Swamp Music
(ed king - ronnie vanzant)
Going down to the swamp
Gonna watch me a hound dog catch a coon
Well, Im going down to the swamp
Gonna watch me a hound dog catch a coon
You know the hounddog make-a music
On a summer night under a full moon
Lord, fetch my cane pole mama
Gonna catch a bream or maybe two
Lord, fetch my cane pole mama
Gonna catch a bream or maybe two
And when the hound dog start barkin
Sounds like ol son house singin the blues
(chorus)
Hound dog sing that
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
When the hound dog starts singin
I aint got them big ol city blues
Well, hey pretty mama
Lord, just take that city hike
Said go ahead pretty mama
Lord, just take your city hike
Well, Id rather live with the hound dogs
For the rest of my natural born life
(chorus)
Singing that
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Swamp, swamp, swamp, swamp music
Well, Id rather live with the hounddogs
For the rest of my natural born life
Well, Id wanna live with the hound dogs
For the rest of my natural born life
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
The Swamp
There's a swamp at the end your bed, he said,
at the end of my bed there's a swamp.
My daddy told me so, he did
whenever I wouldn't stay in bed.
There's a swamp at the end of your bed.
The swamp at the end of my bed
is filled with icky worms,
they squirm about and wriggle.
They're horrible, slippery worms, they are
They're horrible, slippery worms.
Still, I stole my daddy's boots last night,
I stole my daddy's boots
and when the hand strikes 12 O'clock
down to the end of the bed, I'll go
to the end of the bed, to the end of the bed,
down to the very edge.
Down in the quagmire's inners
lurk monsters, big and bold,
maybe an odd old leather boot
has fallen, so I'm told.
It will be such fun to explore it,
the swamp that seeps through the floor.
My daddy thinks I'll stay in my bed,
but staying in bed is a bore, I say
staying in bed is a bore.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Farewell of a Virginia Slave Mother
Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage
Gone, gone, - sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings
Where the noisome insect stings
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air;
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash
Shall a mother's kindness bless them
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go
Faint with toil, and racked with pain
To their cheerless homes again,
There no brother's voice shall greet them
There no father's welcome meet them.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play;
From the cool spring where they drank;
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there;
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
Oh, that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er
And the fetter galls no more!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
From Virginia's hills and waters
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
By the holy love He beareth;
By the bruised reed He spareth;
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.
Gone, gone, - sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Farewell
Of A Virginia Slave Mother To Her Daughters Sold Into Southern Bondage
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings
Where the noisome insect stings
Where the fever demon strews
Poison with the falling dews
Where the sickly sunbeams glare
Through the hot and misty air;
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
There no mother's eye is near them,
There no mother's ear can hear them;
Never, when the torturing lash
Seams their back with many a gash
Shall a mother's kindness bless them
Or a mother's arms caress them.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
Oh, when weary, sad, and slow,
From the fields at night they go
Faint with toil, and racked with pain
To their cheerless homes again,
There no brother's voice shall greet them
There no father's welcome meet them.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone
From the tree whose shadow lay
On their childhood's place of play;
From the cool sprmg where they drank;
Rock, and hill, and rivulet bank;
From the solemn house of prayer,
And the holy counsels there;
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
Toiling through the weary day,
And at night the spoiler's prey.
Oh, that they had earlier died,
Sleeping calmly, side by side,
Where the tyrant's power is o'er
And the fetter galls no more!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
From Virginia's hills and waters
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone;
By the holy love He beareth;
By the bruised reed He spareth;
Oh, may He, to whom alone
All their cruel wrongs are known,
Still their hope and refuge prove,
With a more than mother's love.
Gone, gone, -- sold and gone,
To the rice-swamp dank and lone,
From Virginia's hills and waters;
Woe is me, my stolen daughters!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Swamp Angel
Angels of good and ill are every where;
They haunt the city and the cottage lone;
Their seen or unseen presence fills the air,
And feels the stir of every laugh and moan.
And frequent are good angels as the bane
Of evil men, who name them evil things;
And darkest ministers of death and pain
Oft bear the angel light upon their wings.
So are they changed. The angel of the wind,
That speeds the sailor swiftly o'er the flood,
Is the sea demon of the crew behind,
Whose hands are eager for the stain of blood.
And many a mother has the angel blessed
Of the dark swamp, as with convulsive strain,
She clasps her wondering infant to her breast,
While baffled blood-hounds lick their chops in vain.
Before the wicked city's traitor hold
Stands a swamp angel all unangel-wise;
Perhaps some bondsman's prayer has made it bold,
Thus to put off its old and unseen guise.
And it sends back the hound's deep-throated tone.
Full with the message of resounding ill;
And the pale hunters curse it with a groan,
For the swamp angel is a demon still.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Amos Moses
Amos Moses was a Cajun.
And lived by himself in the swamp
Hunting alligator for a living.
Knock 'em on the head with a stump
The Louisiana law's gonna get you, Amos
It ain't legal hunting alligator down in the swamp, boy
Now everybody blamed his old man
for raising him mean as a snake
When Amos Moses was a boy,
his Daddy would use him as alligator bait
Tie a rope around his waist,
throw him in the swamp
Alligator bait on the Louisiana bayou
Just about 45 minutes
southeast of Tipidow, Louisiana
There lived a man called Duck Bill Sam
and his pretty wife Hannah
They raised up a son that could
eat up his weight in groceries
Named him after a man of the cloth.
They called him Amos Moses
Now folks in South Louisiana
said Amos was a helluva man
He could trap the biggest, meanest alligator.
He only had to use one hand
That's all he got left
'cause the alligator bit him. Ha ha!
Left arm gone clean up to the elbow
Just about 45 minutes
southeast of Tipidow, Louisiana
There lived a man called Duck Bill Sam
and his pretty wife Hannah
They raised up a son that could
eat up his weight in groceries
Named him after a man of the cloth.
They called him Amos Moses
Here comes Amos
And you should have seen his pretty wife, Hannah
Well, the Sheriff got wind that
Amos was in the swamp hunting alligator skin
So he hid in the swamp, I'm gonna get you boy.
He never did come out again.
Well, I wonder where the Louisiana Sheriff went to?
Sure can get lost in the Louisiana bayou (3X)
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Toad Frog And Tadpole
toad frog and their little son tadpole
were so happy pleased and proud
when their home in the far swamp
they did eventually newly renovate
the sun shone sparkling through
their neat rural aquatic homestead
like a friendly radiant bright crisp
clean vibrant yellow golden gate
illuminates intricate filigree lacy patterns
on their carefully arranged plants and flowers
happily they would together all sit outside
sucking in flies merrily for hours and hours
oh happy happy merry summer swamp scene
to renovate their aquatic home was their dream
this little corner swamp swept all spic and span
beauty still saved yet from dread destructive man
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Flowers Of The Nipa Palm
the flowers of the nipa palm assume the color of
the brown, brackish swamp
expectedly, these flowers shine on the swamp
like fists of an angry man
deep within the thick covering, if one tries hard enough
to open what it has closed for all these years
is a white cloud, thick with syrup, something sweet
its fruits, from the flowers of its fists.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crash On The Levee (Down In The Flood)
Crash on the levee, mama
Water's gonna overflow
Swamp's gonna rise
No boat's gonna row
Now, you can train on down
To Williams Point
You can bust your feet
You can rock this joint
But oh mama, ain't you gonna miss your best friend now ?
You're gonna have to find yourself
Another best friend, somehow.
Now, don't you try an' move me
You're just gonna lose
There's a crash on the levee
And mama, you've been refused
Well, it's sugar for sugar
And salt for salt
If you go down in the flood
It's gonna be your own fault
Oh mama, ain't you gonna miss your best friend now ?
You're gonna have to find yourself
Another best friend, somehow.
Well, that high tide's risin'
Mama, don't you let me down
Pack up your suitcase
Mama, don't you make a sound
Now, it's king for king
Queen for queen
It's gonna be the meanest flood
That anybody's seen
Oh mama, ain't you gonna miss your best friend now ?
You're gonna have to find yourself
Another best friend, somehow.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This house better get cleaned up in six months. The swamp is going to have to be drained pretty quickly.
Towns oftener swamp one than carry one out onto the big ocean of life.
quote by David Herbert Lawrence
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If you're to jump a swamp, you need to make one long hurdle.
Down In The Track
Tom johnston
I been workin the whole day long
On these railroad ties singin a sad, sad song
Down the track is a bad way to live
The boss mans whip is all hes got to give
And late at night in the twilight of the south
They put you in a cell and let the bulldogs out
The old cat down the way
Well hes singin out the blues
cause hes got no one back home
Oh, somebody sighed
Next day comes they send you back out on the track
All that sweat be drippin down off your back
Everybodys singin a workin mans song
Hopin they dont have to feel the whip on their bone
The water boy slowly works his way around
A bucket full of swamp water weighin him down
Old squezer walker just fell out on the ground
And theyre draggin his body away
Oh, my, my, my
Well, theres talk around camp
That theres gonna be a fight
Old razor face and willie black
The meanest dudes in sight
Ones got a razor and the others got a knife
But only ones gonna walk out alive
Oh, baby, mama, get me out of here
Cant stand no more
This place is gonna be the death of me
Believe to my soul that I gotta be free
Theres only one way that its every gonna be
Thats when the angels come and take me away
Well, now
Oh, baby, mama, get me out of here
Cant stand no more
This place is gonna be the death of me
Believe to my soul that I gotta be free
Theres only one way that its every gonna be
Thats when the angels come and take me away
Well, now
song performed by by Doobie Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lotus Flower 2
The lotus flower
Sprouts through the dirty water
Of a muddy swamp.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Swan Song
black swan song
red tai chi
foggy forest
damp swamp
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We will push those crooks, those mercenaries back into the swamp.
quote by Mohammed Saeed al-Sahaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If a frog leaves the swamp for the mountains, it means it is in danger.