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Nobody has ever said anything about Marion Jones every using performance-enhancing drugs and they never will.

quote by Marion Jones
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The Ew-Bughts Marion. A Scottish Song.

Will ze gae to the ew-bughts, Marion,
And wear in the sheip wi' mee?
The sun shines sweit, my Marion,
But nae half sae sweit as thee.
O Marion's a bonnie lass,
And the blyth blinks in her ee;
And fain wad I marrie Marion,
Gin Marion wad marrie mee.

Theire's gowd in zour garters, Marion;
And siller on zour white haussbane;
Fou faine wad I kisse my Marion
At eene quhan I cum hame.
Theire's braw lads in Earnslaw, Marion,
Quha gape and glowr wi' their ee
At kirk, quhan they see my Marion;
Bot nane of them lues like mee.

Ive nine milk-ews, my Marion,
A cow and a brawney quay;
Ise gie tham au to my Marion,
Just on her bridal day.
And zees get a grein sey apron,
And waistcote o' London broun,
And wow bot ze will be vaporing
Quhanier ze gang to the toun.

Ime yong and stout, my Marion,
None dance lik mee on the greine;
And gin ze forsak me, Marion,
Ise een gae draw up wi' Jeane.
Sae put on zour pearlins, Marion,
And kirtle oth' cramasie,
And sune as my chin has nae haire on,
I sall cum west and see zee.

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Heavy Metal Poisoning

Written by james young
Lead vocals by james young
Murolces odro suvon sitpeoc tiunna
What the devils goin on
Why dont your turn that music down
Youre going deaf and thats for sure
But all you do is scream for more
Get the lead out go for broke
Pop your pills and drink and smoke
Shoot those chemicals into your vein
Anything to ease the pain
Heavy metal (heavy metal) poisoning (its a poison)
A toxic wasteland (got a toxic wasteland) in your ear canal (in your ear canal!)
Overloaded (Im overloaded), suffering (yeah!)
Overloaded (overloaded) on sex and drugs
Everything is black and white
You are wrong and we are right
First well spank your big behinds
Then well twist your little minds
Im dr. righteous (Im dr. righteous), and Im here to sing (yeah!)
That heavy metal (heavy metal) is poisoning
Its a music wasteland, that destroys the young (yeah!)
Theyre overloaded (overloaded) on sex and drugs, sex and drugs, sex and drugs
And rock and roll!
Sterces eht sdloh natas
Im dr. righteous (Im dr. righteous), and Im here to sing (yeah!)
That heavy metal (heavy metal) is poisoning
Its a music wasteland, that destroys the young (yeah!)
Theyre overloaded (overloaded) on sex and drugs, sex and drugs, sex and drugs
And rock and roll!
Heavy metal (heavy metal) poisoning (its a poison)
A toxic wasteland (got a toxic wasteland) in your love canal love canal!)
Overloaded (Im overloaded), suffering (yeah!)
Overloaded (overloaded) on sex and drugs, sex and drugs, sex and drugs
Sex and drugs, sex and drugs, sex and drugs, sex and drugs, sex and drugs
Righteous! righteous!...
Shut up!
...righteous! righteous! righteous! righteous! righteous! yeah!
Shut up! shut up!
[giggles]

song performed by Styx
Added by Lucian Velea
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We Are All On Drugs

When you're out with your friends
In your new Mercedes-Benz
And you're on drugs
And you show up late for school
'Cause you think you're really cool
When you're on drugs
And you put on your headphones
And you step into the zone
When you're on drugs
But the world don't care
If you are not there
'Cause you're on drugs
GIVE IT TO ME
We are all on drugs yeah
Never getting enough (never get enough)
We are all on drugs yeah
Give me some of that stuff (WOO)
And you twitch in your seat
'Cause you wanna hit the street
When you're on drugs
And you cause such a fuss
'Cause there's no one you can trust
When you're on drugs
And the best of your days
Will vanish into haze
When you're on drugs
And you wish you can quit
'Cause you're really sick of it
But you're on drugs
GIVE IT TO ME
We are all on drugs yeah
Never getting enough (never get enough)
We are all on drugs yeah
Give me some of that stuff (WOO)
I wanna confiscate your drugs
I don't think I can get enough
We are all on drugs yeah
Never getting enough (never get enough)
We are all on drugs yeah
Give me some of that stuff (WOO)

song performed by Weezer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Me And Mrs. Jones

Me and mrs. jones, we got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We meet ev'ry day at the same cafe,
Six-thirty i know she'll be there,
Holding hands, making all kinds of plans
While the jukebox plays our favorite song.
Me and mrs., mrs. jones, mrs. jones, mrs. jones,
Mrs. jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We gotta be extra careful that we don't build our hopes too high
Cause she's got her own obligations and so do i,
Me, me and mrs., mrs. jones, mrs. jones, mrs. jones,
Mrs. jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
Well, it's time for us to be leaving,
Iit hurts so much, it hurts so much inside,
Now she'll go her way and i'll go mine,
But tomorrow we'll meet the same place, the same time.
Me and mrs. jones, mrs. jones, mrs. jones.

song performed by Hall & Oates
Added by Lucian Velea
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Me & Mrs. Jones

Me and Mrs. Jones, we got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We meet ev'ry day at the same cafe,
Six-thirty I know she'll be there,
Holding hands, making all kinds of plans
While the jukebox plays our favorite song.
Me and Mrs., Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones,
Mrs. Jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
We gotta be extra careful that we don't build our hopes too high
Cause she's got her own obligations and so do I,
Me, me and Mrs., Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones,
Mrs. Jones got a thing going on,
We both know that it's wrong,
But it's much too strong to let it cool down now.
Well, it's time for us to be leaving,
Iit hurts so much, it hurts so much inside,
Now she'll go her way and I'll go mine,
But tomorrow we'll meet the same place, the same time.
Me and Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Jones.

song performed by Hall & Oates
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mr. Jones

Mr. jones
Put a wiggle in your stride
Loosen up
I believe he'll be alright
Changing clothes
Now he's got ventilated slacks
Bouncing off the walls
Mr. jones is back!
Bulge out
And wind your waist
Tight pants
Got curly hair
Drinking cold beer
From metal cans
Moonshine
And handi-wipes!
Mr. jones is back in town
It's his lucky day
Hold up your hands and shout
Jones is on his way
Pitter pat
Mr. jones is back in town
Aces high
Now his pants are falling down
He looks so fine
In those patent leather shoes
Mr. jones, you look tired
I believe you'll be alright
Sales men
Conventioneers
Some rock stars
With tambourines
Short skirts
And skinny legs
Selling bibles
And real estate
It's a big day for mr. jones
He is not so square
Mr. jones will stick around
He's everybody's friend
Fast cars
And motorbikes
I'm sure glad
He's on our side
The jones gang
Down at the bar
Watch out, this time
They've gone too far
They call for mr. jones
They put him in charge

[...] Read more

song performed by Talking Heads
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sweetwater Jones

Sweetwater Jones
Went riding
out in to the country night
he left his phone still ringing
ringing by the t.v.'s light
goodbye to you new york city
goodbye to every thing it used to be
you sure can could look good
Emerald City
oh but now your just a drag on me
goodbye to the ringing phone
goodbye to the old grindstone
and what use to be Jimmy Jones
now they known as Sweetwater Jones
Sweetwater Jones
keep on going
hey Jonese boy your'll doing find
smiling a smile and knowing
that your heading fore a better time
look at your face
hey its shinning
hey beaming like it never could
look at your eyes
hey you crying
but you never thought you fell so good
goodbye to the ringing phone
good,good,goodbye to the old grindstone
what used to be Jimmy Jones
now they known as Sweetwater Jones
ohhhhhhhh
ohhhhhhhh Sweetwater Jones
what use to be Jimmy Jones
now they known as Sweetwater Jones
now they known as Sweetwater Jones

song performed by Barry Manilow
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Swamp Fox

WE follow where the Swamp Fox guides,
His friends and merry men are we;
And when the troop of Tarleton rides,
We burrow in the cypress tree.
The turfy hammock is our bed,
Our home is in the red deer's den,
Our roof, the tree-top overhead,
For we are wild and hunted men.

We fly by day and shun its light,
But prompt to strike the sudden blow,
We mount and start with early night,
And through the forest track our foe,
And soon he hears our chargers leap,
The flashing saber blinds his eyes,
And ere he drives away his sleep,
And rushes from his camp, he dies.

Free bridle-bit, good gallant steed,
That will not ask a kind caress
To swim the Santee at our need,
When on his heels the foemen press -
The true heart and the ready hand,
The spirit stubborn to be free,
The twisted bore, the smiting brand -
And we are Marion's men, you see.

Now light the fire and cook the meal,
The last, perhaps, that we shall taste;
I hear the Swamp Fox round us steal,
And that's a sign we move in haste.
He whistles to the scouts, and hark!
You hear his order calm and low.
Come, wave your torch across the dark,
And let us see the boys that go.

We may not see their forms again,
God help 'em, should they find the strife!
For they are strong and fearless men,
And make no coward terms for life;
They'll fight as long as Marion bids,
And when he speaks the word to shy,
Then, not till then, they turn their steeds,
Through thickening shade and swamp to fly.

Now stir the fire and lie at ease -
The scouts are gone, and on the brush
I see the Colonel bend his knees,
To take his slumbers too. But hush!
He's praying, comrades; 't is not strange;

[...] Read more

poem by William Gilmore Simms
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Have You Met Miss Jones?

Have you met Miss Jones
Someone said as we shook hands
She was just Miss Jones to me

Then I said Miss Jones
You're a girl who understands
I'm a man who must be free.

And all at once I lost my breath
And all at once was scared to death
And all at once I own the earth and sky

Now I met Miss Jones
And well keep on meeting till we die
Miss Jones and I

And all at once I lost my breath
And all at once was scared to death
And all at once I own the earth and sky

Now I met Miss Jones
And well keep on meeting till we die
Miss Jones and I
Miss Jones and I

Miss Jones and I

song performed by Robbie Williams from Swing When You're Winning
Added by Lucian Velea
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Jones M.P.

It was thus in the beginning: With a sporting chance of winning,
Jones contested an election years ago.
He was young, enthusiastic, and maintained that measures drastic
Were imperative to save the land from Woe.
For the laudable admiration of this budding politician,
Who with zeal to serve his bleeding country burned,
Was to make a reputation as a saviour of the nation,
And a clean and honest statesman - if returned.

The electors took a fancy to the youngster, and the chance he
Had of winning was improved where'er he went.
His high motives were respected, and, in short, he was elected;
And an Honest Man went into Parliament.
Went in to strive for glory where there held a system hoary,
Founded on the good old English party plan.
Wherefore Jones, half understanding things, submitted to the branding,
And became, perforce, a solid party man.

But when he heard a mention of the Whip
Party Whip,
He gave answer, as he curled a scornful lip,
And his honest zeal upbore him,
That his course was plain before him,
Just the clean, straight course of earnest statesmanship.
For young Jones held notions utterly absurd;
And the old campaigners sniggered when they heard
That young patriot unfolding
His stern views, and Truth upholding,
But he meant it, when he said it, ev'ry word.

For a time, in all debating, Jones was famed for boldly stating
Plain, blunt truths and keen uncomfortable facts;
Till his colleagues grew uneasy, for, in fashion bland and breezy,
He proposed to back his burning words with acts.
And they told him, with much cunning, that he might be in the running
For the leadership if he'd consent to hedge.
He was bold, ambitious, clever, but advance, they said, he'd never
While he clung to childish notions of his pledge.

Brave young Jones at first was scornful; but, ere long, with visage mournful,
He sat down to think on what he stood to lose.
And his party friends, with caution, hinted honours were his portion
If he'd but consent to water down his views.
And they e'en suggested slyly that, although they valued highly
His great services, defiance was not meet.
Till, his splendid dream departing, Jones saw plainly that a parting
With his party meant a parting with his seat.

It was then he heard the cracking of the Whip
Party Whip!

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Drug's Not Working

I was shooting in the back of the car
When the windows smashed on the police cars
I was swimming through the streets of New York
With my cocaine dagger and throats to cut
And it was making her cry
And it was making her cry
And it was making her cry
But it was making me high
She was a hooker at the age of 16
All she wanted was the money
She didn't need an I.D.
She was a junkie and I know its clich
But then so was her life
I mean, she lived in L.A.
And it was making her cry
And it was making her cry
And it was making her cry
But it was making her high
And it was making her cry
And it was making her cry
And it was making her cry
But it was making her high
And it was making her cry
And it was making her cry
(Riot in my skull, demons are coming)
And it was making her cry
(Los Angeles is dead, the drugs ain't working)
And it was making her cry
(Painted it all black, the chains are jerking)
And it was making her cry
(Los Angeles is dead, the drugs ain't working)
And it was making her cry
(Riot in my skull, demons are coming)
And it was making her cry
(Los Angeles is dead, the drugs ain't working)
And it was making her cry
(Los Angeles is dead, the drugs ain't working)
Riot in my skull, demons are coming
L.A. your dead, the drugs ain't working
Painted it all black, the chains are jerking
L.A. is dead, the drugs ain't working
L.A. your dead, the drugs ain't working
L.A. your dead, the drugs ain't working
The drugs ain't working
The drugs ain't working

song performed by Ryan Adams
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Drugs Dont Work

All this talk of getting old
All this talk of getting old
Its getting me down my love
Its getting me down my love
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
This time Im comin down
This time Im comin down
And I hope youre thinking of me
As you lay down on your side
And I hope youre thinking of me
Now the drugs dont work
As you lay down on your side
They just make you worse
Now the drugs dont work
But I know Ill see your face again
They just make you worse
But I know Ill see your face again
Now the drugs dont work
They just make you worse
But I know Ill see your face again
Now the drugs dont work
They just make you worse
But I know Im on a losing streak
But I know Ill see your face again
cause I passed down my old street
And if you wanna show, then just let me know
And Ill sing in your ear again
But I know Im on a losing streak
cause I passed down my old street
Now the drugs dont work
And if you wanna show, then just let me know
They just make you worse
And Ill sing in your ear again
But I know Ill see your face again
cause baby, ooh, if heaven calls, Im coming, too
Now the drugs dont work
Just like you said, you leave my life, Im better off dead
They just make you worse
But I know Ill see your face again
All this talk of getting old
Its getting me down my love
Like a cat in a bag, waiting to drown
cause baby, ooh, if heaven calls, Im coming, too
This time Im comin down
Just like you said, you leave my life, Im better off dead
Now the drugs dont work
They just make you worse
All this talk of getting old
But I know Ill see your face again

[...] Read more

song performed by Verve
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Bridge Across the Crick

Joseph Jones and Peter Dawking
Strove in an election fight;
And you'd think, to hear them talking,
Each upheld the people's right.
Each declared he stood for Progress and against his country's foes
When he sought their votes at Wombat, where the Muddy River flows.

Peter Dawking, scorning party,
As an Independent ran;
Joseph Jones, loud, blatant, hearty,
Was a solid party man.
But the electors up at Wombat vowed to him alone they'd stick
Who would give his sacred promise for the 'bridge across the crick'.

Bland, unfaithful politicians
Long had said this bridge should be.
Some soared on to high positions,
Some sank to obscurity;
Still the bridge had been denied it by its unrelenting foes -
By the foes of patient Wombat, where the Muddy River flows.

Up at Wombat Peter Dawking
Held a meeting in the hall,
And he'd spent an hour in talking
On the far-flung Empire's Call,
When a local greybeard, rising, smote him with this verbal brick:
'Are or are yeh not in favour of the bridge across the crick?'

Peter just ignored the question,
Proudly patriotic man;
Understand a mean suggestion
Men like Peter never can,
Or that free enlightened voters look on all Great Things as rot,
While a Burning Local Question fires each local patriot.

Joseph Jones, serene and smiling,
Took all Wombat to his heart.
'Ah,' he said, his 'blood was b'iling'
He declared it 'made him smart'
To reflect how they'd been swindled; and he cried in ringing tones
'Gentlemen, your bridge is certain if you cast your votes for Jones!'

Joseph Jones and Peter Dawking
Strove in an election fight,
And, when they had finished talking,
On the great election night
They stood level in the voting, and the hope of friends and foes
Hung upon the box from Wombat, where the Muddy River flows.

Then the Wombat votes were counted;

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Sausage Candidate-A Tale of the Elections

Our fathers, brave men were and strong,
And whisky was their daily liquor;
They used to move the world along
In better style than now -- and quicker.
Elections then were sport, you bet!
A trifle rough, there's no denying
When two opposing factions met
The skin and hair were always flying.
When "cabbage-trees" could still be worn
Without the question, "Who's your hatter?"
There dawned a bright election morn
Upon the town of Parramatta.
A man called Jones was all the go --
The people's friend, the poor's protector;
A long, gaunt, six-foot slab of woe,
He sought to charm the green elector.

How Jones had one time been trustee
For his small niece, and he -- the villain! --
Betrayed his trust most shamefully,
And robbed the child of every shillin'.
He used to keep accounts, they say,
To save himself in case of trouble;
Whatever cash he paid away
He always used to charge it double.

He'd buy the child a cotton gown
Too coarse and rough to dress a cat in,
And then he'd go and put it down
And charge the price of silk or satin!
He gave her once a little treat,
An outing down the harbour sunny,
And Lord! the bill for bread and meat,
You'd think they all had eaten money!

But Jones exposed the course he took
By carelessness -- such men are ninnies.
He went and entered in his book,
"Two pounds of sausages -- two guineas."
Now this leaked out, and folk got riled,
And said that Jones, "he didn't oughter".
But what cared Jones? he only smiled --
Abuse ran off his back like water.

And so he faced the world content:
His little niece -- he never paid her:
And then he stood for Parliament,
Of course he was a rank free trader.
His wealth was great, success appeared
To smile propitious on his banner,

[...] Read more

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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A Ballad for Elderly Kids

Now this is the ballad of Jeremy Jones,
And likewise of Bobadil Brown,
Of the Snooks and the Snaggers and Macs and Malones,
And Diggle and Daggle and Down.
In fact, 'tis a song of a fatuous throng.
Which embraces 'the man in the street,'
And the bloke on the 'bus, and a crowd more of us.
And a lot of the people we meet.

Yes, this is the story of Jack and of Jill,
Whose surnames are Snawley or Smith,
And of Public Opinion and National Will,
And samples of Popular Myth.
For Jeremy Jones, as a very small boy,
Was encouraged to struggle for pelf,
And to strive very hard in his own little yard,
But never to think for himself.

Then, Hi-diddle-diddle, the cat and the fiddle,
Come, sing us a nursery rhyme.
For, in spite of our whiskers, we elderly friskers
Are kiddes the most of our time.
So this is the song of the juvenile throng,
And its aunts and its big brother Bill,
Its uncles and cousins, and sisters in dozens,
Louisa and 'Liza and Lill.

Now, Jeremy Jones was exceedingly 'loyal,'
And when any procession went by,
He'd cheer very loud with the rest of the crowd,
Though he honestly couldn't tell why.
He was taught that his 'rulers' toiled hard for his sake,
And promoted the 'general good';
That to meddle with 'customs' was quite a mistake.
And Jones didn't see why he should.

To gird at the 'Order of Things as they Are,'
He was told, was the act of a fool.
He was taught, in effect, to regard with respect
Ev'ry' 'Precedent,' 'Practice' and 'Rule.'
And if we deserted the 'Usual Plan'
He believed that the nation would fall.
So Jones became known as a 'right-thinking man,'
Which meant that he didn't at all.

Oh, Little Miss Muffett, she sat on a tuffet,
But fled from a spider in fright;
For no one haa told her that if she was bolder,
She might have asserted her right.
Ho, rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub,

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Songs The Minstrel Sang

Its almost over its almost done
And you cant put the blame on anyone
Its almost easy and its almost fun
Did you get caught with your britches on
Hi derry day in the month of may
Was the song the minstrel sang
To the good of robin hood
Maid marion and all the gang
His aim was mean and his shot was clean
And his suit was the shade of evergreen
The folks he knew hadnt naught to fear
When the sheriff was there they were over here
Hi derry doon in the month of june
Was the song the minstrel sung
To the good of robin hoods
Good name and a place to run
He loved strong ale and a run down jail
Was the kind of a scene where he never failed
There was no man on the sea or land
Who could get maid marion on the trail
Hi derry day in the month of may
Was the song the minstrel sang
To the good of robin hood
Maid marion and all the gang
Its almost over its almost done
And you cant put the blame on marion
She almost made it to the friars gate
But the old wooden bridge wouldnt elevate
Hi derry doon in the month of june
Was the song the minstrel sung
To the good of robin hoods
Good name and a place to run

song performed by Gordon Lightfoot
Added by Lucian Velea
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Song of Marion's Men

Our band is few, but true and tried,
Our leader frank and bold;
The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,
Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us,
As seamen know the sea;
We know its walks of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,
Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.

Woe to the English soldiery
That little dread us near!
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear;
When, waking to their tents on fire,
They grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us
Are beat to earth again;
And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands
Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release
From danger and from toil;
We talk the battle over,
And share the battle's spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout,
As if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gathered
To crown the soldier's cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind
That in the pine-top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly
On beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads-
The glitter of their rifles,
The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb
Across the moonlight plain;
'Tis life to feel the night-wind
That lifts his tossing mane.

[...] Read more

poem by William Cullen Bryant
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Ain't Nothin' Like A Jones

I've got a jones in my bones.. woah oh..

I've been thinkin about you baby
I wanna tell you what's on my mind
cause you been hangin around me lately
now I'm reading between the lines

But I've been waitin on you
and you been waitin on me
(so tell me) so can we get together
in real love ecstasy

[Chorus]
Cause it ain't nothin like a Jones in ya bones
ain't nothin real as the feelin I feel
I'm sizing you up
cause I know what I want
you're breakin me down cause I need you near
said it aint nothin like a Jones in ya bones
ain't nothin real as the feelin I feel
I'm sizing you up cause I know what I want
you're breakin me down cause I need you near

I can see that you're ready baby
so wont you tell me what's on your mind
I've had enough of the games we're playing
and I've been feelin to make you mine

But I've been waitin on you
and you been waitin on me
so can we get together in real love ecstasy

Cause it ain't nothin like a jones in ya bones
ain't nothin real as the feelin I feel
I'm sizing you up
cause I know what I want
you're breakin me down cause I need you near
said it ain't nothin like a Jones in ya bones
ain't nothin real as the feelin I feel
I'm sizing you up cause I know what I want
you're breakin me down cause I need you near

It's time I express to you
the joy you bring
when we're together baby
can we be more then friends
I need to know
this waitin is drivin me crazy

do you got it I got a Jones make it hot

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song performed by Tyrese from Tyrese
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ballad Of A Thin Man

You walk into the room
With your pencil in your hand
You see somebody naked
And you say, who is that man?
You try so hard
But you dont understand
Just what youll say
When you get home
Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?
You raise up your head
And you ask, is this where it is?
And somebody points to you and says
Its his
And you say, whats mine?
And somebody else says, where what is?
And you say, oh my god
Am I here all alone?
Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?
You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, how does it feel
To be such a freak?
And you say, impossible
As he hands you a bone
Because something is happening here
But you dont know what it is
Do you, mister jones?
You have many contacts
Among the lumberjacks
To get you facts
When someone attacks your imagination
But nobody has any respect
Anyway they already expect you
To just give a check
To tax-deductible charity organizations
Youve been with the professors
And theyve all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
Youve been through all of
F. scott fitzgeralds books
Youre very well read
Its well known
Because something is happening here

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song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tale XXI

The Learned Boy

An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and

hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'

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poem by George Crabbe
Added by Poetry Lover
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