En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Jones's Porvate Argyment

That air same Jones, which lived in Jones,
He had this pint about him:
He'd swear with a hundred sighs and groans,
That farmers MUST stop gittin' loans,
And git along without 'em:

That bankers, warehousemen, and sich
Was fatt'nin' on the planter,
And Tennessy was rotten-rich
A-raisin' meat and corn, all which
Draw'd money to Atlanta:

And the only thing (says Jones) to do
Is, eat no meat that's boughten:
`But tear up every I, O, U,
And plant all corn and swear for true
To quit a-raisin' cotton!'

Thus spouted Jones (whar folks could hear,
-- At Court and other gatherin's),
And thus kep' spoutin' many a year,
Proclaimin' loudly far and near
Sich fiddlesticks and blatherin's.

But, one all-fired sweatin' day,
It happened I was hoein'
My lower corn-field, which it lay
'Longside the road that runs my way
Whar I can see what's goin'.

And a'ter twelve o'clock had come
I felt a kinder faggin',
And laid myself un'neath a plum
To let my dinner settle sum,
When 'long come Jones's waggin,

And Jones was settin' in it, SO:
A-readin' of a paper.
His mules was goin' powerful slow,
Fur he had tied the lines onto
The staple of the scraper.

The mules they stopped about a rod
From me, and went to feedin'
'Longside the road, upon the sod,
But Jones (which he had tuck a tod)
Not knowin', kept a-readin'.

And presently says he: "Hit's true;
That Clisby's head is level.
Thar's one thing farmers all must do,
To keep themselves from goin' tew
Bankruptcy and the devil!

"More corn! more corn! MUST plant less ground,
And MUSTN'T eat what's boughten!
Next year they'll do it: reasonin's sound:
(And, cotton will fetch 'bout a dollar a pound),
THARFORE, I'LL plant ALL cotton!"

poem by Sidney Lanier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Thar's More In the Man Than Thar Is In The Land

I knowed a man, which he lived in Jones,
Which Jones is a county of red hills and stones,
And he lived pretty much by gittin' of loans,
And his mules was nuthin' but skin and bones,
And his hogs was flat as his corn-bread pones,
And he had 'bout a thousand acres o' land.

This man -- which his name it was also Jones --
He swore that he'd leave them old red hills and stones,
Fur he couldn't make nuthin' but yallerish cotton,
And little o' THAT, and his fences was rotten,
And what little corn he had, HIT was boughten
And dinged ef a livin' was in the land.

And the longer he swore the madder he got,
And he riz and he walked to the stable lot,
And he hollered to Tom to come thar and hitch
Fur to emigrate somewhar whar land was rich,
And to quit raisin' cock-burrs, thistles and sich,
And a wastin' ther time on the cussed land.

So him and Tom they hitched up the mules,
Pertestin' that folks was mighty big fools
That 'ud stay in Georgy ther lifetime out,
Jest scratchin' a livin' when all of 'em mought
Git places in Texas whar cotton would sprout
By the time you could plant it in the land.

And he driv by a house whar a man named Brown
Was a livin', not fur from the edge o' town,
And he bantered Brown fur to buy his place,
And said that bein' as money was skace,
And bein' as sheriffs was hard to face,
Two dollars an acre would git the land.

They closed at a dollar and fifty cents,
And Jones he bought him a waggin and tents,
And loaded his corn, and his wimmin, and truck,
And moved to Texas, which it tuck
His entire pile, with the best of luck,
To git thar and git him a little land.

But Brown moved out on the old Jones' farm,
And he rolled up his breeches and bared his arm,
And he picked all the rocks from off'n the groun',
And he rooted it up and he plowed it down,
Then he sowed his corn and his wheat in the land.

Five years glid by, and Brown, one day
(Which he'd got so fat that he wouldn't weigh),
Was a settin' down, sorter lazily,
To the bulliest dinner you ever see,
When one o' the children jumped on his knee
And says, 'Yan's Jones, which you bought his land.'

And thar was Jones, standin' out at the fence,
And he hadn't no waggin, nor mules, nor tents,
Fur he had left Texas afoot and cum
To Georgy to see if he couldn't git sum
Employment, and he was a lookin' as hum-
Ble as ef he had never owned any land.

But Brown he axed him in, and he sot
Him down to his vittles smokin' hot,
And when he had filled hisself and the floor
Brown looked at him sharp and riz and swore
That, 'whether men's land was rich or poor
Thar was more in the MAN than thar was in the LAND.'

poem by Sidney Lanier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Me And Mrs. Jones

Me and mrs. jones, we got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We meet ev'ry day at the same cafe,
Six-thirty i know she'll be there,
Holding hands, making all kinds of plans
While the jukebox plays our favorite song.
Me and mrs., mrs. jones, mrs. jones, mrs. jones,
Mrs. jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We gotta be extra careful that we don't build our hopes too high
Cause she's got her own obligations and so do i,
Me, me and mrs., mrs. jones, mrs. jones, mrs. jones,
Mrs. jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
Well, it's time for us to be leaving,
Iit hurts so much, it hurts so much inside,
Now she'll go her way and i'll go mine,
But tomorrow we'll meet the same place, the same time.
Me and mrs. jones, mrs. jones, mrs. jones.

song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Me & Mrs. Jones

Me and Mrs. Jones, we got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We meet ev'ry day at the same cafe,
Six-thirty I know she'll be there,
Holding hands, making all kinds of plans
While the jukebox plays our favorite song.
Me and Mrs., Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones,
Mrs. Jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We gotta be extra careful that we don't build our hopes too high
Cause she's got her own obligations and so do I,
Me, me and Mrs., Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones,
Mrs. Jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
Well, it's time for us to be leaving,
Iit hurts so much, it hurts so much inside,
Now she'll go her way and I'll go mine,
But tomorrow we'll meet the same place, the same time.
Me and Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones.

song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Willie & Laura Mae Jones

(tony joe white)
Willie & laura mae jones
Were our neighbours a long time back
They lived right down the road from us
In a shack just like our shack
The people worked the land together
And we learned to count on each other
When you live off the land
You dont have the time to think about another mans colour
The cotton was high and the corn was growing fine
But that was another place and another time
Sit out on the front porch
In the evening when the sun went down
Willie would play and the kids would sing
And everybody would mess around
Daddyd bring out his guitar
And play on through the night
Every now and then ol willie would grin and say
Hey, you play all right
Made me feel so good
I remember the best times of all
When saturday came around
We all would stop by willies house and say
Do yall need anything from town?
Hed say no, but why dont yall stop on the way back through?
And Ill get laura mae, yeah, to cook up some barbecue
And you know thats good
The cotton was high and the corn was growing fine, yes it was
But that was another place and another time
Oh, the years rolled past the land
And took back what theyd given
We all knew we had to move
If we were gonna make a living
So we all moved off
And went about our separate ways
It sure was hard to say goodbye
To willie and laura mae (jones), oh yeah
The cotton was high and the corn was growing fine, yes it was
But that was another place and another time
I remember so well
The cotton looked so fine
But that was another place and another time
And it felt so good, yes it did

song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Key Of The Street

"Miss Rosemary," I dourly said,
"Our balance verges on the red,
We must cut down our overhead.
One of the staff will have to go.
There's Mister Jones, he's mighty slow,
Although he does his best, I know.

"A deer old man; I like him well,
But age, alas! will always tell.
Miss Rosemary, please ring the bell
And tell old Jones to step this way . . .
Oh dear, oh dear, it isn't gay
To say the things I have to say.

"Come in and sit down, Mister Jones."
He thanks me in sepulchral tones.
Poor chap! I hear his creaking bones.
"Have a cigar? And how's your wife?
What's that! You're fearing for her life -
A cancer and the surgeon's knife. . . .

"Yes, operations are so dear,
But it's your comfort and your cheer
To know your job's so steady here."
These are his words; so meek and mild,
He looks just like a simple child . . .
Go! darn it! Suddenly I'm riled.

And so I say: "That's just too bad.
But Mister Jones. it's very sad,
You know what losses we have had.
We must cut down in times like these,
So here's a cheque, Oh take it please -
'Twill help to pay your doctor's fees.

"And just to show how I appraise
Your work - despite these doleful days
I'm giving you . . . a little raise."

Said Rosemary: "Old Jones is crying."
Thought I: "Yes, each week I'll be sighing,
When from my pocket I am prying
Ten bucks to keep his wife from dying."

poem by Robert William Service
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Advance Australia

Borrowin' over the water; I've seen it all before
Raisin' loans (said Old George Jones)
Was a trick we learned of yore.
Borrowin' over the water
In the old Australian way
Splash the cash an' cut a dash
An' leave the kids to pay.

Steel rails an' sausage skins, cotton goods an' fal-de-rals,
Drapery an' rollin'-stock an' pocket knives an' sich;
That was how we took it out
When we was but a growin' lout;
But sich-like habits calls for doubt
Now we are grown an' rich.

Borrowin' over the water for reproductive works
That ain't produced; sich habits used
To mark the crowd that shirks.
That's why we're heaped with taxes
In this sad year A.D.
Thro' the ancient tricks of politics
In borrowin' overseas.

Airyplanes an' motor-cars, guns an' bombs an' bayonits
The cash is here to buy the things an' meet the whole expense.
But seems we'll never mend our ways;
An' habits learned in olden days
Sticks hard; so we keep up the craze
An' borrow for defence.
Advance Australia! Pile the loans.
The kids'll pay (said Old George Jones).

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Have You Met Miss Jones?

It happened
I felt it happened
I was awake
I wasnt blind
I didnt think
I felt it happened
Now I belive in matter over mind.
And now you see we mustnt wait
The nearest moment that we marry is too late!
Have you met miss jones
Someone said as we shook hands
She was just miss jones to me
Then I said miss jones
Youre a girl who understand
Im a boy who must be free.
And all at once I lost my breath
And all at once was scared to death
And all at once I hold the eatrh and sky!
Now I met miss jones
And well keep on meeting till we die
Miss jones and i

song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cotton and Corn

Said Cotton to Corn, t'other day,
As they met and exchang'd salute--
(Squire Corn in his carriage so gay,
Poor Cotton, half famish'd on foot):

"Great Squire, if it isn't uncivil
To hint at starvation before you,
Look down on a poor hungry devil,
And give him some bread, I implore you!"

Quoth Corn, then, in answer to Cotton,
Perceiving he meant to make free --
"Low fellow, you've surely forgotten
The distance between you and me!

To expect that we, Peers of high birth,
Should waste our illustrious acres,
For no other purpose on earth
Than to fatten curst calico-makers! --

That Biships to hobbins should bend --
Should stoop from their Bench's sublimity,
Great dealers in lawn, to befriend
Such contemptible dealers in dimity!

"No -- vile Manufacture! ne'er harbour
A hope to be fed at our boards; --
Base offspring of Arkwright the barber,
What claim canst thou have upon Lords?

"No -- thanks to the taxes and debt,
And the triumph of paper o'er guineas,
Our race of Lord Jemmys, as yet,
May defy your whole rabble of Jennys!"

So saying -- whip, crack and away
Went Corn in his chaise through the throng,
So headlong, I heard them all say,
"Squire Corn would be down, before long."

poem by Thomas Moore
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Mr. Jones

Mr. jones
Put a wiggle in your stride
Loosen up
I believe he'll be alright
Changing clothes
Now he's got ventilated slacks
Bouncing off the walls
Mr. jones is back!
Bulge out
And wind your waist
Tight pants
Got curly hair
Drinking cold beer
From metal cans
Moonshine
And handi-wipes!
Mr. jones is back in town
It's his lucky day
Hold up your hands and shout
Jones is on his way
Pitter pat
Mr. jones is back in town
Aces high
Now his pants are falling down
He looks so fine
In those patent leather shoes
Mr. jones, you look tired
I believe you'll be alright
Sales men
Conventioneers
Some rock stars
With tambourines
Short skirts
And skinny legs
Selling bibles
And real estate
It's a big day for mr. jones
He is not so square
Mr. jones will stick around
He's everybody's friend
Fast cars
And motorbikes
I'm sure glad
He's on our side
The jones gang
Down at the bar
Watch out, this time
They've gone too far
They call for mr. jones
They put him in charge
Mr. jones will help us out
He's a lucky guy
It is mr. jones' birthday party
For another year
In his hotel room party favors
It's a holiday

song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gilhooley's Estate

Oh, Mr Gilhooley he turned up his toes,
As most of you know, soon or late;
And Jones was a lawyer, as everyone knows,
So they took him to Gilhooley's Estate.
Gilhooley in life had been living so free
'Twas thought his possessions were great,
So Jones, with a smile, says, "There's many a fee
For me in Gilhooley's Estate."

They made out a list of his property fine,
It totalled a thousand-and-eight;
But the debts were nine hundred and ninety-nine --
The debts of Gilhooley's Estate.

So Mrs Gilhooley says, "Jones, my dear man,
My childer have little to ait:
Just keep my expinses as low as you can
Against poor Gilhooley's Estate."

Bur Jones says, "The will isn't clear in its terms,
I fear it will need some debate,
And the law won't alow me (attorneys are worms)
To appear in Gilhooley's Estate."

So a barrister-man, with a wig on his head
And a brief in his hand, quite elate,
Went up to the Court where they bury the dead,
Just to move in Gilhooley's Estate."

But his Honour the Judge said, "I think that the joint
Legatees must be called to probate --
Ex parte Pokehorney is clear on the point --
The point of Gilhooley's Estate."

"I order a suit to be brought just to try
If this is correct that I state --
A nice friendly suit -- and the costs by and by,
Must be borne by Gilhooley's Estate."

So Mrs Gilhooley says, "Jones, you'll appear!
Thim barristers' fees is too great;
The suit is but friendly," "Attorneys, my dear,
Can't be heard in Gilhooley's Estate."

From the barristers' quarter a mighty hurrah
Arises both early and late:
It's only the whoop of the Junior Bar
Dividing Gilhooley's Estate.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Sweetwater Jones

Sweetwater Jones
Went riding
out in to the country night
he left his phone still ringing
ringing by the t.v.'s light
goodbye to you new york city
goodbye to every thing it used to be
you sure can could look good
Emerald City
oh but now your just a drag on me
goodbye to the ringing phone
goodbye to the old grindstone
and what use to be Jimmy Jones
now they known as Sweetwater Jones
Sweetwater Jones
keep on going
hey Jonese boy your'll doing find
smiling a smile and knowing
that your heading fore a better time
look at your face
hey its shinning
hey beaming like it never could
look at your eyes
hey you crying
but you never thought you fell so good
goodbye to the ringing phone
good,good,goodbye to the old grindstone
what used to be Jimmy Jones
now they known as Sweetwater Jones
ohhhhhhhh
ohhhhhhhh Sweetwater Jones
what use to be Jimmy Jones
now they known as Sweetwater Jones
now they known as Sweetwater Jones

song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Have You Met Miss Jones?

Have you met Miss Jones
Someone said as we shook hands
She was just Miss Jones to me

Then I said Miss Jones
You're a girl who understands
I'm a man who must be free.

And all at once I lost my breath
And all at once was scared to death
And all at once I own the earth and sky

Now I met Miss Jones
And well keep on meeting till we die
Miss Jones and I

And all at once I lost my breath
And all at once was scared to death
And all at once I own the earth and sky

Now I met Miss Jones
And well keep on meeting till we die
Miss Jones and I
Miss Jones and I

Miss Jones and I

song performed by by Robbie Williams from Swing When You're Winning
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crackity Jones

Jose jones
Told me alone
His story
He got friends
Like paco picopiedra
La muneca
He receives on his set
Crack crack crackity jones
Please forgive me
Jose jones
You need these walls
For your own
Im moving out of this hospedaje
Im afraid youll cut me boy
Thirty miles by
Hundred miles by
Stinking island
Por goofiar
En crushing automovil
Chasing voices
He receives in his head
Crack crack crackity jones

song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mylo Jones's Wife

'Mylo Jones's wife' was all
I heerd, mighty near, last Fall--
Visitun relations down
T'other side of Morgantown!
Mylo Jones's wife she does
This and that, and 'those' and 'thus'!--
Can't 'bide babies in her sight--
Ner no childern, day and night,
Whoopin' round the premises--
NER NO NOTHIN' ELSE, I guess!

Mylo Jones's wife she 'lows
She's the boss of her own house!--
Mylo--consequences is--
Stays whare things seem SOME like HIS,--
Uses, mostly, with the stock--
Coaxin' 'Old Kate' not to balk,
Ner kick hoss-flies' branes out, ner
Act, I s'pose, so much like HER!
Yit the wimmern-folks tells you
She's PERFECTION.--Yes they do!

Mylo's wife she says she's found
Home hain't home with MEN-FOLKS round
When they's work like HERN to do-
Picklin' pears and BUTCHERN, too,
And a-rendern lard, and then
Cookin' fer a pack of men
To come trackin' up the flore
SHE'S scrubbed TEL she'll scrub no MORE!--
Yit she'd keep things clean ef they
Made her scrub tel Jedgmunt Day!

Mylo Jones's wife she sews
Carpet-rags and patches clothes
Jest year IN and OUT!--and yit
Whare's the livin' use of it?
She asts Mylo that.--And he
Gits back whare he'd ruther be,
With his team;--jest PLOWS--and don't
Never sware--like some folks won't!
Think ef HE'D CUT LOOSE, I gum!
'D he'p his heavenly chances some!

Mylo's wife don't see no use,
Ner no reason ner excuse
Fer his pore relations to
Hang round like they allus do!
Thare 'bout onc't a year--and SHE--
She jest GA'NTS 'em, folks tells me,
On spiced pears!--Pass Mylo one,
He says 'No, he don't chuse none!'
Workin'men like Mylo they
'D ort to have MEAT ev'ry day!

Dad-burn Mylo Jones's wife!
Ruther rake a blame caseknife
'Crost my wizzen than to see
Sich a womern rulin' ME!--
Ruther take and turn in and
Raise a fool mule-colt by hand'
MYLO, though--od-rot the man!--
Jest keeps ca'm--like some folks CAN--
And 'lows sich as her, I s'pose,
Is MAN'S HE'PMEET'--Mercy knows!

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Sausage Candidate-A Tale of the Elections

Our fathers, brave men were and strong,
And whisky was their daily liquor;
They used to move the world along
In better style than now -- and quicker.
Elections then were sport, you bet!
A trifle rough, there's no denying
When two opposing factions met
The skin and hair were always flying.
When "cabbage-trees" could still be worn
Without the question, "Who's your hatter?"
There dawned a bright election morn
Upon the town of Parramatta.
A man called Jones was all the go --
The people's friend, the poor's protector;
A long, gaunt, six-foot slab of woe,
He sought to charm the green elector.

How Jones had one time been trustee
For his small niece, and he -- the villain! --
Betrayed his trust most shamefully,
And robbed the child of every shillin'.
He used to keep accounts, they say,
To save himself in case of trouble;
Whatever cash he paid away
He always used to charge it double.

He'd buy the child a cotton gown
Too coarse and rough to dress a cat in,
And then he'd go and put it down
And charge the price of silk or satin!
He gave her once a little treat,
An outing down the harbour sunny,
And Lord! the bill for bread and meat,
You'd think they all had eaten money!

But Jones exposed the course he took
By carelessness -- such men are ninnies.
He went and entered in his book,
"Two pounds of sausages -- two guineas."
Now this leaked out, and folk got riled,
And said that Jones, "he didn't oughter".
But what cared Jones? he only smiled --
Abuse ran off his back like water.

And so he faced the world content:
His little niece -- he never paid her:
And then he stood for Parliament,
Of course he was a rank free trader.
His wealth was great, success appeared
To smile propitious on his banner,
But Providence it interfered
In this most unexpected manner.

A person -- call him Brown for short --
Who knew the story of this stealer,
Went calmly down the town and bought
Two pounds of sausage from a dealer,
And then he got a long bamboo
And tightly tied the sausage to it;
Says he, "This is the thing to do,
And I am just the man to do it.

"When Jones comes out to make his speech
I won't a clapper be, or hisser,
But with this long bamboo I'll reach
And poke the sausage in his 'kisser'.
I'll bring the wretch to scorn and shame,
Unless those darned police are nigh:
As sure as Brown's my glorious name,
I'll knock that candidate sky-high."

The speech comes on -- beneath the stand
The people push and surge and eddy
But Brown waits calmly close at hand
With all his apparatus ready;
And while the speaker loudly cries,
"Of ages all, this is the boss age!"
Brown hits him square between the eyes,
Exclaiming, "What's the price of sausage?"

He aimed the victuals in his face,
As though he thought poor Jones a glutton.
And Jones was covered with disgrace --
Disgrace and shame, and beef and mutton.
His cause was lost -- a hopeless wreck
He crept off from the hooting throng;
Protection proudly ruled the deck,
Here ends the sausage and the song.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Mary Lee Jones

Written by lindsey buckingham.
Days were lonely and so were the nights
She could not tell wrong from right.
Body broken, worn to the bone,
The final days of mary lee jones, mary lee jones.
She could not get him out of her mind.
Too much passion drove her blind.
Nothing she could call her own,
The final days of mary lee jones, mary lee jones.
Days were lonely and so were the nights.
She could not tell wrong from right.
Nothing she could call her own,
The final days of mary lee jones, mary lee jones.

song performed by by Lindsey Buckingham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My dad liked how January went with Jones. My sisters' names are Jina and Jacey Jones.

quote by January Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Three Corn Patches

(words & music by leiber - stoller)
I said three corn patches about four cotton fields away
I said three corn patches about four cotton fields away
Lives the prettiest girl in the whole darn u.s.a.
I said a
Shes got big brown eyes and long black wavy hair, mmm
Shes got big brown eyes and long black wavy hair
Shes so beautiful, people it dont seem fair
Well Ive been to chicago, been to new orleans
Yes, Ive been to chicago, been to new orleans
But Id rather see my baby workin in her old blue jeans
I said three corn patches
About four cotton fields away
I said three corn patches
About four cotton fields away
Lives the prettiest girl in the whole darn u.s.a.
I said a
She keeps a big bull dog out in the yard all night
She keeps a big bull dog out in the yard all night
And it barks like a bear oh, but he dont bite
Yeah,
I said three corn patches
About four cotton fields away
I said three corn patches
About four cotton fields away
Lives the prettiest girl in the whole darn u.s.a.
I said a
Gimme three, gimme four
I said three, well four

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jim Jones

O, listen for a moment lads, and hear me tell my tale-
how o'er the sea from England's shore I was compelled to sail.
The jury said, "He's guilty Sir," and says the judge, says he-
"For life Jim Jones, I'm sending you across the stormy sea;
and take my tip before you ship to join the iron-gang.
don't be too gay at Botany Bay, or else you'll surely hang-
Or else you'll hang" he says, says he- "and after that Jim Jones,
high up upon the gallows-tree the crows will pick your bones-
You'll have no chance for mischeif then; remember what I say,
They'll flog the poaching out of you, out there at Botany Bay"

The winds blew high upon the sea, and the pirates come along,
but the soldiers on our convict ship were full five hundred strong,
they opened fire and somehow drove that pirate ship away.
I'd have rather joined that pirate ship than come to Botany Bay.

For night and day, the irons clang, and like poor galley slaves
we toil, and toil and when we die must fill dishonoured graves.
But by and by I'll break my chains; into the bush I'll go
and join the brave bushrangers there - Jack Donohoo and Co.
and some dark night when everything is silent in the town
I'll kill the tyrants one and all and shoot the floggers down;
I'll give the law a little shock; remember what I say,
They'll yet regret they sent Jim Jones in chains to Botany Bay.

poem by Anonymous Oceania
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mrs Jones

What are you gonna do today Mrs Jones
Are you gonna chase the pain away Mrs Jones
Or leave it sitting there waiting outside your door
Hoping to find the things you hoped would tell you more
About the dreams that seem to slip away

What are you gonna do today Mrs Jones
Are you going to face the bills to pay Mrs Jones
Or leave them sitting there waiting outside your door
Hoping to find the things you hoped would tell you more
About the dreams that seem to slip away

It's not as if Mr Jones could help in anyway
It's not as if Mr Jones the bills that he could pay

(Repeat first verse)

song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene from B-Sides: Seasides & Freerides
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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