Us old fogies . . . uh folkies gotta stick together. Here's one of 'em:


THE BALLAD OF HENRY HOLLOWAY - Eric Bogle

(D)Saturday night & the bar-room is howlin' with (A)young weekend cowboys all (D)struttin' & prowlin'
(D)Drinkin' straight bourbon & tryin' not to shiver as it (A)burns down their throat & plays (D)hell with their liver
On a (D)small stage in the bar's farthest (A)corner sits Henry Holloway playin' his (D)guitar
(D)Under the spotlight, sweat on his face (G)glistenin', (D)singin' his heart out & (A)nobody's (D)listenin'

(G)Fire in the belly, (D)fire in the soul; (A)ambition's a fire that's (D)hard to control.
(G)Burnin' with bright dreams of (D)money & fame, (A)young Henry Holloway's (G)lost in the (D)flame.

Evylin sits by the stage, she's the only one clappin' with eyes brightly shinin', feet in time tappin'
Face full of love as she watches her man in his shirt of blue rhinestones she sewed on by hand
Sweet red lips movin' as she sings along joinin' with Henry in his every song
Although she's heard them about one million times Love is tone-deaf as well as stone blind

Now the noise in the bar's like a volcano explodin' but up on the stage young Henry's is floatin'
Eyes closed & driftin' through his favourite dream, he sings of places he's never seen
Like Nashville & Memphis, New York & L.A. You can bet even money he'll get there some day
But if he don't, he just might not care 'cause when he sings his songs, he's already there

Saturday night's turned into Sunday mornin', the bar-room is empty, the bartender's yawnin'
Home go the cowboys with their jeans & high boots; come Monday they'll put on their ties & dark suits
Back to the motel go Henry & Evylin she falls asleep with her arms wrapped around him
& dreams of motel rooms & cheap crowded bars Henry lies wide awake & dreams of the stars