Subject: Deadbird by mousethief From: bradfordian Date: 12 Oct 16 - 05:08 AM Deadbird by mousethief (Tune: Freebird (Lynyrd Skynyrd)) (Originally posted in this thread) If I die here tomorrow Would you still remember me? For I must be travelling on now There's too many species I gotta be But if I stayed here with you, Dad, Things just couldn't be the same Cos I wanna be a bird, now And this bird you cannot change Bye bye, it's been a sweet life I'll see you in a day or two But please don't take it badly If sometimes I sh*t on you Now I'm back and I'm a bird now Compared to being human it's not the same But I came back as a bird, now And this bird you cannot change Lord knows, I can't change Copyright © 2001 Alex Riggle. All Rights Reserved. |
Subject: Dance In The Mudcat Tavern by Amergin From: bradfordian Date: 12 Oct 16 - 05:07 AM Dance In The Mudcat Tavern by Amergin (Tune: Lord of The Dance) Amergin's Comments: Amerginwhoapologisestoanyonewhofeelsleftoutofthisbutifyougetmadathimforityoucanpissoff. The night has come and the moon is high The stars are dancing across the sky From the mists the faeries sing and prance They come and ask us to join the dance Chorus: Dance, dance, wherever you may be For its the Mudcat Tavern you see The music's great and the drinks are free We're all keeping time with the wild Banshee kat's in the kitchen cooking a meal Mbo's on the porch playing a reel Jen's in the yard dancing with her man Giac's drinking shine and he can barely stand Chorus Spaw's in the bedroom talking to the possums They talk back and he finds it really awesome Aine's getting up and saying "night to y'all The hour is late and I forgot my geritol" Chorus Mick's in the parlor to organise the sidhe Saying, "You must all stop working for free" They all realise they have been maligned So the faeries join Kaiser on the picket line Chorus Bert's in the back singing about his size It's how you use it I hope you realise Thomas is speaking in his rhymes He's been in Faery a thousand times Chorus Rick's on the roof a-singing his tunes Moonchild's down there dancing for the Moon The Moon gazes down and dances with her She reaches up and climbs to the stars Chorus And I'm in the corner writing a song The Faery Queen marches through the throng She picks me up and draws me to the dance And through the mists we kiss and prance Chorus The others come on in through the mists The FBI is here making a list There is no need to stop with the coming dawn For the Mudcat dance goes on and on Chorus |
Subject: The Crash of the Mudcat Server by Amos From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:49 PM The Crash of the Mudcat Server by Amos (Tune: On Springfield Mountain) In Pennsylvania, there did dwell An NT Server, I knew well This server's disks and RAM and FAT were dedicated to the 'Cat. Chorus: O toory oory, reety-reet, Escape, Control and Alt-Delete! One day this server of the race A single digit, did misplace And in a register so deep A hex code conflict soon did creep! Chorus This simple error, small and fine Soon crashed the Cat's collective mind! Dismay and grief did quickly spread! And several Mudcats lost their heads Brave Dave, the Canuck sailor bold Upon his floor did quickly fold. While lost to chat, our gentle Ann Burned all the cookies in the pan! Chorus Joe Offer did his very best To help dear Allison find a guest While Max stayed up through half the night Until the damn machine ran right While Sorcha, sophocleese and Kat Feared that they might be going bats And Amos ran around the halls Suffering symptoms of withdrawal! Chorus But now the Mudcat's back on line And everything seems to be fine One moral we can carry back! If you must get hooked, please get a Mac! Chorus |
Subject: Come All You Loyal Mudcats by Alice From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:47 PM Come All You Loyal Mudcats by Alice (Tune: Rocks of Bawn) Come all you loyal Mudcats, Wherever you may be, And don't follow just any webmaster, You know Max is for you and me. For you can log on early, In the clear day light of dawn, And I know that you'll always be able, To find your favorite song. My vocal cords may wear out, My voice, it may get thin, And my lips, they are a tremblin', For the shape that Catspaw's in. But our voices rise up early, In the clear day light of dawn, And I know that we're all able, To pray while he is gone. Well, rise up all you Mudcats, And sing to break of day, Don't sink into the deep despair, Of gloom and clouds of grey, Whatever this old world may bring, You know your friends are there, Cause all around the world, Mudcatters join in prayer. And Catspaw, he'll return again, He's here in every thread, For if you do a forum search, You'll find old things you've read, That made you wince or laugh and smile, The way he only can, And we know that when he's back here, Cat scat will hit the fan. So, blessings on all Mudcats, And be they near or far, We sit by cyber firesides, And drink another jar. By the flickering lights of monitors, We slide the silent mouse, And I know that wherever we're living, We're together at Max's house. Alice Flynn |
Subject: The Chromosomes Genomical by Bradypus From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:46 PM The Chromosomes Genomical by Bradypus We have the very model of the chromosomes genomical The implications of this feat are really astronomical We've sequenced every human gene, at least ninety percent of them Intelligent and cunning too, and using every stratagem We've introns, exons, codons, genes and bases found in DNA We've duplicated, replicated, translated it for many a day It's published on the net, and in the scientific literature We know we've made our mark, and that our science now is fit for sure Chromosomes one to twenty-two, and X and Y, there are no more Are just arrangements of the bases, and of these there's only four These bases, paired on DNA, contain all that you need to know For proteins, livers, hearts and brains and anything you want to grow With letters four the code is made, the letters A, C, G and T A pairs with T, and G with C, so replication works you see ATTAC ATTAC A GAG A CAT may not mean much to human eyes But in your genes the code is clear, more powerful than you realise The DNA makes RNA, that's carried to the ribosome And there the processes take place to make use of the chromosome Three bases at a time are read, an amino acid specified Then piece by piece the protein's built, the logic cannot be denied From smallest cell to largest bone, the human body bit by bit Is built from proteins, or at least a protein is involved in it And so you see, both you and me, although the notion's comical Are made and shaped and live and die by instructions genomical So if your eyes are brown or blue, and if your hair be thick or thin And if your blood is A or O, and what's the colour of your skin Your chromosomes have made it so, there's nothing left for you to do But pass them on, your genes will live in generations after you A single letter wrong passed on, in future that could spell bad news That's how genetic defects come, the future genome to confuse And so we think genes cause disease, but that is not the whole of it More oft than not things work out right, and that's what keeps the species fit. You'd think that now the genome's read, there's nothing left for us to do The truth is very different, let me tell you of this point of view We know the genes, but by and large we don't yet know what role they play There's still a lot of work to do to see exactly what they say And there's more to life than genes, for we react to our environment So predestination doesn't come just from the genome's government We're still free souls to choose, and our choice would be quite comical If we did nothing more now that we've cracked the code genomical |
Subject: The Cat Farts Serenade by Áine, Liz the Squeak, & From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:44 PM The Cat Farts Serenade by Áine, Liz the Squeak, and Paddymac (Tune: How Much Is That Doggie In The Window) Chorus: How much is that kitten in the window, The one with the odorous bum. The aroma is one that we should know, Reminds me of green river scum. His eyes are the colour of emeralds, His toothies they shine in the sun, I would love to hug him and kiss him, If his butt didn't smell like bad rum. (Chorus) He mews as I scratch his ears and hold him, He nuzzles my cheek with a purr, He raises his tail in greatest pleasure, Too bad that his end has no fur! (Chorus) The man says there'll be no charge for him, dear He's free to the first true good home, But beware of his little SBD's, dear, He could part the Red Sea with no comb! (Chorus) Áine Cooke (proudly owned by 3 normal size alley cats and a 17 lb. Siamese toy-boy who suffer from SBDs) |
Subject: California Steamin' by Anonymous From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:41 PM California Steamin' by Anonymous (Tune: California Dreamin') All the songs are gone, (all the songs are gone) And the sky is gray, (and the sky is gray) I sought out a tune (I sought out a tune) From the Mudcat Cafe (from the Mudcat Cafe) I'd be safe and sound, (I'd be safe and sound) If it was "Galway Bay", (if it was Galway Bay) But California Steamin' has led the thread astray! California Steamin' has led the thread astray! Stopped into a site I passed along the way, Oh, I got down on my knees, and I began to say -- You know, I think this song is old, I think it starts in A (I think it starts in A) California Steamin', (California Steamin') Please teach me how to play! "This kind of song is wrong (this kind of song is wrong) You should go away (you should go away) This site is for folk (this site is for folk) in a trad sort of way (in a trad sort of way) California Steamin' (California Steamin') has led the thread astray! But if you don' t help me, I'll be lost today (I'll be lost today) California Steamin' (California Steamin') don' t take this thread away! CHORUS: All the songs are gone, and the sky is gray I sought out a tune from the Mudcat Cafe -- I'd be safe and sound, if it was "Galway Bay" But California Steamin', has led the thread astray! |
Subject: Caitrin and the Geeks by Amos From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:39 PM Caitrin and the Geeks by Amos (Tune: Bar'bry ellen) Amos' Comments: Thanks for the yummie cookies! When Caitrin to this thread appeared, Her cookies were appealing! And soon the galley in my house Was a mess from floor to ceiling! I stirred and poured and measured out, And ruined several aprons! I broke my wristbone stirring dough Designed by charmin' Caitrin! And when the oven doors had closed And I was done with messing! I said a prayer to the Cookie God And asked for Caitrin's blessing. And when the baking smell arose I thought it most auspicious I gobbled down the first one out! That cookie was delicious! I ate another few just then And kept on madly baking! And soon the counters were all full And the table nigh to breaking! Then slowly, slowly, I stood up My awe for Caitrin mounting! So many cookies, ne'er I'd seen, Too many far for counting! I stacked them up on platters high When my own waistline was dragging. And staggered with them to the door They filled my station wagon. Then to the office I repaired All carbo'd out and laggard! And down the hall, to a table there, With Caitrin's cakes I staggered. 'Twas early early, in the morn When first I brought such plenty! But before noon, I swear 'tis true The platters all stood empty! So if you have too many made, Ye need not trash or bail them! Just bring them to a Software House And let the geeks inhale them!! |
Subject: By Your Fruits by MMario, Amos and Willa From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:37 PM By Your Fruits by MMario, Amos and Willa By your fruits shall ye be known Whether drupe or pome or berry Be they grain or nuts or melons If they give us food for thought Ye shall reap as you have sown, Whacky, kind or evil very, And the fruits that you are sellin' Tell us truly what is what! Gather up the fruit you've grown Wilde oats or Queen Anne's Cherry Borne on branch or stem or vine stew to jelly in your pot Thus the oldest air is known-- Not Greenfleeves or London Derry The most ancient song in time Is that Jelly Roll, by Gott! And when winter winds are blowin, And are hearts are full of care we Will recall what you were tellin And be happy with our lot. Yes the chill that Winter's blown Will not stop our making Merry! We'll not pause for kings or felons, While the Jelly Rolling's hot! When the laden tables groan We will sip a Christmas sherry In our warm and cosy dwellin And then dance a wild gavotte What care we for hearts of stone? Those whose tonguesa are barbed and serried? Those who bother us with sellin'? Dance with us, oh, these shall not! Where the wild Imagines roam, Fueled by grape and love and perry, We abandon cruel melan- Choly for a wilder trot! And we shall not dance alone. Let no one be sedentary, And the glorious voices swellin' Make this place a hallowed spot Yea, though hearts be hard as stone, Full of gloom extraordinary, There will be no use rebellin', Pure enjoyment is our plot. Wandering through the world alone, Finding none to share out story Weary of the world's pell-melling, With our hearts and spirits shot, Come as though to spirit home, To the end of ponderance hoary, Where the heart alone is telling, Jelly roll, and sweet Gavotte! |
Subject: Bowling With Rutabagas by Amos From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:36 PM Bowling With Rutabagas by Amos Bow! Bow! Bowling with Rutabagas My Uncle Bob bowls the rutabaga way! Bow! Bow! Bowling with rutabagas! He slips out of the house at the end of each day! We've learned where he goes, when the first twilight falls He's knocking plantains down with his twenty-pound balls It's kooky and weird, our sad family saga, My uncle Bob bowls for boiled rutabaga! The pinboy's a chef, with a tall crinkled hat He cries every time his 'bagas go "Splat!" Then he sets up some more, what do you think of that? Bowling with rutabagas is sure where it's at! Rutabagas are slimy and smelly and round And they will not stand up, so they can't be knocked down But they squash into paste when the balls come around And the boy with a scraper sets up the next round! Bow! Bow! Bowling with Rutabagas Uncle Bob bowls the long night away! Bow! Bow! Bowling with rutabaga And he comes home exhausted at the break of the day! We've tried to dissuade him, but Bob only snorts We point out that rutabagas are really too short But he says that our pleas will not stand up in court, And the size of the target just doubles the sport! Bow! Bow! Bowling with rutabagas, Bob bowls for boiled rutabagas at night! Bow! Bow! Bowling with rutabagas, And when he gets home he's a terrible sight! |
Subject: Bigfoot by EBarnacle From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:35 PM Bigfoot by EBarnacle (Melody: Joe Hill; July 21, 1987) I dreamed I saw Bigfoot last night As large as you or me; Sez I, "Bigfoot, you're just a myth." Sez he, "I'm what you see." [Repeat last line of each verse.] From San Diego, up through Maine, In every field and wood, Where campers meet to tell their tales, They talk of old Bigfoot. They tell of him with horror tales, They talk of him with glee, If someone goes to take a walk, They talk of mystery. The horror tales are all a sham, I am extremely shy; The harder that you look for me, The faster I slip by. I slip in shadow through the land, I quietly go by, You crowd me with development 'Til I've no place to hide. I dreamed I saw Bigfoot last night As large as you or me. Sez I "Bigfoot, you're just a myth." Sez he, "I'm what you see." |
Subject: Better Than You by Amos (Tune: A Few of My Favori From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:33 PM Better Than You by Amos (Tune: A Few of My Favorite Things) I can sing folk songs in roughly right rhythm I can take insults, and know how to give 'em I can choose Riesling, from 19-ought-two, All of this makes me much better than you! I can pick Dylan tunes even while napping Remember old folk-songs with no verses flapping Write lines in pentameter, green grass or blue, All of which makes me much better than you! When the threads cross, When the trolls flame, When the Mudcat's screwed... I simply remember I'm better than you, And then I don't feel so blue! I can remember the words to Loch Lomond I can recite all of "Down in the Gloaming" Cowboy and roustabout, madrigal, blues I do them all, so much better than you! I can come up with quatrains round and pretty Answer attacks with deflection so witty Speak out so openly, humble and true; Surely this must make me better than you! I have a banjo, a mandolin, zither My wife has left me, but still I don't mith her I have a Martin, a D-22! This surely proves I am better than you! Still I wonder, From high places, How it feels to fall, I notice that 'tho I am better than most, I don't get much mail At all! Dadadeedadadadeedeedadeeda..... Ching Kaching kachung..... |
Subject: Ballade Of The Brave New World by McGrath of Harlo From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:31 PM Ballade Of The Brave New World by McGrath of Harlow McGrath's Comments: (The title of this thread, "The Brave New World You Ordered's Here,") . . . struck me as well suited for a ballade, a verse form associated with such exponents as Francois Villon and GK Chesterton. For some strange reason out of vogue these days. Ballades can be songs – Georges Brassens has shown how. We'd seen Godzilla and the rest And King Kong on his perch on high And running crowds - but who'd have guessed? It came out of a clear blue sky. All on a bright September day The Towers fell in the morning air Our silver screen had shown the way - That Brave New World we ordered's here. The worst of days, and yet the best, As thousands of her children die The broken city stands the test Our hearts went out to hear the cry. And how could that be thrown away? But politics is built on fear By hollow men with feet of clay - That Brave New World we ordered's here. And Patriots are duly blessed To do whatever they decide No opportunity is missed To make a killing on the sly. For freedom has its price, they say And freedom's friends are so sincere, There's money in it anyway - That Brave New World we ordered's here. Prince Osman, in some shadowed cave Your victory it seems is near, Sweet Liberty steps to her grave - That Brave New World you ordered's here Copyright © Kevin McGrath 2003 |
Subject: Away Upon The Mudcat! By Amos From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:29 PM Away Upon The Mudcat! By Amos (Sea Chanty) Amos' Comments: Fondly tendered to the folkie sailors of the world, who sail the Mudcat everywhere. Now, MBo writes a mighty tune! Away, the Mudcat! To save hisself from the Keep of Gloom! We're away upon the Mudcat! Chorus: Now the Mudcat sails beyond the law!Away, the Mudcat! With Pirate Dave and Curmudgeon Spaw! We're away upon the Mudcat! O, Sailor Dave he keeps the chart. Away, the Mudcat! But Caitrin keeps young Mbo's heart! We're away upon the Mudcat! O, the Figurehead is Lady Kat! Away, the Mudcat! So sailors what d'ye think o' that? We're away upon the Mudcat! Oh, the Mudcat saves them folkies' souls. Away, the Mudcat! An' Spaw he saves up possum holes! We're away upon the Mudcat! Mudcat she weathers any blow! Away, the Mudcat! With Max aloft, and LEJ below! We're away upon the Mudcat! So hoist her up, and cast her off! Away, the Mudcat! We're on the bar! Send Joe aloft! We're away upon the Mudcat! Chorus: Away upon the Mudcat! The Mudcat schooner, O! That Mudcat takes you anywhere, that you would want to go! |
Subject: Anonymous, Unreal and Phony by mousethief (Tune: From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:28 PM Anonymous, Unreal and Phony by mousethief (Tune: "Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka-Dot Bikini") He was afraid to come out in the Mudcat So personnas around him he wore He was afraid to be himself in the Mudcat So he posted as "GUEST" ever more (two three four tell the people what he wore) It was anonymous, unreal and phoney, ever-new Mudcat personae That he wore on his Mudcat forays Anonymous, unreal and phoney, ever-new Mudcat personae Who knows who he's gonna be here, today? (additional verses left as an exercise for the reader) |
Subject: All The Fighting, Lord by Amergin (Tune: All My Tr From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:26 PM All The Fighting, Lord by Amergin (Tune: All My Trials) Hush my country, don't you cry You know that we all are born to die May all the fighting, Lord, soon be over It's not too late, dear brothers It's not too late to march together May all the fighting, Lord, soon be over As my tears ring out in the moonlit night I pray you'll lower your rifle sights May all the fighting, Lord, soon be over I've got an orange sash given to me Stitched on the breast are strips of green May all the fighting, Lord, soon be over There is a wall they call the Peace Line Tear it down and let your hearts shine May all the fighting, Lord, soon be over |
Subject: A Song for the Gathering by Matthew Edwards From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:23 PM A Song for the Gathering by Matthew Edwards It was on one February evening when frost lay all around, I walked through Stony Statford, as snow fell to the ground. I was seeking for a 'Cat house, some contentment for to find, And music, joy, and laughter to ease my lonely mind. I called in at the House of York, and there it did me please To hear sounds of voices singing in sweetest harmonies. The ale was freely flowing; with glasses raised on high The Mudcatters were drinking to the one and only Dai. So fill your glasses to the brim, and let us make a toast To that scion of statistics, our gentle bard and host. And if you're tired of wandering along old Watling Street, Call at the Cock Inn, or the Bull, where music and friends meet. |
Subject: A Scouting Song by InOBU, Morticia, Áine, Liz the From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:13 PM A Scouting Song by InOBU, Morticia, Áine, Liz the Squeak, ivy b* Add a verse... The High Court in America Up holds the old ideals Keep gays out of Boy Scouting Leave Scouting to the pedophiles! Baden-Powell, gawd bless 'im Stood for Truth and Steadiness Scouting for boys in his spare time And avoiding beastliness Chorus: Let's sing the song of Scouting! No rouged lips or pouting, We sleep outside, all fellas by our side, It's just guys, no doubting! Let's not forget the Girl Scouts, Let's not be shy or scared. If you find one in the bushes, Just remember, be prepared! Come rain or shine or thunder We'll be camping out of doors, Eating food that makes us chunder, And longing for walls and floors. Missing my far off girl guide, My god i really need 'er, There's only old 'Akela' here, And that friendly boy scout leader. Chorus But now the times are changing, Watch progress onwards tramp, I didn't know this was what they meant When they said pitch out the camp. We Scouts will light a big bonfire And praise our faggot bearers, But leave the sparklers home ye lads, We prefer those 'real' firecrackers! Chorus |
Subject: A New Song for The Gathering by Matthew Edwards From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:11 PM A New Song for The Gathering by Matthew Edwards Let me wake up in the morning to the sound of kazoos humming, And the merry whirr of toothbrushes to greet the dawning day. The thumping of the cloggies will set the floors a-drumming, As I stumble over sleeping bags to wash my sins away! How I long to spend the daytime 'mid the sounds of voices singing, As all along the High Street 'Catters sing, and dance, and play. In the pubs of Stony Stratford sweet harmonies'll be ringing, While on Horsefair Green a hamster's guiding John from Hull astray! In the evening the 'Catscratch Band will send my feet a-leaping, Until the dancing's over, and the last notes fade away. Then I'll climb the stairs of York House where I hope I'll soon be sleeping, And I'll count the sheep with Eric, and thus end a happy day. |
Subject: A Mothers' Day by Spider Tom From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:08 PM A Mothers' Day by Spider Tom Spider Tom's Comments: I think it would be timely to put this on a thread. There are many Mothers' stories floating about. Now there is another, based on a true story as told to me by (I'll let you know when I get her permission) They say you have no secrets if you know someone who writes. The Kids had been out playing, And they ran into the house, Shouting, come on Mummy, Look at what we've got, Their eyes looked so delighted, And they were so excited, I said , "Come on kids, Your gonna' show me, what?" Their little hands unfolding, My eyes were now beholding, A vagabond, a rodent, A wee mouse, I kept all my decorum, A good mum, won't ignore 'em, I didn't scream, Or run about the house. "Oh! Can we keep him, Mommy?" My kids, are milk and honey, "We can keep him in a box' Feed him crumbs, upon a plate, And so he won't get lonely, And be the one and only, Can you take us to the pet shop, And buy the mouse a mate?" Now, you know its true, a Mother, Just like, any other, Can be weakened by, Two loving, pleading kids, I nearly did succumb, Until, when eating crumbs, The little mousey, Ran away, and hid. Two children, broken hearted, The mouse, and them were parted, We wound up in the pet shop, After all. I gently, did coerce them, Me, their mother, Who did nurse them, Not mice, but lovely goldfish, That was my final call. I find it quite intriguing, Our cat now, sticks his beak in, I think he seems to, Like the look of fish. Yet if he'd not been lax, And done his mouse attacks, We wouldn't own, Two fishes in a dish. © Ken Robertson (Story, you know who...) 21/4/2000 |
Subject: A Better Way by Amos From: bradfordian Date: 10 Oct 16 - 05:05 PM A Better Way (first posted on this thread) (words by A. and D. Jessup) (Tune: J. Rodgers) Amos' Comments: I wrote a song last month or so for Larry Dossey, on the subject of Alternative Therapy! -- he's a senior editor on the board of a publication in these parts on the subject -- and it had him ROTFL. So it's only fair he should provide inspiration back to Catspaw! ..G Well, I knew a nurse named Suzy ..G She used to be a floozy, ..G........................................................C Until she learned about the laying on of hands. ..C........................................C Well, she found her patients healing ..C....................................C And now she's promoting feeling ..C.......................A......A7......................D7 But the doctors on her ward don't understand. ..D7...........................G She's found a better way. ..G............................C She's found a better way. ..C...............D7 She says, "I love the way it makes them feel, ..D7.............................D7 And I'm awful glad it's really real. ..D..........................G She found a better way. ..G................D............................G Yodelayeee, yodelaaye, yodeloooooo! Now that surgeon, Billy Kazer, He was handy with his razor. He would operat e on organs, bones and toes!. But he did some conscious growing Found a whole new way of knowing Now he straightens out their energetic flows! He's found a better way. He's found a better way. With his powers of perception, He succeeds without deception He's found a better way. Yodelayeee, yodelaaye, yodeloooooo! I knew a pharmacist named Sam, He didn't give a damn. He used to think that drugs could make you well. Then he finally got the word And he started learning herbs, And he told those druggy salesmen, "Go to hell." He found a better way He found a better way Now he hands out astaxanthin And the old folks take up dancin' He got a better way. Yodelayeee, yodelaaye, yodeloooooo! There was a shrink named Slatter, He thought people were just matter, He'd say, "You know, it's all inside your brain." Then he stepped outside his body It made the universe look shoddy And he found out what's behind those funny pains. He found a better way. He found a better way. No more Freudian condemnations, Now he asks about creations. It's a better way. Yodelayeee, yodelaaye, yodeloooooo! There was an old GP named Harry He used to be quite scary. He'd hand out pills to everyone in town. Then he had a revelation. And he learnedcommunication Now the patients come to see himjust to hang around! He found a better way. He found a better way. And they think the world of him, Although his nurses look quite grim, He's found a better way. Yodelayeee, yodelaaye, yodeloooooo! There was a candy striper, Nancy Well, her uniform was fancy But she thought that giving shots was much too hard, Well she had an inspiration, Started practicing mediitation Now she cures them through their auras From over fifty yards! She found a better way, She found a better way! When those fields get undistorted They just heal, she has reported, Its a better way. Yodelayeee, yodelaaye, yodeloooooo! Now I know a doc named Larry He is far from ordinary He always knows what goes on behind the scenes. And he says with some effusion, There is only one conclusion: The ghost is twice as big as the machine. He's found a better way. He's found a better way. So if you're going to treat the whole, Don't forget to see the soul, 'Cuz it's a better way. It's a better way ..C....D7......D#7......G it's a be--ett--er wa---yyyy! |
Subject: You Can't Keep Me From Singing! by Gordon MacDona From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:44 AM You Can't Keep Me From Singing! by Gordon MacDonald (Sung to the tune of "How Can I Keep From Singing") My life flows on, but something's wrong, I'm caught in consternation. Whenever I begin to sing, There's rising agitation. My singing voice was not my choice, Fate brought it sweetly winging. Since Fate's to blame, I now proclaim, You can't keep me from singing. My voice is hoarse, but then, of course, A smooth, sweet voice is boring. And if a song be sad or long, I pep it up by roaring. To sing on pitch is something which, Was not in my upbringing, To song off-key sounds fine to me, And you can't keep me from singing. If I sing just right, I can incite, A docile group to riot; Or to offer me a handsome fee, If only I'll be quiet. But I don't bargain with a mob, Though tar and feathers they're bringing. Put down that noose and turn me loose! You can't keep me from singing. The birds have fled my neighborhood, Their tiny eardrum shattered, My neighbors too have said, "Adieu", But it hasn't really mattered. My daily mail brings threats of death, And curses coarse and stinging, I heed them not - they're a tin-eared lot, And they can't keep me from singing. Each living thing its song must sing, Life sings to life in chorus. Our song brings courage when we do, Not know what lies before us. Our songs of freedom, love, and hope, Down through the ages ringing, Cold Death defy, and that is why, You can't keep me from singing. |
Subject: Untitled by Alice From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:42 AM Untitled by Alice (Tune of Auld Lang Syne) Should all the 'catters scratch their heads, And dare to bring to mind, A clever thought for these poor threads, Dead flea, bike seat, orange rind? We've wandered many a weary night, Through lists of lyrics fine, But now discussions make us bored, Been there, done that, ten times. We've reached the evil fate of late, With age, place, face, and kind, Of writing more about ourselves Than instruments and rhyme. So here's a hand for Helen fair Give us a song of thine, Many thanks for inspiration here, And now you've read all mine. Alice Flynn |
Subject: Times Changing by Micca From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:40 AM Times Changing by Micca (first posted in this thread) Come, gather round 'Catters where ever your home and admit that its time to adjust your time zone and don't you "fall back" if its spring where your from If your time to you is worth saving And you'd better stop winging or you'll sound like a drone for the clocks they are a changing Come folkies and poets whose profit is your pen And keep your eyes open cos its come round again And of the wedge it may be the end thin And there's no telling where it is aiming Oh the loser now will be later to win For the clocks, they are a changing Come senators, congressmen, please heed the call Don't alter our clocks as they hang on the wall For like Arizona maybe we should have stalled and against this mad scheme should be rageing but resistance is useless in church or in hall For the clocks, they are a changing Come mothers and fathers through out the land The time has arrived for us to take stand Your sons and your daughter are watching the hands You are ancient and rapidly aging and explain once again so that they understand that the clocks they are a changing The time, it is shown, and gone back at last And the present now will soon be the past The first one now will later be last The tick-tock is rapidly fading and The slow one now will later be fast For the clocks , they are a changing |
Subject: Roundup, Montana by Alice Flynn From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:37 AM Roundup, Montana by Alice Flynn (To the tune of Kilkelly by Peter Jones) Roundup, Montana, 19 and 60, my darlin' daughter Lucille, Your Mother has asked me to write you this letter, I hope I can say how we feel. I know you've been wishin' for a job in the city All the years growin' up on the ranch. Seems all the young folks are moving away now Just seems like they want a new chance. The boy from the rimrocks still askin' about you I remember as youngsters you'd play. I'm goin' to town now, so I'll post this letter, Please write when there's something to say. Roundup, Montana, 19 and 70, my darlin' daughter Lucille. The neighbor boy came home from 'Nam in a coffin, it really was a raw deal. He had much to live for, I don't think his father will ever get over the loss, I hope you remember to drop them a line, there's been too many payin' that cost. I'm sure that the city has money to offer, but you know life means more than that, It's times like the present we think about loved ones, So, please call collect and we'll chat. Roundup, Montana, 19 and 80, my darlin' daughter Lucille. The coal money's makin' some changes round here, and the real estate seems like a steal. Lots a new folks movin' here from the cities, they want their own piece of the land. Cashin' in houses in L A and Frisco, they buy up whatever they can. Mother and I were just talkin' bout sellin', we don't know how else to go on. Ranchin' has always been our way of life, but the times when it paid are all gone. Seems like you really have found a new home there, we always had hoped you'd come back. Guess now that you've married that engineer fella, We'd better stop counting on that. Roundup, Montana, 19 and 90, my darlin' daughter Lucille. I just finished taken some tourists out hunting, they sure like a real Western meal. Mother's been cookin' all day for the greenhorns, I really wish she'd take a rest. Without some retirement it seems we'll keep workin', as long as our health stands the test. I hate to sell out, you know this land's my father's, he fought the depression and won. And after his struggles, it seems like I owe him to knuckle down deep and work on. I guess you don't care about seein' the old place, I know you're all busy with kids. We still have some horses, I could teach them ridin', You remember old Paint and old Dibs? Roundup, Montana, the year of 2000, to the daughter of Dusty and Sal, Your parents have started a dot.com on ranching and asked me to send this email. They're really too busy to write to you now, cause their IPO's hotter than hell, So, here is their website, I hope you will visit, along with your husband as well. We know that your life has a different direction, so the land here is going in trust. They want to protect it from big subdivisions and if this cuts you out - then it must. They figured since you never answered their letters except to complain about them, The life in Montana was not what you wanted, Sincerely, the hired-man, Slim. Alternate last verse, for Wolfgang: Roundup, Montana, the year of 2000, to the daughter of Dusty and Sal, We've gathered the neighbors and your cousins together, now that the ranch is for sale. We're so glad your coming, your parents are thankful that you will be finally home. And since you can purchase the land of your father's, the bank can be paid off the loan. When Dusty came out to the bunk house to tell me, I thought he was saying goodbye, I never expected to see tears and laughter, but down by the barn we both cried. His heart's in this land and I'd thought you'd forgotten, but now he and Sal both agree, The years of their hard times to keep this old homestead will give you a life sweet and free. |
Subject: Roll On Columbia by Alice From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:35 AM Roll On Columbia by Alice Alice's Comments: (Sorry Woody) My bicylce made by Columbia Elite, For my comfort had a soft bicycle seat, I sped down the street peeling oranges so neat, The members of Greenpeace would say, Roll on, Columbia roll on, Roll on, Columbia roll on, Your power is p.c. and doesn't take brawn, So roll on, Columbia, roll on. I only ate oranges and apples and pears I protested killings of bison and bears The loggers were jobless, but I said "who cares", And all of the vegans would say, Roll on, Columbia roll on, Roll on, Columbia roll on, Your power is veggie, let's graze on the lawn, So roll on, Columbia, roll on. The food co-op taught me to stop eating cheese, To stop using soap or things made out of trees, But, I found there were many diseases from fleas, So to all those fanatics I say, Roll on, Columbia roll on, Roll on, Columbia roll on, The power to think for myself isn't gone, Now roll on, Columbia, roll on. Alice Flynn |
Subject: The Road to Mudrock-O by Alice From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:32 AM The Road to Mudrock-O by Alice Alice's Comments: With apologies to the Bingster. We're off on the Road to Mudrock-o This camel is tough on the Spaw Where they're goin', why we're goin', how can we be sure I'll lay you eight to five that we'll meet Alice and harpgirl. Off on the road to Mudrock-o Hang on till the end of the line I hear this cafe's where they do the dance of the hokey-poke We'd tell you more but a certain person doesn't get the joke We're off on the road to Mudrock-o Well look out, well clear the way, 'cause here we come The men wear thongs, they play bodhrans, and blow a possum's ass It seems to me there should be easier ways to get a lass. Off on the road to Mudrock-o Hooray! Well blow the pipes, logon the hour, We may run into gargoyles but we're not afraid to roam Because we read the story and we end up safe at home (yeah) We're off on the road to Mudrock-o We certainly do get around Like Webster's Dictionary we're Mudrock-o bound We're off on the road to Mudrock-o We certainly do get around Like a complete set of Shakespeare that you get in the corner drugstore for a dollar ninety-eight We're Mudrock-o bound Or, like a volume of Omar Khayyam that you buy in the department store at Christmas time for your cousin Julia We're Mudrock-o bound (we could be arrested) Alice Flynn |
Subject: Ripple (Flowed Like Water) by Sonja From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:30 AM Ripple (Flowed Like Water) by Sonja (Tune: Ripple, words by Robert Hunter, music by Jerry Garcia) (Parody by Sonja W. Oates ©2001; chords can be found in this thread) Sonja's Comments: I don't think Jerry would've minded. If my head did ring with that jolt of sunshine And my nerves were frayed like a clock unsprung, Could you hear my breath come through the mucus? As I blew my nose, it sounded like a gun! It's a hangover, my thoughts are broken. Perhaps I'd better stay in bed, Well, I don't know, I don't give a damn. It was a party, a really swingin' jam! Ripple flowed like water, Now there's many cookies tossed and chunks to blow. Screw off the cap if your cup be empty, Your head feels full, and it will be again, Let it be known the nausea's a- mountin.' That wine was made by one sadistic man! Out on the road, I can't see the highway Between my eyes there's a blur of light. And where I walk no one could follow, That zigzag path is from my steps a lone. Ripple flowed like water, Now there's many cookies tossed and chunks to blow. Those who booze it up must wallow, And if we fall, we're drunk or stoned, But you can stand, and you are still sober-- If you know the way, won't you take me home? La da da da da Da da da da da da .... etc. |
Subject: Oh Boy, Danny by Peter Benson and Jeff Porterfield From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:28 AM Oh Boy, Danny by Peter Benson and Jeff Porterfield (jeffp) (originally posted in this thread) jeffp's Comments: Here's yet another parody of Danny Boy, written over several pints by myself and a good friend, Peter Benson, a local folksinger originally from Yorkshire. Oh, Danny boy, they claim that you are Irish But we both know you're English through and through And if you really want to know what I wish I truly wish that I had never heard of you 'Cause every March they make me sing about you And every drunkard thinks that he can too And when they miss that high note it's so painful That if you heard it I think it would kill you too Oh, Danny boy, when Irish eyes were smiling It was before they ever heard of you. In Galway Bay the tides are still retiring Because that song you caused has made them blue. So don't come back in summer or in springtime Don't show your face at state or county fair. Some drunken sot will sing your praises loudly; And we find that we must ban your Derry air. So Danny boy, we'll raise our glasses to you. And thank the Lord you've left for God knows where. Black Velvet Band is being sung in lieu of you, And we would rather go to Hell for her. But we remember how you raised our glasses, And made our voices ring the whole night long. So Danny boy, although we love you dearly Hit the road and take your misbegotten song. |
Subject: Missing the Mudcat on the Banks of the Ohio by BSe From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:26 AM Missing the Mudcat on the Banks of the Ohio by BSeed I met my Baby on a thread; Our souls are one, that's what she said. She said she'd always be with me, But the Mudcat's down--where can she be? (Cho.) Max, only say you'll bring 'em back: Without the 'Cat, what good's my Mac? Each time a weekend rolls around, I'm all alone, 'cause the threads are down. We always met, my Baby and me, At the topmost thread just after three. We'd play thread-tag 'til time for bed, But not tonight, 'cause the threads are dead. It's Friday night, and I'm alone, All I can do is weep and moan, All I can do is cry the blues, My Baby's gone, nuthin' left to lose. |
Subject: Message to JennyO & Daylia by Nigel Parsons From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:24 AM Message to JennyO & Daylia by Nigel Parsons (with apologies to Noel Coward) (first posted in this thread) You do it, I do it, We can learn to send PMs through it, Let's do it, Let's join the 'Cat. Mrzzy do it, Aine do it, Bodhran players with a brain do it, Let's do it, Let's join the 'Cat. Way back in time did InObu do it And he's still in the show. It's time that you do it, Come on, have a go! You do it, I do it, We can learn to send PMs through it, Let's do it, Let's join the 'Cat |
Subject: I'll Have Guinness Free by Sonja From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:22 AM I'll Have Guinness Free by Sonja (Parody of "Isle of Innisfree." by William Butler Yeats; tune: "Dreams of Alwyn" &nbso; Parody lyrics by Sonja W. Oates © 2001) I've met some folks who say that I'm drinker, And I've no doubt there's truth in what they say, But, sure, body's bound to be drinker When 'e's got aches and pains and bills to pay. A precious thing is drinking in an ale house. It takes yer mind off work and misery, Especially when somebody buys a round f'r all, And I'm in 'eav'n, 'cause I'll 'ave Guinness free.. But draughts don't last, too soon ye reach the bottom, And soon I'm back to stern reality. But, though the paths to it were thorn'd and winding, I'd choose to go where I'll 'ave Guinness free.. (repeat last line) (guitar only) I wonder if man can find in heaven All the sweet things denied 'im 'ere below. They say the music there is sung by angels-- Per'aps the ale there also freely flows. So, when the bonds of this old earth I shrug off, My dear old pub perhaps I will behold, The mates I love around the old bar gathered, With bended elbows singing songs of old. So to prepare for meeting old St. Peter I'll go to mass and say my rosary, So when I take my leave of earthly sorrows I sure will go where I'll 'ave Guinness free. |
Subject: The Hash My Father Scored by Micca From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:20 AM The Hash My Father Scored by Micca Micca's Comments: Here's one for the parodiests Tune: the Sash my father wore It was gold and it was beautiful and it cost 2 pence a gram He scored it on the ferry coming back from Amsterdam He said it's just like Lebanese from the bygone days of yore And when I can I like to smoke the hash my father scored That green grass and resin so fine It gives you a feeling divine It would raise both the dying and the living That green grass and resin so fine. When my father died he left to me his house and all his tin I opened the Good book and found a Kilo stashed within And now when I'm unhappy and sometimes when I'm bored I light a spliff in memory of the hash my father scored That green grass and resin so fine It gives you a feeling divine It would raise both the dying and the living That green grass and resin so fine. But now the years have passed and gone and all that hash has flown You can't get stuff like that these days I've even tried home-grown But I can still remember how upward I have soared Outflying British Airways on the hash my father scored That green grass and resin so fine It gives you a feeling divine It would raise both the dying and the living That green grass and resin so fine. It was gold and it was beautiful and it cost 2 pence a gram He scored it on the ferry coming back from Amsterdam He said it's just like Lebanese from the bygone days of yore And when I can I like to smoke the hash my father scored written by Mike Patterson |
Subject: Fleece Mom and Dad! by Genie From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:18 AM Fleece Mom and Dad! by Genie (Can be sung to "¡Feliz Navidad!" by Jose Feliciano) (Words by Jeanene Pratt ©1999 (3rd verse ©2001) Genie's Comments: Here's one I wrote 2 years ago for our church's "Alternative Gift Market and Buy-Nothing Day" project. Chorus: Fleece Mom and Dad! Fleece Mom and Dad! Fleece Mom and Dad! Don't spare their budget, make the kids feel glad! (Repeat) We'll make the kids want a brand new Nintendo Some Pokemons and a Tickle me Elmo! And Ken and Barbie--so Wal-Mart can sell mo' And fill up those shopping carts! Chorus For many months how the kids have implored 'em For Beanie Babies--just watch people hoard 'em--, Video games to relieve kiddies' boredom, And the latest trading cards! Chorus Letters to Santa can be so heart-rending With 20-page "gimme" lists that they're sending! It's patriotic this year to be spendin', So our bottom line stands hard! Chorus For many months how the kids have implored 'em For Beanie Babies--just watch people hoard 'em--, Video games to relieve kiddies' boredom, And the latest trading cards! Chorus And the bottom line stands hard! |
Subject: Enron-ron-ron by mousethief From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:17 AM Enron-ron-ron by mousethief (Tune: Da Doo Ron Ron) I bought it on a Monday, twenty bucks a share The Enron-ron-ron, the Enron-ron Now it's down to twenty cents, and going south from there The Enron-ron-ron, the Enron-ron Yeah twenty bucks a share Yeah going south from there Now all my saving's gone The Enron-ron-ron the Enron-ron. They used to be the big name in the power game The Enron-ron-ron the Enron-ron Now they can't afford to keep their ballpark name The Enron-ron-ron the Enron-ron Yeah they owned the power game Yeah they gave the field a name Now they're on the welfare line The Enron-ron-ron the Enron-ron The Congress is in outrage and begins to yell The Enron-ron-ron the Enron-ron What happened to this firm that lined our wallets so well? The Enron-ron-ron the Enron-ron Yeah they begin to yell Yeah it lined their wallets well Now that cash-cow is gone The Enron-ron-ron the Enron-ron Copyright ©2001 Alex Riggle. All Rights Reserved. |
Subject: Don't Think Once by mousethief From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:14 AM Don't Think Once by mousethief (Tune: Don't Think Twice (Dylan)) It ain't no use in turnin' on your brain, babe Like you never done before It ain't no use in turnin' on your brain, babe You don't need it any more When Limbaugh's on, just set your dial Sit down, kick back, and listen for a while Then say "ditto" with a vacant smile Don't think once, it's alright. It ain't no use in checkin' out the facts, babe Rush swears that it's all true Now it ain't no use in checkin' out the facts, babe Would Rush ever lie to you? There's no need to even give a thought To whether what he says is true or not Some say he's lying, but that's just a liberal plot Don't think once, it's alright. It ain't no use in getting mad at me, now If you hate this little song Said it ain't no use in getting mad at me, babe If your liberal friends sing along There's no point raising your voice to complain It's so much nicer to shut off your brain And Rush says he's just there to entertain Don't think once, it's alright. ©2001 Alex Riggle. All Rights Reserved. |
Subject: Do You Know The Way To Macramé? by reggie miles From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:12 AM Do You Know The Way To Macramé? by reggie miles reggie's Comments: Here's yet another song that has spurt forth from the warped edges of a mind that many say would have been better left unused. Written to the tune of, as if you hadn't guessed already, Do You Know The Way To San Jose? Do you know the way to macramé? I get the knots all wrong. The string's so long. I lose my way. Do you know the way to macramé? I've tried embroidery Knitting, Even some crochet. Making purses, belts and headbands, Add some beads. How does it look so far? In a week, maybe two, a strap for your guitar, Weeks turn into years how quick they pass. Can you guess? What I made next? It's a coaster for your glass. I've got lots of friends who macramé. Think I'll give it a try, And make a tie with macramé. Do you know the way to macramé? Ma, ma, mama, mama, ma, macramé, Ma, ma, mama, mama, ma, macramé. Break Hanging plant and candle holders, Made of rope or string or even twine. Add a branch from a tree. Now don't it look fine? Tie your rows of knots in a straight line. You'd never guess, The weeks I've spent, Tying knots and killing time. Do you know the way to macramé? Ma, ma, mama, mama, ma, macramé, Ma, ma, mama, mama, ma, macramé. |
Subject: The Devil Went Down to Dingle by Rich From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:09 AM The Devil Went Down to Dingle by Rich (Stupidbodhranplayerwhodoesn'tknowanybetter) (Tune: The Devil Went Down To Georgia) The Devil went down to Dingle, he was looking for a soul to steal, A little trip to the side for polkas and slides, he was tired of jigs and reels. 'Twas a ceilidh night in the pub's dim light and a man played the fiddle hot! Well a Kerryman would be easy prey, or so the Devil thought! The Devil said, "Back home on Downing St I've been known to play myself", (And he insincerely bent his arm to drink the young man's health), Says the Devil, "You play a fine fiddle, lad, but if you take from me this cue" " 6 counties I hold against your soul cause i think I'm better than you!" The boy said my name's Padraig, and it might be a sin, But I'll take your bet, you heathen Brit, cause I'm the best that's ever been! Paddy, you best play lively now, no time to play slow airs, 'Cause Hell's broke loose in Kerry, and the devil don't play fair. And if you win your island home will finally be whole, But if you lose the Devil takes your soul! The Devil opened up this case and he said I'll start this show And the whole world looked the other way as he stepped on Padraig's toe. And he pulled a bit of rosin from a fancy velvet sack, And played a tune so foul it'd curl the hair off of Margaret Thatcher's back. When the Devil finished Padraig said, "That's pretty weak, old hoss!" "So sit down in that chair right there, let me show who's the boss." Kid on the Mountain! Mother and Child! Sweeney's Polka! Miss McLeod's! Bucks of Oranmore, Harvest Home, A slide whose name's no longer known, Plough and the Stars! Doctor O'Neills! The Foxhunter's (both the jig and the reel)! Paddy finished his rake with the Flowing Bowl And clearly he would be keeping his soul. The Devil bowed his head because he felt a little sick, With the tunes of 32 counties, Padraig had him licked! But as previously mentioned the Devil don't play fair And the borders on the map still show those counties six as theirs. But as for the true victor well, you and I both know, And I'm proud to say the Devil stays away when and Irishman lifts his bow. |
Subject: The Day They Slowed Ol' Mudcat Down by mousethief From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:06 AM The Day They Slowed Ol' Mudcat Down by mousethief (with apologies to J. Robbie Robertson) Alex Riggle's my name And I code data runs for Boeing And I like surfin' the web While my programs are up and going Mudcat was a wonderful find I could hang there and enlighten my mind There's not much to do while my code is engaged Except hang out on the Mudcat "all threads" page But the day they slowed ol' Mudcat down I got an error warning The day they slowed ol' Mudcat down My afternoon was boring I went Wah, wa-wa-wah, wa-wah Wa-wah, wa-wah, wa-wa-wah, wah wah I emailed my wife at her office Till finally she said to me, "Look, I've got work to do. Don't mail me so much, sweetie." Now I don't mind choppin' code And waiting for my programs to load But once they are running I get bored I like surfin' to Mudcat, but Oh Lord, The day they slowed ol' Mudcat down (etc.) Like my father before me, I'm a workin' slob And like my mother before me, I took an office job I was 23, loud and brave When I started writin' code all day These data jobs take so long to run While I'm waiting I want to have a little fun... The day they slowed ol' Mudcat down (etc.) (C) 2000 Alex E. Riggle. All Rights Reserved. |
Subject: Comin' Through The Rye by Alice From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 11:04 AM Comin' Through The Rye by Alice Alice's Comments: Since we are so close to Burns night, I have such tunes running through my mind. Gin a body meet a body, comin' tho' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, need a body cry? Ilka poet has her lyric, No fleas on me, say I And all the lads they smile on me, when comin' thro' the rye. Gin a body meet a body, comin frae the well, Gin a body kiss a body, need a body tell? Ilka cycle seat caused callous, Let me walk, say I And all the lads they smile on me, when comin' thro' the rye. Gin a body meet a body, comin' frae the town, Gin a body greet a body greet a body, need a body gloom, Ilka orange is sweet and juicy, So they say am I, And all the lads they lo'e me weel, And what the waur am I? |
Subject: The Birthday Song by Irish sergeant From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 10:57 AM The Birthday Song by Irish sergeant (Sung to the tune of Silver Threads among the Gold) Irish sergeant's Comment: I post a parody for you. If you know anyone with a really good sense of humour or someone you don't care if you offend it is a birthday song. Like "Happy Birthday", any name can be inserted instead of "Darling". I thought it up on the spur of the moment at a reenactment for someone's birthday one year. So far, people have been laughing too hard to kick my tailfeathers for singing it. Darling you are growing ancient, Rocks don't live as long as you. You're not quite as old as God is, But you're older than primordial stew. Yes, Oh Darling you will be, will be, Older than the rocks and trees. Yes, Oh darling you will be, Older than the rocks and trees. |
Subject: Banks of the Ohio (Revisited) by Sonja From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 10:55 AM Banks Of The Ohio (Revisited) by Sonja Chorus: Only say that you'll be mine, In no other's arms entwine, Down beside where the waters flow, Down by the Banks of the Ohio. I asked my love to take a walk, Down the aisle to with me to go. Down beside, where the waters flow, Down by the banks of the Ohio. (Chorus) I said, "Oh, please don't do me wrong, But I'm near five months along." He said, "How do I know it's mine Just because we have entwined?" (Chorus) I held a knife against his shirt, Because he was a total jerk! He cried, "Oh, baby, can't you see That I am unprepared for paternity!" (Chorus) I took him by his hairy, big hand, And I led him down where the waters stand. He cried, "Oh, crap!" as I pushed him in And watched him as he floated by. (Chorus) I started home 'twixt twelve and one; I cried, "Oh, Ma! What have I done? Killed the only feller I loved Cause he done knocked me up and run!" (Chorus) Parody lyrics by S. W. Oates ©2001 |
Subject: All Around My Fat by Penny Ward From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 10:52 AM All Around My Fat by Penny Ward (submitted by Micca) Lyrics by: Penny Ward Tune: All around my hat (Traditional) Chorus: All around my fat I will wear the Playtex Girdle And all around my fat For an evening and a day And if anyone should ask me The reason why I'm wearing it It's all for my true love Who thinks I'm built this way Verse1 Take half a pound of talcum And a small jar of Vaseline A shoehorn comes in handy It's the biggest you've ever seen! You put it all together And you will plainly see I'm a different shape completely And in abject agony Chorus Verse 2 The other night he bought me A small box of lingerie All frothy lace and satin The colour of ivory I went to change and left him Anticipating hedony So much for Janet Reger I can't get them past my knees! Chorus Verse3 Fare the well Weight Watchers And fare the well the step class Three stone have I gained And my waistline I have lost I'll eat and I'll be merry Dispense with guilt and calories I'll stuff the sodding 'F' plan It's a fry up for me tea! |
Subject: A Bumbling Englishman by The Shambles From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 10:41 AM A Bumbling Englishman by The Shambles The Shambles' Comments: After all I said about parody, I have written one. Well it's not meant to be a parody of A Rambling Irishman, I have just stolen the tune to make a point. A naive point may be but I had this dream the other night where the whole of Ireland, North and South joined in one huge session and danced together . . . But what do I know, I'm just a bumbling Englishman? I do so love the music though. There was a bumbling Englishman, Ambition in him burning. He'd seen all those 'Riverdancing' shows, And he became determined. He bought him a fiddle of great renown, And it cost him lots of 'fivers'. He vowed he play that fiddle too, Just like Eileen Ivers. He went and sold his guitar, Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy. Eileen could do no wrong in his eyes, A star that would not tarnish. He coated his fiddle in 'NITROMORS', To get off all that varnish. He painted that poor fiddle blue, To initate his hero. His lust and ambition you could not fault, But his taste and talent was zero. He went and sold his guitar, Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy. When he started scraping away, People left the area. He was quickly left all on his own, Just like he had Malaria. There was one tune, he was determined to play, It was poor old 'Fanny Power'. If she could have heard it the way he played, She'd have prayed for her final hour. He went and sold his guitar, Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy. Andy said if he carried on, He'd take that fiddle and burn it . So he thought he would cross the Irish Sea, What better place to learn it? Found himself lost in the North, Without much rhyme nor reason. Looking for a place to learn his tune, In the middle of the marching season. He went and sold his guitar, Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy. When he came to a barricade, They'd let him go no further. Did not notice the stony glares, Intent on bloody murder. He sat down to play his tune, And he didn't need to say it. A young lad took his whistle out, And showed him how to play it. He went and sold his guitar, Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy. An old man came from the other side, He could not stand his scratching. He stepped up smart and took his bow, And now the notes were matching. A flute joined in and started a reel And then the dancing started. He soon forgot his violin, For his dancing was whole-hearted. He went and sold his guitar, Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy. So many people played that day, They'd forgotten why they came there. Thanks to that bumbling Englishman, It never was the same there. They thought it was a good idea, To send him where there was trouble. For as soon as he started to play his tune, They'd all leave at the double. He went and sold his guitar, Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy. The moral of this tale is clear, That when you've nearly lost it. The very best ones to sort it out, Are the very ones that caused it. And where is the hero of our tale, Who's not been heard of latterly. When he's not peace-making for the U.N. He's understudy for Michael Flatley. He went and sold his guitar, Sold his guitar, sold it to his big brother Andy. Roger Gall 1999. |
Subject: 1999 Was the date of the year by Dan Milner From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 10:38 AM 1999 Was The Date Of The Year by Dan Milner Dan's Comments: This parody of the great Irish ballad "Master McGrath" (always pronounced M'Gra') humorously chronicles Mudcatter Frank McGrath's visit to New York City in the Summer of 1999 including his sales effort at a large computer software show for the financial industry, his shopping expedition and his performance at The Blarney Star Tavern with Andy O'Brien, Dan Milner, Bob Conroy and a number of fine New York singers. Frank's performance was nothing short of brilliant and included his very moving original song "The Callows." However, one rhymester decided to follow an old Irish custom by writing a fictitiously humorous account about the evening the following morning. 1999 was the date of the year A software salesman from Ireland came here To take all our dollars and carry them awa' "And give them some culture," says ould Frank M'Gra'. 'Twas at Hilton Towers that place of renown The computer trade show in New York went down With Wall Street tycoons and financial swells Perusing the programs all whistles and bells. Well Frank walked the floor with confidence strong And told all the bankers he could right all their wrongs With programs discrete and secure and so fine. And he promised delivery in good Irish time. The show now was ended, Frank's order book filled And the pastures of Wall Street our hero had tilled. But then says he, "There's just one thing more, I'll have to visit Macy's departmental store." With 2 children in Nenagh and a wife to preside If he came home empty handed they all would deride His elegant effort in New York's fair town And greet his return with a scoff and a frown. The shopping completed he next set his sights On New York's traditional musical heights To the Blarney Star tavern he then turned his eyes To return back to Nenagh with a folksinging prize. There was Andy from Killarney and Bob from the Isle And Deirdre from Connecticut and Bonnie likewise The American champion he too was there And all sang that night with an elegant flair. The last to the stage was our hero so mild And he started with a ballad so rare and so wild 'Twas "The Finding of Moses" by Thomas Moran. The previous singers then got up and ran. Two more from Frank and the crowd they did roar "Bedad1" then they cried, "We hope you don't know more. When's the next plane to Ireland?" they politely enquired And to a waiting taxi ould Frank he was squired. Now M'Gra' he looked up and he sagged his ould tail Informing the audience, "Sure, I know what you mean. 'Tis the same thing in Ireland and Britain also Where my brand of folksinging is not all the go." Once more back to Nenagh our hero did stride With parcels from Macy's hanging down from his side. He's cured of folksinging in Columbia the fair. He's back in Tipperary and glad to be there. Copyright 1999 Dan Milner. |
Subject: The Whiskey The Girl and the Rebel by Jennifer From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 05:23 AM After reading this list and nearly dying of laughter I was inspired to write this song. It combines whaling, murder, whiskey, and of course rebellion into one happy little tune -- all the cliches I could find in the list. So sorry for inflicting this on you, I just want to post it before the creative urge leaves me. Tried to follow the rules here -- I think a new one should be that all placenames have to end with '-O'. Another thing I've noticed -- and tried to use here -- is that rhyming is -never- perfect in an Irish song. Anyone else noticed this? Jennifer The Whiskey, the Girl, and the Rebel My name is O'Reilly, I'm a sailor of yore I've sailed for the whales from the far western shore 'Twas on May thirty in nineteen sixteen I joined the bold rebels with their whiskey so keen My dearest love Sally said "Do not ye go," "To the wilds and the mountains of Ireland-O" "But I must go," I cried, "for my captain so lean" "Has fled to the rebels, with their whiskey so keen." My Captain I'd met him in Botany Bay I found him while wanderin', on a cold wintry day He cried, "I want a sailor for to hunt on the main" He signed me and fed me with whiskey so keen So long years I've traveled now, far on the seas Beaten and bitten, by the cat and the fleas So I've gone to Dublin, where me love Sally Breen Cannot hold me back from the whiskey so keen Sally cried, "Willie, I pray ye, don't go," 'Tis treason and murder, tae hell ye will go," I said, "You are a Briton and I'm Irish Free," "I'll slay you and drink of the whiskey so keen." She cried, "Dearest Willie don't murder me dead," A raven it came to me shoulder in dread. She gazed at the raven as I drew my knife keen "I'll come back to haunt you, o'er your whiskey so keen." Well, Sally was right and her ghost came for me Wi' blood on her fingers, her breast and her knees And her ghost's sad screaming, the moans and the keens It drove me to drinkin' the whiskey so keen I fled to the mountains, the eyries so high And fought 'gainst the British for proud liberty I've killed me some Tommies, but was captured in green And now I will die without whiskey so keen And now as I stand here, o'er gallows so high And wait for to hang, twixt the earth and the sky Well, I wish I'd listened, tae Sally o' Breen, For ne'er more will I sip from the whiskey so keen. I hope this comes out OK and readable. Don't think it was too bad for a Yiddish-American. Jennifer |
Subject: Where My Heart Softly Roams by Amergin From: bradfordian Date: 08 Oct 16 - 05:06 AM Where My Heart Softly Roams by Amergin Feet stomping on the ground Crunching the ice covered snow Ears turning red and stinging As the frozen wind begins to blow The morning sky is clouding over Snowflakes slowly start to appear I gaze at the snow laden mountainside And find myself wishing you were here Cars slowly roll down the main street Snow is packed tightly on the road I gently balance down the walkways, Feeling the beat of my frozen load The hills shine bright in the cloudy sun Absorbing the dim afternoon light I imagine your shadow beside me And smile with infinite delight The fairgrounds are a lake of snow With sleds sailing across the deep Snowballs fly across the playground As the children run, laugh, and leap The cigarette smolders on the ice As I trounce my way back home Feeling your thoughts are with me Wherever my heart softly roams Amergin |
Subject: Wasn't That A Mighty Storm? by Jerry Rasmussen From: bradfordian Date: 29 Sep 16 - 07:35 PM |
Subject: Singin' With The Big Choir by Genie From: bradfordian Date: 29 Sep 16 - 07:33 PM |
Subject: Shepherd Of My Soul by khandu From: bradfordian Date: 29 Sep 16 - 07:30 PM |
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