by the streets of Chicago
when the palm of winter grips them with snow
as if to forgive the city’s mistakes
and give it a canvas that’s new, white, and clean–
its fingers, the branches on all of the trees
kneading the air that blows in from the lake.
I’ve never lived next to the pulse of the lake
(until I set foot down the side of Chicago)
breathing in through the streets and out through the trees
welcoming the cool of the wet, numbing snow.
It lets my mind slip into thinking it’s clean
as if to personally forgive my mistakes.
“But what have you done to forgive your mistakes? ”
Did I ask this? Or is that the voice of the lake?
Some days, not even does it appear clean,
worn down from its tall standing neighbor, Chicago.
It scrapes at the sky, asking it for more snow
to stick to and freeze the trunks of the trees.
If I were a branch on one of these trees
incapable of making a single mistake,
I’d grab at the sky as it shook out the snow
and grow my roots thick till they tasted the lake.
But I wouldn’t bend to the force of Chicago
that’s constantly keeping me from being clean.
And what does it mean to try to be clean?
I don’t understand the stillness of the trees
when they’re being attacked by the size of Chicago
as if to glorify the city’s mistakes
that glisten like stars at night on the lake
before it all froze and was covered with snow.
Ah! To imagine how long there’s been snow.
How can something this old still feel so clean
and dance through the wind that swoops in from the lake?
Is it the kneading by the spiny branches on trees
trusting that there will be no more mistakes
that leaves these the only pure thing in Chicago?
Here comes the snow that seeks out the trees
Am I now clean? Where are my mistakes?
Chicago belongs where it lay with the lake.
poem by Brian Maloney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Clean Things
Clean beasts must have split hoof and chew the cud,
Clean fish must have scales and fins,
Clean insects must have jointed legs above their feet to hop;
And like other clean things listed in your Bibe.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Jungheimer's
In western fields of corn and northern timber lands,
They talk about me, a saloon with a soul,
The soft red lights, the long curving bar,
The leather seats and dim corners,
Tall brass spittoons, a nigger cutting ham,
And the painting of a woman half-dressed thrown reckless across a bed after a night of booze and riots.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Eternity Rain
Let this rain wash me
Let it wash my virtual sins
Clean my sorrow from the sins of my fathers
Clean my self form this dirt call life
From the false tells of creation
And clean my mind from the empty words of priest
From the dirty political speech
Let this holy rain clean my sorrow form the sin of love
Sin of being the truthful in this life
I want to clean my mind from the thought control
Clean my head form my mum fairy lies
It need the eternity to clean out my soul and my life from this life dirt
To be clean again i need eternity rain
poem by Aryabod Siharyvani
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The Light Is Always Green
We dig our models with the brains the size of models
And cars that we can trust with out wives
And we dig converstations with girls from every nation
But not the ones that whisper or tell lies
Wherever theres a will theres a motorway
Wherever there is greed there is speed
And theyve always got to be there for yesterday
Welcome to the new scalextrics breed
And the light they always show to them
Is green, green, green
And the heels they always show to me
Are clean, clean, clean
Were only flying past so we dig our sevice fast
From the waiters to the women to the wine
Never mind the match, Ive an urgent date to catch
Get me to the concert hall on time
Pretending to be pilots in a war
Pretending to weave between the flak
No-one knows what the missions for
Blinkered horses on the track
And the light they always show to them
Is green, green, green
And the heels they always show to me
Are clean, clean, clean
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Movin' To The Country
I'm gonna get myself out of this city
I'm gonna get myself out of this city
Gonna get myself out of this city
Cause livin' here is just a pity
I'm gonna get myself out of this city
I'm gonna breathe myself clean country air
I'm gonna breathe myself clean country air
Gonna breathe myself clean country air
In the city, they aint no air there
I'm gonna breathe myself clean country air
I'm gonna get myself a jug of moonshine
I'm gonna get myself a jug of moonshine
Gonna get myself that jug a shine
And I'm gonna have a real good time
I'm gonna get myself a jug of moonshine
I'm gonna get myself some country women
I'm gonna get myself some country women
Gonna get myself some country women
Baby, that's what I call livin'
I'm gonna get myself some country women
Yeah, I'm movin' to the country
(folkpoem)
poem by Edwin Robinette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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