The Minaret Bells
Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink,
By the light of the star,
On the blue river's brink,
I heard a guitar.
I heard a guitar,
On the blue waters clear,
And knew by its music,
That Selim was near!
Tink-a-tink, tink-a-tink,
How the soft music swells,
And I hear the soft clink
Of the minaret bells!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
When U Think About Me
Talkin:
I knoe u want meeh
I got yo mind paralyzed
Is it the infatuation that keepz u awake at nite?
=chorus=
When you tink about meeh
Do u tink bout us
Fallin in love
Do u wanna get
Wit meeh
Wit meeh
Do you tink about meeh(tell meeh tell meeh)
Do u tink bout us
And makin love
Do u wanna get
Wit meeh
Wit meeh
When u sleep at nite
Does monica star in yo dreamz
Are you tinkin of meeh all da tyme
Or does it mean
Do u fantasize
To yo surprise dere i am
Makin you realize
Deep inside u wanna be mah man
Are you still playin childish gaymez
Or all grown up
Because mah appetite sayz
Too much is not enuf
Im curious
And i dont need to make a fuss
But i tink bout u
Do u tink bout us
(chorus)
Tell meeh
Do you tink bout..
(meeh...)
When you daydream does sweet marie
Stay on yo mind
Or do you find yoself wishin u were here by mah side
Do u wanna have responsible to get meeh a vote
Dont jus hit meeh on da pager or mah cell telefone
When u at da klub
Is dere noone else dat turnz u on
Da way you lookin at meeh
I kan tell u wanna get it on
Im curious
And i wanna feel
Da heat of yo touch
I tink bout u
Do u tink bout us
(chorusx4)
All day i wanna do
Spend mah tyme wit u
All nite i know u wanna get wit meeh 2
Do u tink of meeh da way dat i tink about u
U conserve(??) meeh like nobodie else kan do
When u tink bout meeh..
When u tink bout meeh...
Tell meeh
Tell meeh
When u tink bout meeh
Do u tink bout us
Tell meeh tell meeh
=fade=
song performed by by One Voice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Billy Chips In
Boss Oberseer, Dat BULLUMTIN! Goo' day, boss Plurry 'ot!
Bloke tell me writum BULLUMTIN, bin plenty bacca got.
'You Billy, makum writin'-yabber,' bloke he say to me;
'Him quick bin pay fer writin' - plenty tsugar plenty tea.'
S'pose mine write it pretty good, you gib it two t'ree poun'?
Bin teachum mishum station plenty good write yabber down.
Mine jes' bin readin' BULLUMTIN alonga scrub. Ma word!
Mine tink it Gub'mint yabber 'bout de bee' de kin I heard.
Mine tink it pitcher budgerry - dat Lin'say an' dat Hop.
Mine tink it dem corrob'ree songs been alla same up top.
Bin plenty good, dat lubra yabber; Red Page, berry fine;
Dat White Australia policy jes' same alonga mine.
But, tell you straight, boss, all dat talk 'bout 'possum, 'roo and snake,
Bin pull your leg, mine tink it. It bin all a plurry fake.
Mine s'pose dem blokes bin walkabout dat bush down Sydney way.
Bin talkum t'ro' dere ploomin' hat 'bout eberyting dey say!
Bin catchum snake, mine tink it, outer bottle, longa pub.
Too much dam lie about dem tings dey neber seen in scrub.
Ma wud! Mine plenty bin in bush; bin plenty much out back,
But neber meet dem pfellers anywhere alonga track.
Mine tink dey catchum too much corns dey walk alonga scrub,
Dey don't bin losum sight of bed an' plenty pfeller grub.
Mine neber meet dat 'Dandalup' or 'Wang,' or 'William Cann.'
Dat 'Quan,' mine tink, drive butcher cart, an' 'Snell' bin tramway man.
Mine tell you, boss, dem blokes no good; dey all bin habin' you.
Mine tink dat 'Chimmie Pannican' bin plurry chackeroo!
So boss, you listen longa me; you make quick catchum sack,
An' Billy him bin send you plenty yabber 'bout outback.
S'pose you gib it glasserrum, mine writum Wil' Cat too.
You gib it bottle rum, mine run whole plurry show for you.
Don' bin forgettum bacca, rum, when you bin writin' nex';
Mine wantum plenty bad; ma wud! Mine bin yours, BILLY REX.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Boyfriend
=chorus=
U wanna be mah boyfriend
U know ure not ready
U wanna be mah boyfriend
U know u kant hang
U wanna be mah boyfriend
U know ure not ready
U wanna be mah boyfriend
U know u kant hang
U kant hang
I tink u need to hold up
And take a good look at yoself
Boy u know ure foine ish true
But Im talkin bout sumthin else
U need to have a strong mind
I need a man datz got it goin on
Elevate yoself inside
I tink u know dat I know(know know)
(chorus)
I tink u betta hold on
And check yoself b4 u reck yoself
Ure all dat and mo
Jus tell meeh wut ure waitin fo
U need to come wit it
If u eva wanna be wit meeh
I knoe wut u need
So let da truth set u free
(chorus)
Gotta be gotta be gotta be
A real real real
When u step to meeh
A man
Gotta be gotta be gotta be
A real real real
When u step to meeh
A man
A real real man
When u step to meeh
A real real man
When u step to meeh
A real real man
When u step to meeh
U gotta treat meeh
U gotta treat meeh
U gotta treat meeh
Riiiiiiiigggggggghhhhhhhttttttt
(fade out)
song performed by by One Voice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bossman
Beenie Man:
Well this is Beenie Man
The roughest toughest bumboclaat bad man from out of Jamaica
Hear this one, ya!
Beenie Man 'longside Sean Paul and Lady Saw
Oh Na Na Na
Well I'm a gangster for life
Take your life, take your wife, and everyting nice.
Gangster for life
Take your life, take your wife
Yes Jah!
Chorus:
Bossman!
Anytime you see me come around
Bossman!
Don't take bad man fi clown
Bossman!
Glack we move yuh head crown
Bossman!
Dis in a yuh own blood yuh drown
Bossman!
Bad man rule de compound
Bossman!
Dis and we bumb down yuh town
Bossman!
Feel say you can't stick around
Bossman!
Man a nuh no clown
Man a gangsta for life
Take your life, sex your wife, and everyting nice
Gangsta's paradise
Dat is ma life
Is a thug girl me want fi me wife.
You tink say yu bad man bad and come
You tink say yu tough man tough and come
You tink say yu rough man rough and come
Dis now a gunshot shall fire dung
Man a bad man a east
Tell them now dis
From a war man a freak
You shoot nuh miss
An if you run off ya beak
You make wit list
But if in New York we meet
Gunshot wi beat
Start war
You decease
Til it nah go cease
Sudden destruction when yuh check say a peace
Word out ya road man a say you a de beast
Well since yuh a de beast
Then a Teflon Feast
Chorus:
Anytime you see me come around
Bossman!
Don't take bad man for clown
Bossman!
Glock fi move your head crown
Bossman!
Dis in a yuh own blood yuh drown
Bossman!
Bad man lock down yo
song performed by by Sean Paul
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farewell To Tinkerbell
Hey Tink it's me Peter, I know it's been a long, long time
I hope you and the lost boys are doing just as fine
As that time we showed that Captain Hook and Smee a thing or two
I think you know why I'm rhyming and I hope that you're not blue
You see I'll keep you in my heart and you'll always be my friend
But I can't come back to Neverland again
You see I've found this great adventure and it's stronger than the Pan
And the path that I follow will help me be a man
And I know there will be times that I will wish for fairy's dust
You know I've found a good woman and she's cleaning up the rust
From this battered-up heart that's made of junkyard tin
But I can't come back to Neverland again
No I can't come back to Neverland again
I still want to hear the stories of treasure ships and fights
And all the daring rescues and all the full moon nights
Sprinkled with the light from stars above
And Tink you know you'll always have my everlasting love
So just clap your hands and count back down to ten
But I can't come back to Neverland again
No I can't come back to Neverland again
And the years will pass and all my hair turns gray
And I'll hear your voice while my grandkids play
And feel your mischief as they kick me in my shins
But I can't come back to Neverland again
No I can't come back to Neverland again
No I can't come back to Neverland again
No I can't come back to Neverland again
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Early Morning Tea
You are growing convalescent
As pain's fingers are withdrawn;
And you waken in a strange, white room at last;
Yet your thought is aught but pleasant
In the cold, grey winter dawn,
As you realise a weakness not yet past.
Then a little sound comes creeping
From some distant inner shrine,
And you bid farewell to sleeping
At that trebly welcome sign.
'Tis the tink-clink-tinkle of a teacup,
From morbid thought imagination stirs;
And with sharp anticipation you await the glad libation
The draught of draughts the thristing tongue prefers.
And you listen for that soul-uplifting gurgle,
As from the precious pot you hear them pour
The golden brew you're craving . . . Then a weak, white hand is waving
To the white capped Sister smiling at the door.
More than all that Juno's daughter
Bore to tables of the great,
Sweeter far than all Olympian Hippocrene,
More than all man's heady water
Is the nectar you await,
Now to nibble bred-and-butter in between.
Say, can this be stuff man gobbles
Listlessly some afternoon?
Or, to sound of bells and bobbles,
Underneath a bright bush moon?
Hear that tink-clink-tinkle of the teacup,
And the rattle of the spoon against the cup.
Was cup-bearer ever sweeter? Then you meekly smile to greet her
And most valiantly struggle to sit up.
So, having quaffed, your head sinks to the pillow,
And you know contentment, lately past belief,
As, your heavy eyelids closing, once again you fall to dozing
While you bless all China and the precious leaf.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Song Of The Negro Boatmen
O, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come
To set de people free;
An' massa tink it day ob doom,
An' we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves
He jus' as 'trong as den;
He say de word: we las' night slaves;
To-day, de Lord's freemen.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn:
O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
Ole massa on he trabbels gone;
He leaf de land behind;
De Lord's breff blow him furder on,
Like corn-shuck in de wind.
We own de hoe, we own de plough,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
But nebber chile be sold.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn:
O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
We pray de Lord: he gib us signs
Dat some day we be free;
De norf-wind tell it to de pines,
De wild-duck to de sea;
We tink it when de church-bell ring,
We dream it in de dream;
De rice-bird mean it when he sing,
De eagle when he scream.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn:
O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
We know de promise nebber fail,
An' nebber lie de word;
So like de 'postles in de jail,
We waited for de Lord:
An' now he open ebery door
An' trow away de key;
He tink we lub him so before,
We lub him better free.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
He'll gib de rice an' corn:
O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
So sing our dusky gondoliers;
And with a secret pain,
And smiles that seem akin to tears,
We hear the wild refrain.
We dare not share the negro's trust,
Nor yet his hope deny;
We only know that God is just,
And every wrong shall die.
Rude seems the song; each swarthy face
Flame-lighted, ruder still:
We start to think that hapless race
Must shape our good or ill;
That laws of changeless justice bind
Oppressor with oppressed;
And, close as sin and suffering joined,
We march to Fate abreast.
Sing on, poor hearts! your chant shall be
Our sign of blight or bloom,—
The Vala-song of Liberty,
Or death-rune of our doom!
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song Of The Negro Boatman
Oh, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come
To set de people free;
An' massa tink it day ob doom,
An' we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves
He jus' as 'trong as den;
He say de word: we las' night slaves;
To-day, de Lord's freemen.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn;
Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
Ole massa on he trabbels gone;
He leaf de land behind:
De Lord's breff blow him furder on,
Like corn-shuck in de wind.
We own de hoe, we own de plough,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
But nebber chile be sold.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn;
Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
We pray de Lord: he gib us signs
Dat some clay we be free;
De norf-wind tell it to de pines,
De wild-duck to de sea;
We tink it when de church-bell ring,
We dream it in de dream;
De rice-bird mean it when he sing,
De eagle when he scream.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn:
Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
We know de promise nebber fail,
An' nebber lie de word;
So like de 'postles in de jail,
We waited for de Lord
An' now he open ebery door,
An' trow away de key;
He tink we lub him so before,
We lub him better free.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
He'll gib de rice an' corn;
Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
So sing our dusky gondoliers;
And with a secret pain,
And smiles that seem akin to tears,
We hear the wild refrain.
We dare not share the negro's trust,
Nor yet his hope deny;
We only know that God is just,
And every wrong shall die.
Rude seems the song; each swarthy face,
Flame-lighted, ruder still:
We start to think that hapless race
Must shape our good or ill;
That laws of changeless justice bind
Oppressor with oppressed;
And, close as sin and suffering joined,
We march to Fate abreast.
Sing on, poor hearts! your chant shall be
Our sign of blight or bloom,
The Vala-song of Liberty,
Or death-rune of our doom!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dentist Dan
Nentis Nan, he's my man,
I go do im each chanz I gan.
He sicks me down an creans my teed
Wid mabel syrub, tick an' sweed,
An ten he filks my cavakies
Wid choclut cangy - I tink he's
The graygest nentis in the lan.
Le's hear free jeers for Nentis Nan.
Pip-pip-ooray!
Pip-pip-ooray!
Pip-pip-o oray!
Le's go to Nentis Nan dooday!
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Black Jacko
Old Black Jacko
Smokes tobacco
In his little pipe of clay.
Puff, puff, puff,
He never has enough
Though he smokes it all day.
But his lubra says, "Mine tink dat Jacky
Him shmoke plenty too much baccy."
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dragondream
Here the chains lie, sleeping only
clinking gently on the ancient stonework
steadily beating away, tink, tink, tink
With each massive breath and flutter of scales
Sleeping like a baby, smiling toothily
Dreaming of happiness, of constant love
Of a place away from the shackles
Comfortable in the fantasies of assumption
Hear her talk of love like it is broken?
As if all is uniform, all gray men the same
Speaking despair, letting the doubts coil like smoke
Calling to the beast to awaken, rise up and strike!
Like a prod, a painful, aching hurt
Chains snap taut, groaning, bolts fly free
Fire builds, muscles stretch, jaws agape
Roaring disconsolately he yearns for freedom to fly
His nails dig channels in the stones,
air whooshes into the chamber, down his throat,
the room becomes a furnace, burning stones as sacrifices
but when it cools, the peace is deceitful
Hear her say you're her favorite in the world
When you can only see the hurt there, what it needs
battling against your body and what it wants
Flailing questions, who do you serve, how do you serve?
Again the chains snap, and a shackle comes free
and the beast opens its eyes from the reality dream
The door opens, and a figure enters, cloaked in shadows
'Death comes soon, ' it says. 'Await it with dignity.'
Walks to the thrashing head, ignoring the flying chain
takes the straining head in hand, and strokes his jaw
warms its black hands in the terrible fire
The figure is calmly pushing back the passion
'Let it go, this world is not ready, ' says its dead voice.
'No passion willing or wanting, except acceptance.
'This place is the killing ground for dreams.
'Keep safely in your fantasies, dear dreaded second half.'
It takes the chain and bolts it back in place
and from shaded folds withdraws a book of poetry
One moment more, as it opens to a blank page,
and presents the book and a pen to the raging beast
'As I have placed your freedom in these chains,
'place your passion in the pages, and lock it up tightly
'These words might stem the tide just long enough,
'to extricate yourself from the possibility of pain.'
The figure turns and walks to the open door, says,
'When my courage is enough to unlock your prison
'Or when they finally find a way to kill me,
'I leave this body to you. Wake up, then, and fly.'
Still straining, the dragon tilts his head down
and feels the tears of tyranny run like an open wound
Gasping for grand, glorious release, he settles
Picks up the pen and the book, and starts to write.
poem by Poet Dragon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A High-Toned Old Christian Woman
Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven. Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
Like windy citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in principle. That's clear. But take
The opposing law and make a peristyle,
And from the peristyle project a masque
Beyond the planets. Thus, our bawdiness,
Unpurged by epitaph, indulged at last,
Is equally converted into palms,
Squiggling like saxophones. And palm for palm,
Madame, we are where we began. Allow,
Therefore, that in the planetary scene
Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
Smacking their muzzy bellies in parade,
Proud of such novelties of the sublime,
Such tink and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
May, merely may, madame, whip from themselves
A jovial hullabaloo among the spheres.
This will make widows wince. But fictive things
Wink as they will. Wink most when widows wince.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The High-Toned Old Christian Woman
Poetry is the supreme fiction, madame.
Take the moral law and make a nave of it
And from the nave build haunted heaven.Thus,
The conscience is converted into palms,
Like windy citherns hankering for hymns.
We agree in principle.That's clear.But take
The opposing law and make a peristyle,
And from the peristyle project a masque
Beyond the planets.Thus, our bawdiness,
Unpurged by epitaph, indulged at last,
Is equally converted into palms,
Squiggling like saxophones.And palm for palm,
Madame, we are where we began.Allow,
Therefore, that in the planetary scene
Your disaffected flagellants, well-stuffed,
Smacking their muzzy bellies in parade,
Proud of such novelties of the sublime,
Such tink and tank and tunk-a-tunk-tunk,
May, merely may, madame, whip from themselves
A jovial hullabaloo among the spheres.
This will make widows wince.But fictive things
Wink as they will.Wink most when widows wince.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kingdom Coming
Say, darkeys, hab you seen de massa,
Wid de muffstash on his face,
Go long de road some time dis mornin',
Like he gwine to leag de place?
He seen a smoke, way up de ribber,
Whar de Linkum gumboats lay;
He took his hat, an' lef berry sudden,
An' I spec he's run away!
De massa run? ha, ha!
De darkey stay? ho, ho!
It mus' be now de kingdom comin',
An' de year of Jubilo!
He six foot one way, two foot tudder,
An' he weigh tree hundred pound,
His coat so big, he couldn't pay de tailor,
An' it won't go half way round.
He drill so much they call him Cap'an,
An' he get so drefful tann'd,
I spec he try an' fool dem Yankees
For to tink he's contraband.
De darkey's feel so lonesome libing
in de loghouse on de lawn,
Dey move dar things to massa's parlor
For to keep it while he's gone.
Dar's wine an' cider in de kitchen,
An' de darkey's dey'll hab some;
I spose dey'll all be cornfiscated
When de Linkum sojers come.
De oberseer he make us trouble,
An' he dribe us round a spell;
We lock him up in de smokehouse cellar,
Wid de key trown in de well.
De whip is lost, de han'cuff broken,
But de massa'll hab his pay;
He's ole enough, big enough, ought to known better
Dan to went an' run away.
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Muhammad Ali
If all you keep hearing it so long you will see me as a super star
And youll have time to waste with your minions and tink
I see your face in front of me,
Still grainy from that old black and white tv
My whole family silenced,
Watching you shape destiny with your 2 hands,
Faster than the eye can see.
Mesmerizing
You know what skinny little me started to struggle,
10 years old suddenly bold
Cause I resolved to live like my hero in the ring,
Be smart never give an inch,
No retreat when Im wrapped up
Respect from teachers, red necks
And creatures who attack in a pack
Like incensed never seen the light not before or
Since a young prince
And I remain convinced of his invincibility
Athletic agility, virility,
Seen your free spirit for every through eternity stings
Like a bee mr muhammed ali
I want to know who you are!
I want to know who you are!
I want to know who you are!
Your achievements defy belief from the belly of the beast rising like yeast,
My release from low self esteem
Came when I saw you rapping on my tv screen.
Float like a butterfly,
That describes my walk to school after fight night
I felt so cool cause I was at place too,
Love myself born slippy
Outta love for you,
And I knew that someday people would love me too.
None of that heckling about my black skin got through,
I would walk bare foot through hell for you,
It was how I felt back then I would still do for you,
So accept these humble words of praise,
And my gratitude for those glorious days
And your victorious ways,
Instilled in the young minds,
Skill sublime yours to mine!
I want to know who you are!
I want to know who you are!
I want to know who you are!
song performed by by Faithless
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Morning
'LIAS! 'Lias! Bless de Lawd!
Don' you know de day's erbroad?
Ef you don' git up, you scamp,
Dey'll be trouble in dis camp.
Tink I gwine to let you sleep
W'ile I meks yo' boa'd an' keep?
Dat's a putty howdy-do-
Don' you hyeah me, 'Lias -you?
Bet ef I come crost dis flo'
You won’ fin’ no time to sno'
Daylight all a-shinin’ in
W'ile you sleep -w'y hit's a sin!
Aint de can'le-light enough
To bu'n out widout a snuff,
But you go de mo'nin' thoo
Bu'nin' up de daylight too?
'Lias, don’ you hyeah me call?
No use tu'nin' to'ds de wall;
I kin hyeah dat mattuss squeak;
Don' you hyeah me w’en I speak?
Dis hyeah clock done struck off six-
Ca'line, bring me dem ah sticks!
Oh, you down, suh; huh, you down-
Look hyeah, don' you daih to frown.
Ma'ch yo'se'f an wash yo' face,
Don' you splattah all de place;
I got somep'n else to do,
'Sides jes' cleanin' aftah you.
Tek dat comb an' fix yo' haid!-
Looks jes’ lak a feddah baid.
Look hyeah, boy, I let you see
You sha' n't roll yo' eyes at me.
Come hyeah; bring me dat ah strap!
Boy, I'll whup you 'twell you drap;
You done felt yo’se’f too strong,
An' you sholy got me wrong.
Set down at dat table thaih;
Jes' you whimpah ef you daih!
Evah mo'nin' on dis place,
Seem lak I mus' lose my grace.
Fol' yo' han's an' bow yo' haid-
Wait ontwell de blessin' 's said;
'Lawd, have mussy on ouah souls-'
(Don' you daih to tech dem rolls-)
'Bless de food we gwine to eat-'
(You set still -I see yo' feet;
You jes' try dat trick agin!)
'Gin us peace an' joy. Amen!'
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You'll Never Work In Dis Bidness Again
By: jimmy buffett, michael utley, vince melamed, josh leo,
Willie weeks, matt betton
For all of those who have dared to try, made it, and lived to tell about it.
-- spoken:
"he told it to the monkeys and they didn't talk back"
"then he told the old iguana and he didn't attack"
They told me before i started
That it never ever would work out
Stay in school, don't be a fool
But i had to see what life was about
So i went to biloxi seekin' fortune and fame
I got hired, i got fired, i got called dirty names
You'll never (never), never (never), work in dis bidness again
You'll never (never), no never (never)
Never work in dis bidness again
I knew i needed representation
And i found it one night in a bar
He was a bondsman and a part-time agent
And he said that he would make me a star
He said', "aaaah, you don't have to be that good
To make it out in hollywood
You just have to change and complain"
Or you'll never (never), never (never), work in dis bidness again
You'll never (never), no never (never)
Never work in dis bidness again
(synth and horn instrumental)
I parked cars at the rainbow
I sold maps of the stars
I got my nose broke in spago's
When i puked on the bar
And all i played's a double barmitzvah
(bubba played a double barmitzvah!)
It's a jungle out there (we love it)
Hell, i don't care
I'm going back to my predator friends
I will never (never), never (never), work in this bidness again
No i'll never (never), no never (never)
Never work in this bidness again
You'll never (never), never (never), work in this bidness again
-- spoken:
"ah, relax, vhere do you tink you're going vit dat suitcase?"
"i'm outta here!"
"you're leaving?! vat about my fifteen percent?"
"fifteen percent of nothin' is nothin'!"
"young man, you leave now and you'll never..."
"i'll never..."
"you'll never..."
"work in dis..."
"bizness..."
"bidness..."
"again!!"
- notes:
The parts of jimmy buffett and his manager played by vince melamed
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song Of The Banjo
You couldn't pack a Broadwood half a mile --
You mustn't leave a fiddle in the damp --
You couldn't raft an organ up the Nile,
And play it in an Equatorial swamp.
~I~ travel with the cooking-pots and pails --
~I'm~ sandwiched 'tween the coffee and the pork --
And when the dusty column checks and tails,
You should hear me spur the rear-guard to a walk!
With my "~Pilly-willy-winky-winky popp!~"
[Oh, it's any tune that comes into my head!]
So I keep 'em moving forward till they drop;
So I play 'em up to water and to bed.
In the silence of the camp before the fight,
When it's good to make your will and say your prayer,
You can hear my ~strumpty-tumpty~ overnight
Explaining ten to one was always fair.
I'm the Prophet of the Utterly Absurd,
Of the Patently Impossible and Vain --
And when the Thing that Couldn't has occurred,
Give me time to change my leg and go again.
With my "~Tumpa-tumpa-tumpa-tum-pa tump!~"
In the desert where the dung-fed camp-smoke curled
There was never voice before us till I led our lonely chorus,
I -- the war-drum of the White Man round the world!
By the bitter road the Younger Son must tread,
Ere he win to hearth and saddle of his own, --
'Mid the riot of the shearers at the shed,
In the silence of the herder's hut alone --
In the twilight, on a bucket upside down,
Hear me babble what the weakest won't confess --
I am Memory and Torment -- I am Town!
I am all that ever went with evening dress!
With my "~Tunk-a tunka-tunka-tunka-tunk!~"
[So the lights -- the London Lights -- grow near and plain!]
So I rowel 'em afresh towards the Devil and the Flesh,
Till I bring my broken rankers home again.
In desire of many marvels over sea,
Where the new-raised tropic city sweats and roars,
I have sailed with Young Ulysses from the quay
Till the anchor rumbled down on stranger shores.
He is blooded to the open and the sky,
He is taken in a snare that shall not fail,
He shall hear me singing strongly, till he die,
Like the shouting of a backstay in a gale.
With my "~Hya! Heeya! Heeya! Hullah! Haul!~"
[O the green that thunders aft along the deck!]
Are you sick o' towns and men? You must sign and sail again,
For it's "Johnny Bowlegs, pack your kit and trek!"
Through the gorge that gives the stars at noon-day clear --
Up the pass that packs the scud beneath our wheel --
Round the bluff that sinks her thousand fathom sheer --
Down the valley with our guttering brakes asqueal:
Where the trestle groans and quivers in the snow,
Where the many-shedded levels loop and twine,
So I lead my reckless children from below
Till we sing the Song of Roland to the pine.
With my "~Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!~"
[And the axe has cleared the mountain, croup and crest!]
So we ride the iron stallions down to drink,
Through the ca]~nons to the waters of the West!
And the tunes that mean so much to you alone --
Common tunes that make you choke and blow your nose,
Vulgar tunes that bring the laugh that brings the groan --
I can rip your very heartstrings out with those;
With the feasting, and the folly, and the fun --
And the lying, and the lusting, and the drink,
And the merry play that drops you, when you're done,
To the thoughts that burn like irons if you think.
With my "~Plunka-lunka-lunka-lunka-lunk!~"
Here's a trifle on account of pleasure past,
Ere the wit that made you win gives you eyes to see your sin
And the heavier repentance at the last!
Let the organ moan her sorrow to the roof --
I have told the naked stars the Grief of Man!
Let the trumpets snare the foeman to the proof --
I have known Defeat, and mocked it as we ran!
My bray ye may not alter nor mistake
When I stand to jeer the fatted Soul of Things,
But the Song of Lost Endeavour that I make,
Is it hidden in the twanging of the strings?
With my "~Ta-ra-rara-rara-ra-ra-rrrp!~"
[Is it naught to you that hear and pass me by?]
But the word -- the word is mine, when the order moves the line
And the lean, locked ranks go roaring down to die.
Of the driven dust of speech I make a flame
And a scourge of broken withes that men let fall:
For the words that had no honour till I came --
Lo! I raise them into honour over all!
By the wisdom of the centuries I speak --
To the tune of yestermorn I set the truth --
I, the joy of life unquestioned -- I, the Greek --
I, the everlasting Wonder Song of Youth!
With my "~Tinka-tinka-tinka-tinka-tink!~"
[What d'ye lack, my noble masters? What d'ye lack?]
So I draw the world together link by link:
Yea, from Delos up to Limerick and back!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ole Wirginny
In a little log house in Ole Wirginny,
Sum niggas lib dat cum from Guinny;
Dare massas flog' em berry little -
But gib dem plenty work and wittle.
Ole Massa Jim, real clebber body,
Ebbery day he gib dem toddy,
An' wen de sun fall in de ribber,
Dey stop de work - an' res de libber.
Chah! chah! dat de way
De niggas spen' de night an' day.
At night dey gadder round de fire
To ta'k ob tings wot hab perspire -
De ashes on de tater toss 'em,
Parch de corn an' roast de possum;
An' arter dat de niggas splutter,
An' hop an' dance de Chicken Flutter.
Da happy den an' hab no bodder -
Dey snug as rat in a stack-a-fodder,
Chah! chah! dat de way
De niggas spen' de night an' day.
'Twas on the nineteenf day of October,
When de Juba dance was ober;
Dey he' a great noise dat soun' like t'under,
Which make de niggas stare and wonder!
Now Cæsar say, he lay a dolla',
De debbil in de corn, for he hea'd him holler;
But Cuffee grin an say, 'Now cum see,
I b'lieb it's nott'in' but possum up a gum tree.'
Chah! chah! dat de way
De niggas spen' de night an' day.
Den one nigga run an' open de winda,
De moon rush in like fire on a tinder;
De noise soun' plainer, de niggas got fri'ten' -
Dey tink 'twas a mixture ob t'under and litenin'.
Some grate brack mob come cross de medder,
Da kine-a roll demsel's togedder;
But soon dey journ' dis exhalation,
Was nott'in' more dan de niggas from anoder plantation.
Chah! chah! dat de way
De niggas spen' de night an' day.
Dese noisy bracks surroun' de dwellin',
While de news one nigga got a-tellin';
De res ob 'em grin to hear ole Quashy
Menshun de name ob Gineral Washy.
He say dat day, in Yorktown Holler,
Massa George cotch ole Cornwaller;
An' seben t'ousand corn off him shell him -
Leff him nott'in' more'n a cob for to tell him.
Chah! chah! dat de way
De niggas spen' de night an' day.
He say, 'Den arter all dis 'fusion,
Dat was de en ob de rebolushun;
An nex day all roun' dat quarter,
Dey gwaing for to keep him as dey ort to.'
An dat dare massas 'specially say den,
De niggas mought hab hollowday den;
An dey mout hab rum all day to be quaffin',
All de niggas den buss right out a-laffin'.
Chah! chah! dat de way
De niggas spen' de night an' day.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue Guitar
I once knew a man
Showed me the slight of hand
In the blink of an eye, he danced across the strings
Played a song I'd never heard
Poignant and absurd
To this day it leaves me wondering
How I wish tomorrow I were fishin'
Boy I've got a mission
Shake it, rattle and roll
Ah, now, just use your intuition
You'll get less competition
From the clock up on the wall
You are what you are
You dream what you dream
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
Play me a serenade
A simple masquerade
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
'Cause we'll all make believe
Someone to deceive
Time is just a folly we can't see
You only know one song
Play it right or wrong
The truth is always somewhere in between
You and I, we can't change the weather
And we're all in this together
So let the strong winds blow
Ah, now things will be much better
If you don't become a prisoner
To the reason you should know
You are what you are
You dream what you dream
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
Play me a serenade
A simple masquerade
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
How I wish tomorrow I were fishin'
Boy I've got a mission
Shake it, rattle and roll
Ah, now, just use you intuition
You'll get less competition
From the clock up on the wall
You are what you are
You dream what you dream
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
Play me a serenade
A simple masquerade
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
You are what you are
You dream what you dream
Play on your Blue Guitar for me
Play me a serenade
Red wine or lemonade
Play on your Bl
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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