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It would have been the equivalent of Jackson Pollock's attempts to copy the Sistine Chapel.

quote by Malcolm Cowley
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University Of Central Florida Volleyball

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poem by Caasder Fronds
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Christmas-Eve

I.
OUT of the little chapel I burst
Into the fresh night air again.
I had waited a good five minutes first
In the doorway, to escape the rain
That drove in gusts down the common’s centre,
At the edge of which the chapel stands,
Before I plucked up heart to enter:
Heaven knows how many sorts of hands
Reached past me, groping for the latch
Of the inner door that hung on catch,
More obstinate the more they fumbled,
Till, giving way at last with a scold
Of the crazy hinge, in squeezed or tumbled
One sheep more to the rest in fold,
And left me irresolute, standing sentry
In the sheepfold’s lath-and-plaster entry,
Four feet long by two feet wide,
Partitioned off from the vast inside—
I blocked up half of it at least.
No remedy; the rain kept driving:
They eyed me much as some wild beast,
The congregation, still arriving,
Some of them by the mainroad, white
A long way past me into the night,
Skirting the common, then diverging;
Not a few suddenly emerging
From the common’s self thro’ the paling-gaps,—
—They house in the gravel-pits perhaps,
Where the road stops short with its safeguard border
Of lamps, as tired of such disorder;—
But the most turned in yet more abruptly
From a certain squalid knot of alleys,
Where the town’s bad blood once slept corruptly,
Which now the little chapel rallies
And leads into day again,—its priestliness
Lending itself to hide their beastliness
So cleverly (thanks in part to the mason),
And putting so cheery a whitewashed face on
Those neophytes too much in lack of it,
That, where you cross the common as I did,
And meet the party thus presided,
“Mount Zion,” with Love-lane at the back of it,
They front you as little disconcerted,
As, bound for the hills, her fate averted
And her wicked people made to mind him,
Lot might have marched with Gomorrah behind him.

II.
Well, from the road, the lanes or the common,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning
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It's Five O'clock Somewhere

The sun is hot and that old clock is movin' slow,
An' so am I.
Work day passes like molasses in wintertime,
But it's July.
I'm gettin' paid by the hour, an' older by the minute.
My boss just pushed me over the limit.
I'd like to call him somethin',
I think I'll just call it a day.
Pour me somethin' tall an' strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It's only half-past twelve but I don't care.
It's five o'clock somewhere.
Oh, this lunch break is gonna take all afternoon,
An' half the night.
Tomorrow mornin', I know there'll be hell to pay,
Hey, but that's all right.
I ain't had a day off now in over a year.
Our Jamaican vacation's gonna start right here.
if the 'phones for me,
You can tell 'em I just sailed away.
An' pour me somethin' tall an' strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It's only half-past twelve but I don't care.
It's five o'clock somewhere.
I could pay off my tab, pour myself in a cab,
An' be back to work before two.
At a moment like this, I can't help but wonder,
What would Jimmy Buffett do?
JIMMY BUFFETT:
Funny you should ask Alan,
I'd say:
Pour me somethin' tall an' strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It's only half-past twelve but I don't care.
ALAN JACKSON & JIMMY BUFFETT:
Pour me somethin' tall an' strong,
Make it a "Hurricane" before I go insane.
It's only half-past twelve but I don't care.
He don't care.
I don't care.
It's five o'clock somewhere.
JIMMY BUFFETT:
What time zone am I on? What country am I in?
ALAN JACKSON:
It doesn't matter, it's five o'clock somewhere.
JIMMY BUFFETT:
It's always on five in Margaritaville, come to think of it.
ALAN JACKSON:
Yeah, I heard that.
JIMMY BUFFETT:

[...] Read more

song performed by Alan Jackson
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Jackson Cage

Driving home she grabs something to eat
Turns a corner and drives down her street
Into a row of houses she just melts away
Like the scenery in another mans play
Into a house where the blinds are closed
To keep from seeing things she dont wanna know
She pulls the blinds and looks out on the street
The cool of the night takes the edge off the heat
In the jackson cage
Down in jackson cage
You can try with all your might
But youre reminded every night
That you been judged and handed life
Down in jackson cage
Every day ends in wasted motion
Just crossed swords on the killing floor
To settle back is to settle without knowing
The hard edge that youre settling for
Because theres always just one more day
And its always gonna be that way
Little girl youve been down here so long
I can tell by the way that you move you belong to
The jackson cage
Down in jackson cage
And it dont matter just what you say
Are you tough enough to play the game they play
Or will you just do your time and fade away
Down into the jackson cage
Baby theres nights when I dream of a better world
But I wake up so downhearted girl
I see you feeling so tired and confused
I wonder what its worth to me or you
Just waiting to see some sun
Never knowing if that day will ever come
Left alone standing out on the street
Till you become the hand that turns the key down in
Jackson cage
Down in jackson cage
Well darlin can you understand
The way that they will turn a man
Into a stranger to waste away
Down in the jackson cage

song performed by Bruce Springsteen
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Slow Down Jackson

(michel brourman/karen gottlieb)
Hmmm...i love to see you when you arent on the run
Looking long and lean and lazy lying in the sun
So, slow down jackson, you dont have to fly anymore
Slow down jackson, love must have left you at my door
Hmmm...youre a runner and you always will be
Maybe you can change your pacin when you are runnin with me
So, slow down jackson, you dont have to fly anymore
Slow down jackson, love must have left you at my door
Hmmm...youre like a rainbow stretched across the sun
Hmmm...my friend jackson, warming everyone
So, slow down jackson, you dont have to fly anymore
Slow down jackson, love must have left you at my door
So, slow down jackson, you were flying solo before
Slow down jackson, love must have left you at my door

song performed by Olivia Newton-John
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Chapel Of Love

Going to the chapel
And were gonna get married
Going to the chapel
And were gonna get married
Gee I really love you
And were gonna get married
Going to the chapel of love
(bow bow bow bow bow)
(bow bow bow bow bow)
Spring is here (ooo-ooo-ooo)
The sky is blue (sky is blue)
Birds all sing (oh the birds all sing)
Like they do (yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah)
Todays the day (wah-hooo-oooo)
Well say I do (ooo-oooo)
And well never be lonely anymore
(bow bow bow bow bow)
(bow bow bow bow bow)
Because were
Going to the chapel
And were gonna get married
Going to the chapel
And were gonna get married
Gee I really love you
And were gonna get married
Going to the chapel of love
(bow bow bow bow bow)
(bow bow bow bow bow)
Bells will ring (ri-ii-iing) (bells will ring)
The sun will shine (hey hey hey yeah) (the sun will shine)
Ill be hers (yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah) (Ill be hers)
And shell be mine (oh oh oh oh oh oh oh) (and shell be mine)
Well love until (well love until) (hey hey hey) (well love until)
The end of time (ooo hooo) (the end of time)
And well never be lonely anymore
(bow bow bow bow bow)
(bow bow bow bow bow)
Because were
Going to the chapel
And were gonna get married
Going (goin) to the chapel
And were gonna get married

song performed by Beach Boys
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I'm Goona Copy

I’m surely gonna copy,
Be it poem, DVD or floppy,
And win Nobel Prize and trophy.

I will copy poets all
Whether they are big or small
Ya! No one can make me stop
Till I scale a fame’s highest top.

At the beginning of age
When God made men in his own image
He started this “Plagiarist” trend
Which I am not gonna end.

And what is creativity?
If not an ability to hide
a source of theft
with impunity.

When there is nothing
original under the sun,
Why should I copy not
and deprive myself of fun.

So I’ll copy them word by word
be they Pablo, Shakespeare or Wordsworth.
I’ll copy them from morn to evening
And would excel HITESH and Kipling.
Can you prove, they were not plagiarist,
And had not copy from some poet’s list.

You can inform FBI, KGB or CIA,
But I won’t stop my wanton ways.
And I will copy without shame,
Till I earn big name and fame.

I will copy till people start copying me,
And then and then only I will
give up this vice with glee.: -)

(This poem is a sequel to poem, “hay all you people that like to copy” written by Melissa Schreuder)

Dr Hitesh C Sheth
19/05/2009

poem by Hitesh Sheth
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It's Not What You Think

Lee Thompson Young: Well saving is the game,
Silverstone is the name... Secret Agent Status...
Day starts early and he's on the move
He has to have breakfast in his dressing room
Knock, knock 5 minutes to chew
Go to make up then it's time to hear,
Take 1, take 2 everybody's telling him what to do
It's a great big price to pay to be the man
So listen to what I have to say
It's not what you think when you see him roll
In the limo down the street baby you should know
That everything that glitters..it ain't gold.
(he's the famous Jett Jackson)
It's not what you think cuz when he's all alone
Reminices 'bout the past and he finds himself
Trying to go back home.
(he's the famous Jett Jackson)
He thinks about what he used to be back home
Everything was quiet, nothing really going on
Talking to his peeps on the telephone
Now his life has changed nothing is the same
He took it to the next level, now he's gotta keep it all together
It's not what you think when you see him roll
In the limo down the street baby you should know
That everything that glitters..it ain't gold.
(he's the famous Jett Jackson)
It's not what you think cuz when he's all alone
Reminices 'bout the past and he finds himself
Trying to go back home.
(he's the famous Jett Jackson)
(RAP) Silverstone is the code name
and if saving the world was a basketball game
only the stakes were higher
The only difference between me and MJ would be that I haven't yet retired
(still in the game)
Articles and track team the way that I inspire
Villans and thugs for hire to run like somebody set their socks on fire
Evil doers know by now to say,"aww man he's cocked his eyebrow
This cat's about to say goodbye now find a place to lie down
Duck and cover cuz he's sharper than a diamond cutter
Slicker than a stick of butter",
But even the best of the best can't work alone
So as far as sidekicks go Hawk's is one of the nicest and
Artimus supplies us with expensive and high tech devices
But in comparison my lop-sided grin is still priceless
The best secret agent that mankind knows...it's no mystery
It's not what you think when you see him roll
In the limo down the street baby you should know
That everything that glitters..it ain't gold.
(he's the famous Jett Jackson)

[...] Read more

song performed by Youngstown
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Andrew Jackson

On the life of Andrew Jackson,
Now dear people I will write,
And in sketches, I will tell you
His career with great delight.
His career on earth is ended;
But his name is ever bright,
And his memory is cherished
As a great glorious knight.

The early life of Andrew Jackson,
Its marked in high renown,
As a lover of his country
He proved steadfastly profound,
Through kind teaching of his mother,
That patriot lady brave;
His mind strengthened by her wisdom,
Ere she sank into her grave.

Ah, in manhood, Andrew Jackson,
Was a daring fearless man;
With a strong iron will commanding,
He was loved throughout our land.
He was kind and generous hearted
In his military acts,
Yet was stubborn, while commanding,
And no courage did he lack.

At middle age, Andrew Jackson
Was a noble warlike man,
And was capable of handling
The army at his command.
You can see it by the battles
Of his Indian campaign,
Or the battle of New Orleans,
Where so many men were slain.

The dauntless energy of Jackson,
Oh, should never be forgot,
Or the battle of New Orleans,
Where he diligently fought.
Where he fought to save his country,
From the British fleets of fame;
Through coolness and courage
The victory he did gain.

As commander, Andrew Jackson
Was a soldier of great skill,
And he nobly done his duty
To his country, with good will.
Yet in life his acts were censured,

[...] Read more

poem by Julia A Moore
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Army Of Northern Virginia

Army of Northern Virginia, army of legend,
Who were your captains that you could trust them so surely?
Who were your battle-flags?
Call the shapes from the mist,
Call the dead men out of the mist and watch them ride.
Tall the first rider, tall with a laughing mouth,
His long black beard is combed like a beauty's hair,
His slouch hat plumed with a curled black ostrich-feather,
He wears gold spurs and sits his horse with the seat
Of a horseman born.
It is Stuart of Laurel Hill,
'Beauty' Stuart, the genius of cavalry,
Reckless, merry, religious, theatrical,
Lover of gesture, lover of panache,
With all the actor's grace and the quick, light charm
That makes the women adore him-a wild cavalier
Who worships as sober a God as Stonewall Jackson,
A Rupert who seldom drinks, very often prays,
Loves his children, singing, fighting spurs, and his wife.
Sweeney his banjo-player follows him.
And after them troop the young Virginia counties,
Horses and men, Botetort, Halifax,
Dinwiddie, Prince Edward, Cumberland, Nottoway,
Mecklenburg, Berkeley, Augusta, the Marylanders,
The horsemen never matched till Sheridan came.
Now the phantom guns creak by. They are Pelham's guns.
That quiet boy with the veteran mouth is Pelham.
He is twenty-two. He is to fight sixty battles
And never lose a gun.
The cannon roll past,
The endless lines of the infantry begin.
A. P. Hill leads the van. He is small and spare,
His short, clipped beard is red as his battleshirt,
Jackson and Lee are to call him in their death-hours.
Dutch Longstreet follows, slow, pugnacious and stubborn,
Hard to beat and just as hard to convince,
Fine corps commander, good bulldog for holding on,
But dangerous when he tries to think for himself,
He thinks for himself too much at Gettysburg,
But before and after he grips with tenacious jaws.
There is D. H. Hill-there is Early and Fitzhugh Lee-
Yellow-haired Hood with his wounds and his empty sleeve,
Leading his Texans, a Viking shape of a man,
With the thrust and lack of craft of a berserk sword,
All lion, none of the fox.
When he supersedes
Joe Johnston, he is lost, and his army with him,
But he could lead forlorn hopes with the ghost of Ney.
His bigboned Texans follow him into the mist.
Who follows them?

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
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Mission Chapel Memories

Writers Dolly Parton, Porter Wagoner
Copyright 1971
Tonight oh it's quiet in mission chapel and the music like his love has died
away
And I'm standing in the middle of these mem'ries
Mission chapel mem'ries of our wedding day
I see the rives still scattered all around that fall upon my satin wedding gown
And the wedding bells that rang are silent now only mission chapel mem'ries all
around
Tonight I'm all alone at mission chapel and I'm thinking of my love so far away
While I'm standing in the middle all these mem'ries
Mission chapel mem'ries of our wedding day
I see the rives still scattered all around that fall upon my satin wedding gown
The gown I wore when I became his bride
And now these mission chapel mem'ries fill my eyes
Yes these mission chapel mem'ries fill my eyes

song performed by Dolly Parton
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Copycat

They had an accident
And they never noticed anyway
A lack of originality
Couldnt focus on the day
So much for the radio
Everybody sounds the same
Everybody wears the same clothes now
And everybody plays the game
Copycat, copycat, copycat
Copy copy copy copy yourself
Copycat, copycat, copycat
Copy copy copy everyone else
Ive got a great idea
I will change things on my own
I see my vision very clear,
Wouldnt wanna be another clone
So much for the radio, the radio is sad
Sad, sad, sad
They had an accident
But they never noticed anyway
A lack of originality
Couldnt focus on the day
So much for the radio
Everybody sounds the same
Everybody wears the same clothes now,
And everybody plays the game
Copy everyone else x4

song performed by Cranberries
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Crying In The Chapel

(words & music by arthur glenn)
You saw me crying in the chapel.
The tears I shed were tears of joy
I know the meaning of contentment
Now I am happy with the lord
Just a plain and simple chapel
Where humble people go to pray
I pray the lord that Ill grow stronger
As I live from day to day
Ive searched and Ive searched
But I couldnt find
No way on earth
To gain peace of mind
Now Im happy in the chapel
Where people are of one accord
We gather in the chapel
Just to sing and praise the lord
Evry sinner looks for something
That will put his heart at ease
There is only one true answer
He must get down on his knees
Meet your neighbor in the chapel
Join with him in tears of joy
Youll know the meaning of contentment
Then youll be happy with the lord
Youll search and youll search
But youll never find
No way on earth
To gain peace of mind
Take your troubles to the chapel
Get down on your knees and pray
Your burdens will be lighter
And youll surely find the way

song performed by Elvis Presley
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The Heart Is A Chapel

(the heart is a chapel, and the words, feelings
thoughts, ' are the people'
you don't know what will come in
or leave thru those doors.
but! you are the pastor of this chapel
and you see only the goodness
that the LORD has given you.)

so you open those doors wide
for no one will be denied.

you hear and see the hurt and pain
and you know that it's a shame
that people can not see the beauties
but! just the misery.

this chapel will overcome anything
that comes its way.
for it cannot be torn down, burned down
or layed to the ground.

for your LORD made it strong from the start
this is why he calls it the 'heart'.
there will be a light so strong
and so bright
that it will brighten even the darkess night.

this chapel is a chapel of dreams
of things seen and unseen.

for the more that you have
hopes and aspirations

this will strengten the foundation.

it will make it stronger than its ever been
and repel all the sins.
this is the chapel that the
LORD gave to us.
and in him, we put our trust.

a strong heart will always heal
for it is something that you cannot steal
or shape to your desire.

it is a growing fire, that will spread
to everything in its way
and get stronger day by day.

poem by Louis Rams
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The World Gets a New Pope! - (a prose poem)

Death spares no one!
Death spares no earthling!
Death spares no human being!
Death cuts the thread of life certainly;
And the Pope is no exception!

Pope John Paul II is no more!
The old shepherd had finally passed away;
He was eighty-four when he died;
He fell ill twice quite seriously;
He was Pope for nearly 26 years!
He was the ‘most traveled Pope’ and was a Poet too!
And he stood steadfast in all his spiritual endeavors;
He braved ‘the storms and calmed the seas that tried to capsize the Roman Catholic Ship’!
He led His flock to the Rock!
But some sheep did stray away;
Some had lost their faith;
Some went in search of ‘greener grass in newer meadows’;
But these were the souls which were dissatisfied, distraught and diseased!

A new Shepherd had been finally chosen!
Holy smoke from the Sistine Chapel’s chimney!
On three occasions, it remained black!
The anxious flock stayed back in St.Peter’s Square, all day and night!
They prayed fervently to God to give them a new Shepherd soon;
But each time they saw the black smoke, their hearts filled with sadness;
Yet, their faith never dithered;
The Holy Spirit would answer their prayers fast;
The Holy Spirit had never failed them in the last 2000 years after Jesus Christ!
He had always provided a new Pope whenever the earlier one died;
The people waited anxiously with hope in their hearts that were
already saddened by the demise of Pope John Paul II.

And Lo! There was the smoke again!
But this time, it was white;
The burning of the ballot papers caused the smoke from the Sistine Chapel’s chimney!
And it billowed up into the heavens!
And it was confirmed by the peeling of bells loudly.
A NEW POPE HAD BEEN CHOSEN!

The audio-visual effect was superb;
The flock cheered and sang thanks-giving hymns to the Lord;
They were jubilant and in ecstasy;
The air was rent with ‘Alleluias’!
The Holy Spirit had once more wrought a miracle;
A new Pope had been selected by the secret conclave of 115 cardinals.
God never abandons nor forsakes his flock!

Joseph Ratzinger, a German was the new Pope!
In thirty minutes, he chose the name of Benedict XVI.

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
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The Rosciad

Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.

Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Churchill
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Crazy Little Child

Crazy little child
Never got to see
All the pretty things in life
Had him put away
Nothing they could say
Could ever make the pieces fit
Aw well, Daddy-o was rich
Mama was a bitch
Living wasn't easy in between
Behind his silent scream
Jackson in his teens
Was planning his escape
He was a crazy little child
New Orleans Alley playground
Grimy faced
He watched the hookers cry
Winos were his friends And when he talked to them
They said, "Jackson, boy, they'll get you by and by"
Depression settin' in
Desp'rate, cool and quick
Jackson learned the ropes out on the street
Little candy stores
Just pickin' locks and doors
Was practice for a two bit petty thief
So Jackson went to Ritz
And ev'ryone was hip
Ritz ran all the rackets there in town
If you need another boy
A trigger or a blade
Well, I'm the slickest cat around
Yeah, Ritz gave him the eye
Once over, then he smiled
"Yeah, I've got something here in mind
If you meet me here at two
I think you'll like the view
Of that long green when you crack that safe tonight"
He was a crazy little child
New Orleans Alley playground
And grimy faced
He watched the hookers cry, whoo
Winos were his friends
And when he talked to them
They said, "Jackson, boy, they'll get you by and by," that's right
Well, I'll wait for you outside
And I'll be your ears and your eyes
And boy, you just slip in there and bring out all that loot
But Ritz was taken by surprise
Couple of unspectin' guys
And they left poor Jackson inside
Questions there were few

[...] Read more

song performed by Alice Cooper
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The Legend of Lady Gertrude

I.
Fallen the lofty halls, where vassal crowds
Drank in the dawn of Gertrude's natal day.
The dungeon roof an Alpine snow-wreath shrouds,
The strong, wild eagle's eyrie in the clouds—
The robber-baron's nest—is swept away.

II.
Bare is the mountain brow of lordly towers;
Only the sunbeams stay, the moon and stars,
The faithful saxifrage and gentian flowers,
The silvery mist, and soft, white, crystal showers,
And torrents rushing through their rocky bars.

III.
More than three hundred years ago, the flag
Charged with that dread device, an Alpine bear—
By many storm-winds rent—a grim, grey rag—
Floated above the castle on the crag,
Above the last whose heads were shelter'd there.

IV.
He was the proudest of an ancient race,
The fiercest of the robber chieftain's band,
That haughty Freiherr, with the iron face:
And she—his lady-sister, by God's grace—
The sweetest, gentlest maiden in the land.

V.
'Twas a rude nest for such a tender bird,
That lonely fortress, with its warrior-lord.
Aye drunken revels the night-stillness stirred;
From morn till eve the battle-cries were heard,
The sound of jingling spur and clanking sword.

VI.
And Lady Gertrude was both young and fair,

A mark for lawless hearts and roving eyes,—
With sweet, grave face, and amber-tinted hair,
And a low voice soft-thrilling through the air,
Filling it full of subtlest melodies.

VII.
But the great baron, proudest of his line,
Fetter'd, with jealous care, his white dove's wing;
Guarded his treasure in an inner shrine,
Till such a day as knightly hands should twine
Her slender fingers with the marriage-ring.

[...] Read more

poem by Ada Cambridge
Added by Poetry Lover
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Admiral Mike

(michael nesmith)
Peaceful music (bmi)
Lead vocal: micky dolenz
Youre selling ads you slimy toad
Dont smile at me and shake my hand
Youre killing me
Youre killing us
Because youre only
only selling ads
Youre selling ads you stupid twit
The naked lunch is on your knife
The homicides are suicides
Because youre only
only selling ads
Your copy kills
Your copy smells
Realities are crushed beneath the ads your copy sells
Go back to hell you giddy fools
There is no truth you cannot maim
He killed himself
You killed him first
Because youre only
only selling ads
Your copy kills
Your copy smells
Realities are crushed beneath the ads your copy sells
Youre selling ads you slimy toad
Dont smile at me and shake my hand
Youre killing me
Youre killing us
Because youre only
only selling ads
Because youre only only selling ads
Because youre only only selling ads
Because youre only only selling ads

song performed by Monkees
Added by Lucian Velea
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Could You

There's something about you boy,
That makes me want to skip through the town,
In the rain with you.
There's something about you.
And it makes my heart skip every other beat like a broken record.

You asked me the other day, if you should sing a certain song to a girl.
I said it'd be romantic, go for it.
But as my fingers hit those keys, I could only anxiously think,
If he'll ever sing it to me.
So when you figure who you could like, who you should love.
Could you please consider me?

Hey, boy. You make me spechless...

It's not another copy of, will you just glance at me.
Not another copy of, won't you just say a word to me.
The question is for you and for me.
'Baby could you love me, like I want to love you? '
Smiley boy, we could have a future together with no end.
There would be no lies, fakes, or pretends
Boy, all our friends would be jelous of what we have together.

I'd go to every single soccer game.
Cheer the loudest from the stands.
You'd go to every one of my track meets,
Loving me so much, it's hard to understand.

Hey, boy. You make me spechless...

It's not another copy of, will you just glance at me.
Not another copy of, won't you just say a word to me.
The question is for you and for me.
'Baby could you love me, like I want to love you? '

I never thought, not ever considered
That I could feel the way I do for you now.
But I'm glad it planned out the way.
That's the way I want it to stay.

Hey, boy. You make me spechless...

It's not another copy of, will you just glance at me.
Not another copy of, won't you just say a word to me.
The question is for you and for me.
'Baby could you love me, like I want to love you? '

You're the perfect boy for me, the sweet prince charming
Of my daydreams, you're the one rescuing me.
You play guitar and sing, what a wonderful thing.

[...] Read more

poem by Khloe Chace
Added by Poetry Lover
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