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Empty bag cyaa stan' up.

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Handles Bermuda

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Luggage Canada

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Adrienne Vittadini

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Healthy Back Bag

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Trash Bag

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Fitration Bags

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Picking From A Grab Bag

Pick one.
Go ahead and pick one.
Just only pick one...
And pull it from the grab bag.

Pick one.
Why don't you pick one.
Just pick up any one,
And...
Pull it from the grab bag.

Do the children learn their ABC's,
Picking from a grab bag.
Is this the best that it can be,
To...
Pick from a grab bag.
What's learn by,
Picking from a grab bag.
What's earned by,
Picking from a grab bag.
Who teaches,
Picking from a grab bag.
Who preaches,
Picking from a grab bag.
And what lessons are really learned?

Who,
Teaches...
Picking from a grab bag.
Who preaches,
Picking from a grab bag.
What's learn by,
Picking from a grab bag.
What's earned by,
Picking from a grab bag.
And...
What lessons are really learned,
Picking from a grab bag.
Picking from a grab bag.
Picking from a grab bag.
Picking from a grab bag.

Who teaches,
Picking from a grab bag.
Who preaches,
Picking from a grab bag.
And...
What lessons are really learned,
Picking from a grab bag.
And...

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The Ballad of the Carpet Bag

Ho! Darkies, don't you hear dose voters cryin'
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must get to de Poll, you must get there flyin';
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must travel by de road, you must travel by de train,
And the things what you've done you will have to explain,
And the things what you've promised, you must promise 'em again.
Pack dat carpet bag!
Hear dem voters callin!
Pack de clean boiled rag.
For there's grass in the west, and the rain am fallin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!

You must pack up a volume of Coghlan's Figures,
Pack dat carpet bag!
And a lot o' little jokes to amuse those niggers.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must wheedle all de gals with a twinkle of your eye,
You must bob down your head when de eggs begin to fly.
Oh! those eggs what they're saving, and they'll throw 'em by and by.
Pack dat carpet bag!

Hear dem voters callin'!
Pack de clean boiled rag.
For there's grass in the west, and the rain am fallin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!

You must get upon a stump, you must practise speakin',
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must follow Georgie Reid or Alfred Deakin.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must come to de scratch, or you're bound to fail,
For it ain't any time to be sittin' on de rail,
Or de votes that you'll get -- they won't keep you out o' jail.
Pack dat carpet bag!

Hear dem voters callin'!
Pack de clean boiled rag.
For there's grass in the west, and the rain am fallin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!

And supposin' that you're beat, and you feel like cryin',
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must hustle back to work -- just to keep from dyin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must travel second-class when you travel by de train,
For you haven't got a pass on de end of your chain,
While the other fellow's packing for de great campaign.
Pack dat carpet bag!

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A Ducktail Called Stan

There was a man they called Stan the ducktail,
a well build biker with very long hair,
his real name could have been Sam
or Dick or Dirk
no one really still knows
but he carried chains
and knuckle-dusters
that he used as fighting tools
(and sometimes his bare fists did the thing)
whenever a game of cards, pool, snooker
or even darts did not go straight
he took a swing

and rumour had it that he had even
knocked some cops through shop windows,
had send them straight to hospital
he was a hippie in the time
that free love and marijuana
was in some circles acceptable

and this bloke had many friends,
a gang full of them
that used to party with him
with chicks near Brakpan dam
drinking champagne, beer and cane,
or whatever liquor
they could lay their hands on

and to all the schoolboys Stan
was the man, the archetype
of what they wanted to become
what they used to call:
“a mean fighting machine, ”

and some parents did not want them
to associate with what they called
ducktail scum, even went as far
as warning the kids in the Sunday school
against Stan, hippies and ducktails in general
and to live a honest respectable life
and held a prayer meeting
where they begged God to intervene
in the life of Stan
and to this day they believe that He did

and one day just to have some fun
Stan was breaking shop windows
in the main street, waiting on the police
to come and meet him
with drawn batons and fists

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Magic At My House

In the closet there is a pair of shoes

The stay in the box kind of shoes.

The gray leather open toed high heeled shoes.

The fancy night on the town shoes.

The make you taller shoes.

The makeup wearing time shoes.

The too big but a perfect fit shoes.

The magic make you grown up shoes.


In the jewelry box there is a necklace.

The aquamarine and pearl and gold necklace.

The this is older than you or I necklace.

The shiny rainbow making necklace.

The color and feel of the ocean necklace.

The mother’s mother necklace.

The too nice for any day necklace.

The magic make you an elegant lady necklace.


In the bathroom there is a bag.

The painting for ladies bag.

The filled with vials and potions bag.

The put your face on bag.

The make your lips redder bag.

The give you doe eyes bag.

The not in public until your 16 bag.

The magic make you look beautiful bag.

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Sobre Horizontes

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Without the Immortal Love of a Woman…

Every man’s eye is devastatingly empty; unbearably rotting towards the dungeons of diabolical hell; without the celestially commiserating reflections of a bountiful woman,

Every man’s palm is sinfully empty; barbarously rotting towards the coffins of penalizing hell; without the compassionately befriending grip of an honest woman,

Every man’s vein is dreadfully empty; devilishly rotting towards the vacuum of torturous hell; without the invincibly righteous rudiments of a sacrosanct woman,

Every man’s brain is deliriously empty; sadistically rotting towards the thorns of cold-blooded hell; without the unsurpassably ebullient fantasies of an eclectic woman,

Every man’s lip is ghastily empty; tawdrily rotting towards the mortuaries of parasitic hell; without the wondrously igniting kisses of an ardent woman,

Every man’s shadow is venomously empty; carnivorously rotting towards the skeletons of hideous hell; without the mellifluously symbiotic sweetness of a benign woman,

Every man’s signature is disastrously empty; egregiously rotting towards the nothingness of hedonistic hell; without the astoundingly ameliorating reflection of a caring woman,

Every man’s mission is treacherously empty; horrendously rotting towards the dirt of excoriating hell; without the pricelessly unconquerable encouragement of a blessed woman,

Every man’s lung is cripplingly empty; nonsensically rotting towards the meaninglessness of asphyxiating hell; without the unassailably reinvigorating breath of a timeless woman,

Every man’s cheek is lecherously empty; salaciously rotting towards the perversions of crucifying hell; without the mischievously spell binding peck of an untamed woman,

Every man’s chest is drearily empty; ignominiously rotting towards the blackness of massacring hell; without the magically reincarnating caress of a sensuous woman,

Every man’s spine is lividly empty; preposterously rotting towards the holocaust of morbid hell; without the insurmountably majestic virility of an enigmatic woman,

Every man’s adventure is hopelessly empty; sacrilegiously rotting towards the ghost of tormenting hell; without the inscrutably tantalizing echo of a mesmerizing woman,

Every man’s skin is frigidly empty; inconsolably rotting towards the whiplash of strangulating hell; without the fathomlessly unabashed exhilaration of an intrepid woman,

Every man’s soul is cursedly empty; inexplicably rotting towards the gallows of murderous hell; without the infallibly consecrating sensitivity of a vivacious woman,

Every man’s shoulder is dolorously empty; blasphemously rotting towards the shards of deteriorating hell; without the amazingly unflinching unity of a blissful woman,

Every man’s ear is abjectly empty; viciously rotting towards the gutters of malevolent hell; without the enchantingly unfettered voice of a mystical woman,

Every man’s nostril is despondently empty; perilously rotting towards the wickedness of baseless hell; without the perennially life-yielding fragrance of an intricate woman,

And every man’s heart is haplessly empty; unsparingly rotting towards the evil jinx of cannibalistic hell; without the immortally embracing love of a faithful woman….

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Stanley's Plight

When Stan came back
to work last Monday
his tool box
wasn’t to be found.
Look and look he surely did
but it wasn’t on the ground.
Yet poor old Stan - did search and search
around & round & round.
He was a little muddled
he probably would be still
if Zub he hadn’t seen
he would be raging still.
When all at once he heard a cry
his tools could be found up high.

He took a ladder and with haste
was up it like a race,
but when he next looked at that space -
the ladder was gone, without a trace.
Rant and rave he may as well
for Stan could only fume
yet it wasn’t long at all my friend
until he was on the moon.
For there at last his pride and joy
among the years of dust and gloom.
Now our man Ouggy was no mug
though capable of a fierce bear hug.
Swiftly he did grasp a length of rope
without it even he, was without hope.

Around his brown toolbox
he tied his knot;
and proceeded promptly to lower it down
till he had it safely, on the ground.
Yet alas, at this stage his luck went sour
it was not to be his finest hour.
Upon the scene appeared two goons
‘twas lecherous Lewis and his side-kick Craig
they were about to steal the stage
or should I say, the precious box?

Now Stan up high still was stuck
when they ran off with his hard-won luck.
Remembering back I can see it still
Stan roaring off like an Elephant Bull
chasing lecherous Lewis and sneaky Craig;
like a gleeless Elephant Mother
chasing off after her missing cow.

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Do It!

Bam, Bam, Bam my sweet
You can sip it through a straw; you can throw it back neat
Just don't be hesitatin', waitin' for it
'Cause in an ideal world they'll be comin' for you
Could be tokin' on the bale, could be sniffin' out clues
Better stake your fakin' reputation on it
Do it, Do it, Do it, Just do it!
In a Tax-free zone, down a tin can alley
There's a slipper girl-thing and a man named Sally
They were talk-talk-talkin' bout a clever little coffin nail
Seems, down at the docks the intended lies awaitin'
And the privilidged information's gonna get wet too
You can't be too careful when it comes to being careful
Do it, Do it, Do it, Just do it!
Do it!
There's a man in my street keeps a flock of gray doves
And he's set in his way, wearin' Everlast gloves
His opinion can be beat when push becomes a shove
Says he doesn't give a monkey 'bout the youth of the day
They should all drop dead, should be taken away
Put somewhere cold and all be made to stay
Do it, Do it, Do it, Just do it!
Do it, Do it, Do it, Just do it!
Bag it up, Bag it up, Bag it up, Just do it!
Bag it up, Bag it up, Bag it up, Just do it!
Bag it up, Bag it up, Bag it up, Just do it!
Do it!

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Clint Eastwood. Ed Case Refix

Bu-whoa!
Dis da man you call Sweet alongside a man called Ed Case
Wit da Gorillaz
The refix
Can I See It
Na na na alright
Na na na oh
It's a bigger o'ting - cha!
I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless,but not for long
The future is coming on
I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
The future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on...
Ah ah ah ah
Give 'em some ah ah
Ah ah ah ah
Bigger oh ah ah
Oh!
(?)
Oh!
Off with ya clothes with the cure
Oh!
(?)
(?)
Tell me cos I'm oh!
(?)
Oh!
(?)
(?) On the dance floor
Oh!
Come on... we're makin' money
Oh!
(?) Talks to me funny
Oh!
(?)
(?)
Feel my emotion
Feel my emotion
Music is from the street
Designed to make you move your feet and
Feel my emotion

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Its Nearly Africa

(andy partridge)
Chant your spirit free;
Rush to greet truth like a dart
Shake your bag obones,
Shake your bag obones.
Thats not traffic roar,
Thats a leopard in your heart,
Shake your bag obones,
Shake your bag obones.
Go tell your stale friends,
Go tell false prophets,
And drug traffickers,
Not to try to push our bodies any faster
Were dancing with disaster,
And the first will be the last,
Its nearly africa,
Oh-oh,
Its nearly africa,
Oh-oh,
Any day now,
Any day, now now
Unplug future plans;
Finger-paint the sun on you,
Shake your bag obones,
Shake your bag obones,
Mend your missing links,
I think trust should be the glue,
Shake your bag obones,
Shake your bag obones,
Go tell your warboys,
Go tell all leeches,
And blind panickers,
Not to try to push your bodies any faster,
Were dancing with disaster,
And the first will be the last,
Its nearly africa,
Oh-oh,
Its nearly africa,
Oh-oh,
Any day, now
Any day, now now
Our civilisation car is running wild,
Who did you give the wheel to?
The fat man driving us over the edge of the nearest cliff-face,
Is he the same God that Ive seen you kneel to?

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50 Ways To Leave Your Lover

50 ways to leave your lover
Words & music by paul simon
The problem is all inside your head, she said to me
The answer is easy if you take it logically
Id like to help you in your struggle to be free
There must be fifty ways to leave your lover
She said its really not my habit to intrude
Furthermore, I hope my meaning wont be lost or misconstrued
But Ill repeat myself at the risk of being crude
There must be fifty ways to leave your lover
Fifty ways to leave your lover
Just slip out the back, jack
Make a new plan, stan
You dont need to be coy, roy
Just get yourself free
Hop on the bus, gus
You dont need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, lee
And get yourself free
Just slip out the back, jack
Make a new plan, stan
You dont need to be coy, roy
Just listen to me <-----------
Hop on the bus, gus
You dont need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, lee
And get yourself free
She said it grieves me so to see you in such pain
I wish there was something I could do to make you smile again
I said I appreciate that and would you please explain
About the fifty ways
She said why dont we both just sleep on it tonight
And I believe in the morning youll begin to see the light
And then she kissed me and I realized she probably was right
There must be fifty ways to leave your lover
Fifty ways to leave your lover
Just slip out the back, jack
Make a new plan, stan
You dont need to be coy, roy
Just get yourself free
Hop on the bus, gus
You dont need to discuss much
Just drop off the key, lee
And get yourself free
You just slip out the back, jack
Make a new plan, stan
You dont need to be coy, roy
Just listen to me <------------
Hop on the bus, gus
You dont need to discuss much

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The Mother's Lesson

Come hither an' sit on my knee, Willie,
Come hither an' sit on my knee,
An' list while I tell how your brave brither fell,
Fechtin' for you an' for me:
Fechtin' for you an' for me, Willie,
Wi' his guid sword in his han'.
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man, Willie,
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man!


Ye min' o' your ain brither dear, Willie,
Ye min' o' your ain brither dear,
How he pettled ye aye wi' his pliskies an' play,
An' was aye sae cantie o' cheer:
Aye sae cantie o' cheer, Willie,
As he steppit sae tall an' sae gran',
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man, Willie,
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man.


D'ye min' when the bull had ye doun, Willie,
D'ye min' when the bull had ye doun?
D'ye min' wha grippit ye fra the big bull,
D'ye min' o' his muckle red woun'?
D'ye min' o' his muckle red woun', Willie,
D'ye min' how the bluid doun ran?
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man, Willie,
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man.


D'ye min' when we a' wanted bread, Willie,
the year when we a' wanted bread?
How he smiled when he saw the het parritch an' a',
An' gaed cauld an' toom to his bed:
Gaed awa' toom to his bed, Willie,
For the love o' wee Willie an' Nan?
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man, Willie,
Hech, but ye'll be a brave man!


Next simmer was bright but an' ben, Willie,
Next simmer was bright but an' ben,
When there cam a gran' cry like a win' strang an' high
By loch, an' mountain, an' glen:
By loch, an' mountain, an' glen, Willie,
The cry o' a far forrin lan',
An' up loupit ilka brave man, Willie,
Up loupit ilka brave man.

[...] Read more

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Empty Sky

I woke up this morning
I could barely breathe
Just an empty impression
In the bed there you used to be
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Blood on the streets
Blood flowin down
I hear the blood of my blood
Cryin from the ground
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
On the plains of jordan
I cut my bow from the wood
Of this tree of evil
Of this tree of good
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to the empty sky

song performed by Bruce SpringsteenReport problemRelated quotes
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The Source

the Source of ‘Crab Nebula'

'The greats molder in their graves
Their words collect as dust upon their spines
Their hearts do not beat in time with today
and yet, the Spirit calls & you answer
What more can a ‘writer' do'?

(poetic writers are compelled to write
& seldom know why)


Ninth Street

There is a cold water'd house
On a bleak winter'd street
With stale musty stink
Of unwashed sock and sheet
Dirty dishes left still
Standing there in the sink.
Memories drenched in scent
Of kerosene and coal
Christmases without trees
Colored paper or ribbon bows.
Yet ___ there was laughter, warm
and yes ___ love
Her making toast over-done
and coffee too thin for him.
Poverty of wage and things
Cannot suppress the hope
Of loves gentle kiss
As passions
Became a foggy mist
Of what could have been
Instead of what is.


(Genetic Memory of Life before I was)

Curmudgeon

(I did not ask to be born)

Knowing why, doesn't make the search go away
Knowing how, doesn't mean you can stop
There are alternative ways, different days
No one gets to stay forever

There are traps
There are walls

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