A Hate-Song
A hater he came and sat by a ditch,
And he took an old cracked lute;
And he sang a song which was more of a screech
'Gainst a woman that was a brute.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Related quotes
He Man Woman Hater
no women allowed!
Let me tell you about this love and hate relation
Between a man and a woman
And so none of you all get the wrong interpretation
I cant live with them
Im gonna die without them
Sooner or later
Youll be a he man woman hater
Its inevitable
And to become one
Youve gotta really hate to love them
He man woman hater
He, he man woman hater
You know I love to hate cause I hate to love them
He mans behavior
Doesnt need no explanation
We all got a one track mind
He men have always had a sexual preoccupation
Its gonna be your place or its gonna be mine
Sooner or later
Youll be a he man woman hater
Its inevitable
And to become one
Youve gotta really hate to love them
He man woman hater
He, he man woman hater
You know I love to hate cause I hate to love them
He, he man woman hater
Cant live with em gonna die without em
song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I woke up to a lullaby
I woke up to a lullaby
The birds sang a song for me
They sang their hearts out all the while
Dancing on the maple tree
Each bird sang a different song
That melted into one
A song full of promises
For the day that’s just begun
They sang of sorrow
Of happiness and mirth
The sang of marriage
And of birth
They sang of people laughing
And of them crying
They sang of sickness
They sang of dying
This little song
They sang for me
Made me think
Made me free
The Poet's Song
I HID in the world and sang,
And I sang so loud and long
That all the ages rang
With the music of my song.
I sang of the earth and sky,
5
I sang of the whispering seas,
I sang of the mountains high,
And I sang of the flowers and trees;
I sang of the early spring,
I sang of the dawning day,
10
I sang, for I had to sing
As the young lambs have to play;
Till heaven and earth were ringing,
And all the people heard,
And they said, "We love his singing,
15
For his song is the song of the bird."
poem by Frederick George Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chase
This is player hater one reporting from phd base over
This is phd base go ahead hater one
Yeah we have our talent in sight
How would you have us proceed over
Hater one this is your captain player hater
What is the talents position
Well sir due to the heavy rains up here
Its hard to tell what the talent is carrying over
Well I suggest you try real hard hater one over
Uh yes sir well it looks like
Hes carrying something square like sir over
What do you mean square like over
I dont know sir a cd of some sort
With glowing lettering over
Hater one I want you to look very carefully on that disc
And tell me what the letterings are
Oh my God this is big sir
Talk to me hater
kelly v I p I repeat kelly v I p sir over
Hes right captain this is big
Only if we allow him to reach his destination
Were waiting on an order sir sir
Hater one this is your captain
I order you to take the talent out
Do not I repeat do not under any circumstances
Let this disc be heard over
Roger that sir all systems go
Minus 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0
song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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May This Song Reach Your Heart
A strong young woman sings,
Her voice so divine.
'May this song reach your heart.'
She showed the epitome
Of soul, body, and mind.
'May this song reach your heart.'
She sang to the heavens
With uplifting spirit.
'May this song reach your heart.'
Her song was made
So the world could hear it.
'May this song reach your heart.'
The song she sang
Was that of fine art.
'May this song,
Reach your heart.'
poem by Devon McElveen
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Digging A Ditch
I'm digging a ditch
Where madness lives
I'm digging a ditch
Where my silence lives
I'm diggin a ditch and when I am through
Digging this ditch I'll dig one for you
Digging a ditch
As black as cold
Digging a ditch
Where I can hide my soul
Digging a ditch
Where my secrets stay
[The Newer Version
song performed by by Dave Matthews Band from Busted Stuff
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Lute Awake
My lute awake! perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that I have now begun;
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute be still, for I have done.
As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon;
Should we then sigh or sing or moan?
No, no, my lute, for I have done.
The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,
As she my suit and affection;
So that I am past remedy,
Whereby my lute and I have done.
Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won,
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.
Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain
That makest but game on earnest pain.
Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers plain,
Although my lute and I have done.
Perchance thee lie wethered and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told;
Care then who list, for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my lute; this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that we begun.
Now is this song both sung and past:
My lute be still, for I have done.
poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Lute Awake
My lute awake! perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that I have now begun;
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute be still, for I have done.
As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon;
Should we then sigh or sing or moan?
No, no, my lute, for I have done.
The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,
As she my suit and affection;
So that I am past remedy,
Whereby my lute and I have done.
Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won,
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.
Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain
That makest but game on earnest pain.
Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers plain,
Although my lute and I have done.
Perchance thee lie wethered and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told;
Care then who list, for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spent
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my lute; this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that we begun.
Now is this song both sung and past:
My lute be still, for I have done.
poem by David McKee Wright
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Credo
I.
For the sole edification
Of this decent congregation,
Goodly people, by your grant
I will sing a holy chant—
I will sing a holy chant.
If the ditty sound but oddly,
'Twas a father, wise and godly,
Sang it so long ago—
Then sing as Martin Luther sang,
As Doctor Martin Luther sang:
'Who loves not wine, woman and song,
He is a fool his whole life long!'
II.
He, by custom patriarchal,
Loved to see the beaker sparkle;
And he thought the wine improved,
Tasted by the lips he loved—
By the kindly lips he loved.
Friends, I wish this custom pious
Duly were observed by us,
To combine love, song, wine,
And sing as Martin Luther sang,
As Doctor Martin Luther sang:
'Who loves not wine, woman and song,
He is a fool his whole life long!'
III.
Who refuses this our Credo,
And who will not sing as we do,
Were he holy as John Knox,
I'd pronounce him heterodox!
I'd pronounce him heterodox,
And from out this congregation,
With a solemn commination,
Banish quick the heretic,
Who will not sing as Luther sang,
As Doctor Martin Luther sang:
'Who loves not wine, woman and song,
He is a fool his whole life long!'
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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My Lute, Awake
My labor that thou and I shall waste
And end that I have now begun,
For when this song is sung and past,
My lute, be still, for I have done.
As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon.
Should we then sigh or sing or moan?
No, no, my lute, for I have done.
Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts through love's shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won,
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.
Vengance shall fall on thy disdain
That makest but game on earnest pain;
Think not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lovers plain
Although my lute and I have done.
Perchance thee lie withered and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon;
Thy wishes then dare not be told.
Care then who list, for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou hast lost and spnt
To cause thy lovers sigh and swoon;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my lute, this is the last
Labor that thou and I shall waste
And ended is that we begun.
Now is the song both sung and past;
My lute, be still, for I have done.
poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her Song
I sang that song on Sunday,
To witch an idle while,
I sang that song on Monday,
As fittest to beguile;
I sang it as the year outwore,
And the new slid in;
I thought not what might shape before
Another would begin.
I sang that song in summer,
All unforeknowingly,
To him as a new-comer
From regions strange to me:
I sang it when in afteryears
The shades stretched out,
And paths were faint; and flocking fears
Brought cup-eyed care and doubt.
Sings he that song on Sundays
In some dim land afar,
On Saturdays, or Mondays,
As when the evening star
Glimpsed in upon his bending face
And my hanging hair,
And time untouched me with a trace
Of soul-smart or despair?
poem by Thomas Hardy
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To His Lute
MY lute, awake! perform the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And end that I have now begun;
For when this song is said and past,
My lute, be still, for I have done.
As to be heard where ear is none,
As lead to grave in marble stone,
My song may pierce her heart as soon:
Should we then sing, or sigh, or moan?
No, no, my lute! for I have done.
The rocks do not so cruelly
Repulse the waves continually,
As she my suit and affectiòn;
So that I am past remedy:
Whereby my lute and I have done.
Proud of the spoil that thou hast got
Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot,
By whom, unkind, thou hast them won;
Think not he hath his bow forgot,
Although my lute and I have done.
Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain,
That makest but game of earnest pain:
Trow not alone under the sun
Unquit to cause thy lover's plain,
Although my lute and I have done.
May chance thee lie wither'd and old
The winter nights that are so cold,
Plaining in vain unto the moon:
Thy wishes then dare not be told:
Care then who list! for I have done.
And then may chance thee to repent
The time that thou has lost and spent
To cause thy lover's sigh and swoon:
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done.
Now cease, my lute! this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall waste,
And ended is that we begun:
Now is this song both sung and past--
My lute, be still, for I have done.
poem by Sir Thomas Wyatt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remembered
She sang, and I listened the whole song thro'.
(It was sweet, so sweet, the singing.)
The stars were out and the moon it grew
From a wee soft glimmer way out in the blue
To a bird thro' the heavens winging.
She sang, and the song trembled down to my breast,--
(It was sweet, so sweet the singing.)
As a dove just out of its fledgling nest,
And, putting its wings to the first sweet test,
Flutters homeward so wearily winging.
She sang and I said to my heart 'That song,
That was sweet, so sweet i' the singing,
Shall live with us and inspire us long,
And thou, my heart, shalt be brave and strong
For the sake of those words a-winging.'
The woman died and the song was still.
(It was sweet, so sweet, the singing.)
But ever I hear the same low trill,
Of the song that shakes my heart with a thrill,
And goes forever winging.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Rain
(rock the joint)
Me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh-huh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
When the rain hits my window
I take and {inhale, cough} me some indo
Me and timbaland, ooh, we sang a jangle
We so tight, that you get our styles tango
Sway on dosie-do like you loco
{singing} can we get kinky tonight?
Like coco, so-so
You don't wanna play with my yo-yo
I smoke my hydro on the dee-low
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (say what?)
Yeah..
Beep beep, who got the keys to the jeep? v-r-rrrrrrrooooom!
(uh-huh) i'm drivin to the beach
Top down, loud sounds, see my peeps (uhh)
Give them pounds, now look who it be (who it be)
It be me me me and timothy (me me!)
Look like it's bout to rain, what a shame (uh-huh)
I got the armor-all to shine up the stain
Oh missy, try to maintain
Icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky..
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
(uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (say what? uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (yeah)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
I feel the wind
Five six seven, eight nine ten
Begin, i sit on hill's like lauryn
Until the rain starts, comin down, pourin
Chill, i got my umbrella
My finger waves be dazed, they fall like humpty
Chumpy, i break up with him before he dump me
To have me yes you lucky
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (ha, uhh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (what?)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (what?)
(like that baby)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (can you stand the rain?)
(uh-huh, stand the rain)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (what?)
(can you stand the rain?)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (can you stand the rain?)
(uh-huh, can you stand the rain?)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (what?)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
{singing} 'gainst my window (huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (hmm..)
{singing} 'gainst my window (yo)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (why not, break it down like dat)
{singing} 'gainst my window (break it down baby)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh)
(yeah like that, uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh, huh)
(uhh.. misdemeanor)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! ..
{singing} i can't stand the rain! .. * fades out *
song performed by by Missy Elliott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Credo (after the German)
For the sole edification
Of this decent congregation,
Goodly people, by your grant
I will sing a holy chant --
I will sing a holy chant.
If the ditty sound but oddly,
'Twas a father, wise and godly,
Sang it so long ago --
Then sing as Martin Luther sang,
As Doctor Martin Luther sang:
"Who loves not wine, woman and song,
He is a fool his whole life long!"
He, by custom patriarchal,
Loved to see the beaker sparkle;
And he thought the wine improved,
Tasted by the lips he loved --
But the kindly lips he loved.
Friends, I wish this custom pious
Duly were observed by us,
To combine love, song, wine,
And sing as Martin Luther sang,
As Doctor Martin Luther sang:
"Who loves not wine, woman, and song,
He is a fool his whole life long!"
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Get The Funk Out
If you dont like what you see here
Nobody wants to take you prisoner
So let me make it nice and clear dear
The exit is right there
I dont mean to be rude dude
But youd better change your attitude
I dont like what I see here
Youre all invited to the party
You know you didnt have to come
No rotten apple gonna spoil my fun
If you dont like what you see here
Get the funk out
We wont try to force feed you
Get the funk out
You cant please everbody
But everybody cannot please me
Thats why I do what I want to
So why dont you do, do it to, do it to me, hey
So if you dont like what you see here
You can always leave the country
I dont like what I see here
Youre all invited to the party
You know you didnt have to come
No rotten apple gonna spoil my fun
If you dont like what you see here
Get the funk out
We wont try to force feed you
Get the funk out
All I see is pronograffiti
All I hear pornograffiti
Its a monster we all have within us
The american dream
I need more money
I need more money
Just a little more money
Just a little more money
Everybodys got a need
Everybodys got to feed
He man woman hater
He man woman hater
He man woman hater
Dancing to the decadence dance
song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Angel On My Shoulder
There's an angel on my shoulder,
asking me whats wrong?
and as i speak the words to her
she starts to sing a song
This song she sings is powerfull
yet its the saddest song you'll hear.
She sings a song of pain and love,
even the angel has a tear.
She sang of how she found true love,
and how she let it go.
she sang of how she pushed aside
the only love she'd know
she sang of how she pushed him away
to find another love thats true
she sang of how she looked at him
as he spoke the words 'thats you'
She never faulted in her words
as she sang and as she cried
for as she sang she told me
of how her true love died
She said he died of a broken heart
that only she could mend
her true love died because of her
his true love and friend
as the angel sang her final words
she looked at me and said
Kolee this is not my song
but your true loves instead
There's an angel on my shoulder
asking me whats wrong
asking me to love you,
and to never hear your song.
poem by Angel of Darkness
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The Singer Sang His Song
Hed sing his song most evry night
Wishing she was there behind the light
The people danced and sang along
On the cardboard stage he never sang it wrong
And the piper played the tune
And the drummer wore his spurs
But the song that the singer sang was for her
Now the singers song is never heard
And the visions he once saw are disappeared
Now they never dance or sing along
But on the cardboard stage he never sang it wrong
And the piper played the tune
And the drummer wore his spurs
But the song that the singer sang was for her
(break)
Ah..........
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From the Somme
In other days I sang of simple things,
Of summer dawn, and summer noon and night,
The dewy grass, the dew wet fairy rings,
The larks long golden flight.
Deep in the forest I made melody
While squirrels cracked their hazel nuts on high,
Or I would cross the wet sand to the sea
And sing to sea and sky.
When came the silvered silence of the night
I stole to casements over scented lawns,
And softly sang of love and love’s delight
To mute white marble fauns.
Oft in the tavern parlour I would sing
Of morning sun upon the mountain vine,
And, calling for a chorus, sweep the string
In praise of good red wine.
I played with all the toys the gods provide,
I sang my songs and made glad holiday
Mow I have cast my broken toys aside
And flung my lute away.
A singer once, I now am fain to weep,
Within my soul I feel strange music swell,
Vast chants of tragedy too deep - too deep
For my poor lips to tell.
poem by Leslie Coulson
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The Song For Colin
I sang a song at dusking time
Beneath the evening star,
And Terence left his latest rhyme
To answer from afar.
Pierrot laid down his lute to weep,
And sighed, "She sings for me."
But Colin slept a careless sleep
Beneath an apple tree.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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