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I liked Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer, and that is the kind of character that I would like to have played. That would have been more in tune with who I really was.

quote by Keith Thibodeaux
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Gettin In Tune

Im singing this note cause it fits in well
Im singing this note cause it fits in well
With the chords Im playing
With the chords Im playing
I cant pretend theres any meaning here
I cant pretend theres any meaning here
Or in the things Im saying
Or in the things Im saying
But Im in tune
But Im in tune
Right in tune
Right in tune
Im in tune
Im in tune
And Im gonna tune
And Im gonna tune
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
Right in on you
I get a little tired of having to say
I get a little tired of having to say
do you come here often?
Do you come here often?
But when I look in your eyes and see the harmonies
But when I look in your eyes and see the harmonies
And the heartaches soften
And the heartaches soften
Im getting in tune
Im getting in tune
Right in tune
Right in tune
Im in tune
Im in tune
And Im gonna tune
And Im gonna tune
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you (right in on you)
Right in on you
Right in on you
Ive got it all here in my head
Ive got it all here in my head
Theres nothing more needs to be said
Theres nothing more needs to be said
Im just bangin on my old piano
Im just bangin on my old piano

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song performed by Who
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Finn's Favorite Fish (Long Tongue Twister)

Finn's favorite fish's favorite food fell flat.
Finn's favorite fish's favorite food falls for fluid.
Finn's favorite fish's favorite food fed Finn's favorite fish.
Finn's favorite fish falls for Finn's favorite fish's favorite food.
Finn's favorite fish's favorite food falls for Finn's favorite fish.
Finn's favorite fish's favorite food fills Finn's favorite fish.
Finn fishes for Finn's favorite fish's favorite fish food for Finn's favorite fish!

poem by Rebecca Ryan
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Grandfather Bridgeman

I

'Heigh, boys!' cried Grandfather Bridgeman, 'it's time before dinner to-day.'
He lifted the crumpled letter, and thumped a surprising 'Hurrah!'
Up jumped all the echoing young ones, but John, with the starch in his throat,
Said, 'Father, before we make noises, let's see the contents of the note.'
The old man glared at him harshly, and twinkling made answer: 'Too bad!
John Bridgeman, I'm always the whisky, and you are the water, my lad!'

II

But soon it was known thro' the house, and the house ran over for joy,
That news, good news, great marvels, had come from the soldier boy;
Young Tom, the luckless scapegrace, offshoot of Methodist John;
His grandfather's evening tale, whom the old man hailed as his son.
And the old man's shout of pride was a shout of his victory, too;
For he called his affection a method: the neighbours' opinions he knew.

III

Meantime, from the morning table removing the stout breakfast cheer,
The drink of the three generations, the milk, the tea, and the beer
(Alone in its generous reading of pints stood the Grandfather's jug),
The women for sight of the missive came pressing to coax and to hug.
He scattered them quick, with a buss and a smack; thereupon he began
Diversions with John's little Sarah: on Sunday, the naughty old man!

IV

Then messengers sped to the maltster, the auctioneer, miller, and all
The seven sons of the farmer who housed in the range of his call.
Likewise the married daughters, three plentiful ladies, prime cooks,
Who bowed to him while they condemned, in meek hope to stand high in his books.
'John's wife is a fool at a pudding,' they said, and the light carts up hill
Went merrily, flouting the Sabbath: for puddings well made mend a will.

V

The day was a van-bird of summer: the robin still piped, but the blue,
As a warm and dreamy palace with voices of larks ringing thro',
Looked down as if wistfully eyeing the blossoms that fell from its lap:
A day to sweeten the juices: a day to quicken the sap.
All round the shadowy orchard sloped meadows in gold, and the dear
Shy violets breathed their hearts out: the maiden breath of the year!

VI

Full time there was before dinner to bring fifteen of his blood,
To sit at the old man's table: they found that the dinner was good.
But who was she by the lilacs and pouring laburnums concealed,

[...] Read more

poem by George Meredith
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The Life And Death Of Tom Thumb

In Arthur's court Tom Thumb did live,
A man of mickle might ;
The best of all the table round,
And eke a doughty knight.
His stature but an inch in height,
Or quarter of a span :
Then think you not this little knight
Was proved a valiant man ?

His father was a ploughman plain,
His mother milk'd the cow,
Yet how that they might have a son
They knew not what to do :
Until such time this good old man
To learned Merlin goes,
And there to him his deep desires
In secret manner shows.

How in his heart he wish'd to have
A child, in time to come,
To be his heir, though it might be
No bigger than his thumb.

Of which old Merlin thus foretold,
That he his wish should have,
And so this son of statue small
The charmer to him gave.

No blood nor bones in him should be,
In shape, and being such
That men should hear him speak, but not
His wandering shadow touch.

But so unseen to go or come,—
Whereas it pleas'd him still ;
Begot and born in half and hour,
To fit his father's will.

And in four minutes grew so fast
That he became so tall
As was the ploughman's thumb in height,
And so they did him call—
TOM THUMB, the which the fairy queen
There gave him to his name,
Who, with her train of goblins grim,
Unto his christening came.

Whereas she cloth'd him richly brave,
In garments fine and fair,
Which lasted him for many years

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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The King Of Brentford’s Testament

The noble King of Brentford
Was old and very sick,
He summon'd his physicians
To wait upon him quick;
They stepp'd into their coaches
And brought their best physick.

They cramm'd their gracious master
With potion and with pill;
They drench'd him and they bled him;
They could not cure his ill.
'Go fetch,' says he, 'my lawyer,
I'd better make my will.'

The monarch's royal mandate
The lawyer did obey;
The thought of six-and-eightpence
Did make his heart full gay.
'What is't,' says he, 'your Majesty
Would wish of me to-day?'

'The doctors have belabor'd me
With potion and with pill:
My hours of life are counted,
O man of tape and quill!
Sit down and mend a pen or two,
I want to make my will.

'O'er all the land of Brentford
I'm lord, and eke of Kew:
I've three-per-cents and five-per-cents;
My debts are but a few;
And to inherit after me
I have but children two.

Prince Thomas is my eldest son,
A sober Prince is he,
And from the day we breech'd him
Till now, he's twenty-three,
He never caused disquiet
To his poor Mamma or me.

'At school they never flogg'd him,
At college, though not fast,
Yet his little-go and great-go
He creditably pass'd,
And made his year's allowance
For eighteen months to last.

'He never owed a shilling.

[...] Read more

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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D. S.

Written and composed by michael jackson.
Produced by michael jackson.
They wanna get my ass
Dead or alive
You know he really tried to take me
Down by surprise
I bet he missioned with the cia
He don't do half what he say
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
He out shock in every single way
He'll stop at nothing just to get his political say
He think he hot cause he's bsta
I bet he never had a social life anyway
You think he brother with the kkk?
I bet his mother never taught him
Right anyway
He want your vote just to remain ta.
He don't do half what he say
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Thomas sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Does he send letters to the fbi?
Did he say to either do it or die?
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Thomas sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Tom sneddon is a cold man
Thomas sneddon is a cold man
(ad lib fade)

song performed by Michael Jackson
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Beowulf

LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled….
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings,
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Bridegroom Dick

1876

Sunning ourselves in October on a day
Balmy as spring, though the year was in decay,
I lading my pipe, she stirring her tea,
My old woman she says to me,
'Feel ye, old man, how the season mellows?'
And why should I not, blessed heart alive,
Here mellowing myself, past sixty-five,
To think o' the May-time o' pennoned young
fellows
This stripped old hulk here for years may
survive.

Ere yet, long ago, we were spliced, Bonny Blue,
(Silvery it gleams down the moon-glade o' time,
Ah, sugar in the bowl and berries in the prime!)
Coxswain I o' the Commodore's crew,--
Under me the fellows that manned his fine gig,
Spinning him ashore, a king in full fig.
Chirrupy even when crosses rubbed me,
Bridegroom Dick lieutenants dubbed me.
Pleasant at a yarn, Bob o' Linkum in a song,
Diligent in duty and nattily arrayed,
Favored I was, wife, and _fleeted_ right along;
And though but a tot for such a tall grade,
A high quartermaster at last I was made.

All this, old lassie, you have heard before,
But you listen again for the sake e'en o' me;
No babble stales o' the good times o' yore
To Joan, if Darby the babbler be.

Babbler?--O' what? Addled brains, they
forget!
O--quartermaster I; yes, the signals set,
Hoisted the ensign, mended it when frayed,
Polished up the binnacle, minded the helm,
And prompt every order blithely obeyed.
To me would the officers say a word cheery--
Break through the starch o' the quarter-deck
realm;
His coxswain late, so the Commodore's pet.
Ay, and in night-watches long and weary,
Bored nigh to death with the navy etiquette,
Yearning, too, for fun, some younker, a cadet,
Dropping for time each vain bumptious trick,
Boy-like would unbend to Bridegroom Dick.
But a limit there was--a check, d' ye see:
Those fine young aristocrats knew their degree.

[...] Read more

poem by Herman Melville
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The Monster Diamond

A TALE OF THE PENAL COLONY OF WEST AUSTRALIA.

'I’LL have it, I tell you! Curse you!—there!'
The long knife glittered, was sheathed, and was bare.
The sawyer staggered and tripped and fell,
And falling he uttered a frightened yell:
His face to the sky, he shuddered and gasped,
And tried to put from him the man he had grasped
A moment before in the terrible strife.
'I'll have it, I tell you, or have your life!
Where is it?' The sawyer grew weak, but still
His brown face gleamed with a desperate will.
'Where is it?' he heard, and the red knife's drip
In his slayer's hand fell down on his lip.
'Will you give it?' 'Never!' A curse, the knife
Was raised and buried.

Thus closed the life
Of Samuel Jones, known as 'Number Ten'
On his Ticket-of-Leave; and of all the men
In the Western Colony, bond or free,
None had manlier heart or hand than he.

In digging a sawpit, while all alone,—
For his mate was sleeping,—Sam struck a stone
With the edge of the spade, and it gleamed like fire,
And looked at Sam from its bed in the mire,
Till he dropped the spade and stooped and raised
The wonderful stone that glittered and blazed
As if it were mad at the spade's rude blow;
But its blaze set the sawyer's heart aglow
As he looked and trembled, then turned him round,
And crept from the pit, and lay on the ground,
Looking over the mold-heap at the camp
Where his mate still slept. Then down to the swamp
He ran with the stone, and washed it bright,
And felt like a drunken man at the sight
Of a diamond pure as spring-water and sun,
And larger than ever man's eyes looked on!

Then down sat Sam with the stone on his knees,
And fancies came to him, like swarms of bees
To a sugar-creamed hive; and he dreamed awake
Of the carriage and four in which he'd take
His pals from the Dials to Drury Lane,
The silks and the satins for Susan Jane,
The countless bottles of brandy and beer
He'd call for and pay for, and every year
The dinner he'd give to the Brummagem lads,—

[...] Read more

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Narrative And Dramatic The Wanderings Of Oisin

BOOK I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. 'Why do you wind no horn?' she said
'And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
'We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain

[...] Read more

poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Ballad Of Hank The Finn

Now Fireman Flynn met Hank the Finn where lights of Lust-land glow;
"Let's leave," says he, "the lousy sea, and give the land a show.
I'm fed up to the molar mark with wallopin' the brine;
I feel the bloody barnacles a-carkin' on me spine.
Let's hit the hard-boiled North a crack, where creeks are paved with gold."
"You count me in," says Hank the Finn. "Ay do as Ay ban told."

And so they sought the Lonely Land and drifted down its stream,
Where sunny silence round them spanned, as dopey as a dream.
But to the spell of flood and fell their gold-grimed eyes were blind;
By pine and peak they paused to seek, but nothing did they find;
No yellow glint of dust to mint, just mud and mocking sand,
And a hateful hush that seemed to crush them down on every hand.
Till Fireman Flynn grew mean as sin, and cursed his comrade cold,
But Hank the Finn would only grin, and . . . do as he was told.

Now Fireman Flynn had pieces ten of yellow Yankee gold,
Which every night he would invite his partner to behold.
"Look hard," says he; "It's all you'll see in this god-blasted land;
But you fret, I'm gonna let you hold them i your hand.
Yeah! Watch 'em gleam, then go and dream they're yours to have and hold."
Then Hank the Finn would scratch his chin and . . . do as he was told.

But every night by camp-fire light, he'd incubate his woes,
And fan the hate of mate for mate, the evil Artic knows.
In dreams the Lapland withes gloomed like gargoyles overhead,
While the devils three of Helsinkee came cowering by his bed.
"Go take," said they, "the yellow loot he's clinking in his belt,
And leave the sneaking wolverines to snout around his pelt.
Last night he called you Swedish scum, from out the glory-hole;
To-day he said you were a bum, and damned your mother's soul.
Go, plug with lead his scurvy head, and grab his greasy gold . . ."
Then Hank the Finn saw red within, and . . . did as he was told.

So in due course the famous Force of Men Who Get Their Man,
Swooped down on sleeping Hank the Finn, and popped him in the can.
And in due time his grievous crime was judged without a plea,
And he was dated up to swing upon the gallows tree.
Then Sheriff gave a party in the Law's almighty name,
He gave a neck-tie party, and he asked me to the same.
There was no hooch a-flowin' and his party wasn't gay,
For O our hearts were heavy at the dawning of the day.
There was no band a-playin' and the only dancin' there
Was Hank the Fin interpretin' his solo in the air.

We climbed the scaffold steps and stood beside the knotted rope.
We watched the hooded hangman and his eyes were dazed with dope.
The Sheriff was in evening dress; a bell began to toll,
A beastly bell that struck a knell of horror to the soul.
As if the doomed one was myself, I shuddered, waiting there.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert William Service
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Huckleberry

Just off of the two-lane where the school bus used to stop
Was a little wooden a-frame with a yellow tin roof top
One day it was raining on this world
She said have you ever really, really ever kissed a girl?
Baby Ill be your huckleberry, you dont have to double dare me
If the storm gets wild and scary count on me to be right there
Youre so extra ordinary sweet like maraschino cherries
Well grow up and well get married
Im gonna be your huckleberry
Later on that summer we went to the county fair
They had a brand new roller coaster and everyone was scared
It was two bucks to experience the thrill
She said come on boy lets get in line Ill ride it if you will
Baby Ill be your huckleberry, you dont have to double dare me
If the ride gets wild and scary count on me to be right there
Youre so extra ordinary sweet like maraschino cherries
Well grow up and well get married
Im gonna be your huckleberry
Snuck off on a slow dance at the junior/senior prom
Went lookin for some romance before I had to get her home
Steamin up the windows of my car
She said until I get my wedding ring boy we cant go that far
Baby Ill be your huckleberry, you dont have to double dare me
If the world gets wild and scary count on me to be right there
Youre so extra ordinary sweet like maraschino cherries
We grew up and we got married
Now look at those three little huckleberries

song performed by Toby Keith
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Poor Tom

(page/plant)
Heres a tale of tom
Who worked the railroads long
His wife would cook his meal
As he would change the wheel
Poor tom, seventh son, always knew whats goin on
Aint a thing that you can hide from tom
There aint nothing that you can hide from tom
Worked for thirty years
Sharing hopes and fears
Dreamin of the day
He could turn and say
Poor tom, works done, been lazin out in the noonday sun
Aint a thing that you can hide from tom
His wife was annie mae
With any man a game shed play
When tom was out of town
She couldnt keep her dress down
Poor tom, seventh son, always knew whats goin on
Aint a thing that you can hide from tom
And so it was one day
People got to annie mae (? )
Tom stood, a gun in his hand
And stopped her runnin around
Poor tom, seventh son, gotta die for what youve done
All those years of work are thrown away
To ease your mind is that all you can say?
But what about that grandson on your knee?
Them railroad songs, tom would sing to me
Aint nothing that you can hide from tom
Keep-a truckin

song performed by Led Zeppelin
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Tom Van Arden

Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Our warm fellowship is one
Far too old to comprehend
Where its bond was first begun:
Mirage-like before my gaze
Gleams a land of other days,
Where two truant boys, astray,
Dream their lazy lives away.

There's a vision, in the guise
Of Midsummer, where the Past
Like a weary beggar lies
In the shadow Time has cast;
And as blends the bloom of trees
With the drowsy hum of bees,
Fragrant thoughts and murmurs blend,
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.

Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
All the pleasures we have known
Thrill me now as I extend
This old hand and grasp your own--
Feeling, in the rude caress,
All affection's tenderness;
Feeling, though the touch be rough,
Our old souls are soft enough.

So we'll make a mellow hour:
Fill your pipe, and taste the wine--
Warp your face, if it be sour,
I can spare a smile from mine;
If it sharpen up your wit,
Let me feel the edge of it--
I have eager ears to lend,
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.

Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Are we 'lucky dogs,' indeed?
Are we all that we pretend
In the jolly life we lead?--
Bachelors, we must confess,
Boast of 'single blessedness'
To the world, but not alone--
Man's best sorrow is his own!

And the saddest truth is this,--
Life to us has never proved
What we tasted in the kiss
Of the women we have loved:
Vainly we congratulate

[...] Read more

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Eroica, Eroica, Eroica

Beethoven Third Symphony
A Beethoven master piece
The First Movement
The music starts softly and sweet
Picks soon with full force
In charm awakening
With the orchestra in full display
Loud with majestic power
We are overwhelmed
No place to go
We are exhausted
He relieves us now
With soft melody that follows
He has master command
The music comes quick in flurry
with persistent repetition
We are whipped with emotions
The music comes back again and again
In fresh successive succession
Like a boy coming hurriedly in the field
The tunes comes back
Haunting us in familiar rhythm
It is over and over again
Filling and nourishing our soul
Some sound comes again
From far away
Like someone we knew
Calling us softly,
Gently and beautifully
Racing and touching our heart
The old familiar tune
Comes back and back again
Teasing us
With power
Hurriedly closing on us
The music casts some sadness
The familiar tune comes back
Full of charm

Second Movement
A faint sad sound
So sad
Like funeral procession
The same tune comes back
dressed in sadness
So sad
Revival the music comes strong

Third Movement

[...] Read more

poem by Sherif Monem
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Huckleberry

[d-shot]
Hey now baby, how you be doin?
You been doin fine?
You know you called me last week
I got your message but i was outta state, yaknowhati'msayin?
(now i comes through, just like the hog i am)
It seems you need a little bit of excitement in your life
(all up in her bedroom, til renee humming my tune)
I'm here for you, don't sweat it
(she's got an attitude, i'm just her man)
How your man be treatin you?
(she needs me to get her in the mood)
I know
(i had to hit her, i'm never stairy i'll be yo huckleberry!)
See you can call me any hour, that's how we do it
I'm in and out, and partner you ain't knowin this
She loves you goodly but she's all on a player's tip
Cause you ain't givin, somethin that she really needs
And that's that good ass lovin, partner can't you see
She's bored no trust, she sits in the house all day
While you out there ballin, tryin to have it the kingpin way
She gets no time, your schedule way too deep
You leaves out the house everytime you get a beep
To all you ladies, sweet dark and lovely
See players like me, i likes to taste the easter bunny
I likes to lick you down, give you self esteem
I'm the playboy you want, on your under team
Yo' huckleberry, mackin fast shot-ty
One of them type of ballers on the same level as gotti
So all you tenders, it's all to the good
So page me on the under and i'll creep through yo' hood
*chorus*
If you need some lovin, lovin girl
I'll be yo' huckleberry, berry
And if you need someone to talk to girl, talk to girl
You can call me on the under, under
[e-40]
Lookin at my oyster perpetual rolex, browsin through my rolodex
Baby done left a verbal, want me to hit that girdle
Come through on a tuck, while he's in the shower
Get in on the ease with robbin him, after hour
Slumpin gen-a-talia, regulatin
Cheatin in next room, fun-a-catin
Demonstratin, new and improved moves
Legislatin, perkin drinkin booze
But when you plug it, baby see you soon
You say one day, we gon' jump the broom
It was seven years, and g is faithful for ya
But did she love ya, or was she used to ya
It ain't my fault you got too attached

[...] Read more

song performed by E-40
Added by Lucian Velea
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Uncle Tom's Cabin

Just for the record let's get the story straight
Me and Uncle Tom were fishin' it was gettin'
Pretty late
Out on a cypress limb above the wishin' well
Where they say it got no bottom say it take
You down to Hell
Over in the bushes and off to the right
Come two men talkin' in the pale moonlight
Sheriff John Brady and Deputy Hedge
Haulin' two limp bodies down to the water's edge
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's Cabin oh yea
I know a secret that I just can't tell
They didn't see me and Tom in the tree
Neither one believin' what the other could see
Tossed in the bodies let 'em sink on down
To the bottom of the well
Where they'd never be found
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's cabin oh yea
I know a secret that I just can't tell
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's Cabin
Know a secret that I just can't tell
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's Cabin
Know who put the bodies in the wishin' well
Soon as they were gone me & Tom got down
Prayin' real hard that we wouldn't make a sound
Runnin' through the woods back to Uncle Tom's shack
Where the full moon shines through the roof tile cracks
Oh my God Tom who are we gonna tell
The sheriff he belongs in a prison cell
Keep your mouth shut that's what we're gonna do
Unless you wanna wind up in the wishin' well too
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's Cabin
Know a secret that I just can't tell
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's Cabin
Know who put the bodies, know who put the bodies
in the wishin' well

song performed by Warrant
Added by Lucian Velea
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Uncle Tom's Cabin

Just for the record let's get the story straight
Me and Uncle Tom were fishin' it was gettin'
Pretty late
Out on a cypress limb above the wishin' well
Where they say it got no bottom say it take
You down to Hell
Over in the bushes and off to the right
Come two men talkin' in the pale moonlight
Sheriff John Brady and Deputy Hedge
Haulin' two limp bodies down to the water's edge
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's Cabin oh yea
I know a secret that I just can't tell
They didn't see me and Tom in the tree
Neither one believin' what the other could see
Tossed in the bodies let 'em sink on down
To the bottom of the well
Where they'd never be found
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's cabin oh yea
I know a secret that I just can't tell
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's Cabin
Know a secret that I just can't tell
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's Cabin
Know who put the bodies in the wishin' well
Soon as they were gone me & Tom got down
Prayin' real hard that we wouldn't make a sound
Runnin' through the woods back to Uncle Tom's shack
Where the full moon shines through the roof tile cracks
Oh my God Tom who are we gonna tell
The sheriff he belongs in a prison cell
Keep your mouth shut that's what we're gonna do
Unless you wanna wind up in the wishin' well too
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's Cabin
Know a secret that I just can't tell
I know a secret down at Uncle Tom's Cabin
Know who put the bodies, know who put the bodies
in the wishin' well

song performed by Warrant
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mr. Moon

Written by jay kay, toby smith and stuart zender
Whooo wo wo now
Have you gone astray or lost your way?
You should have seen me yesterday,
Well i knew this kind of love was written in the stars
It's only once or twice that you're inline with mr.moon
Then it was you...
You took me on your cloud
Give me flowers for my pain
But with some degree my destiny seemed to slip away from me
Before i got to now your name...
Just give me a chance
I'll do what you want me to
Everybody wants to dance, so how come i can't dance with you
You really turn me on
You're the one that makes me smile...
It's mr moon who plays in tune,
Mr moon who knows
And if it's mr. moon who gives the sign then that's the sign that goes on
I never know what to do till i'm there with you....
Eh....all right on....
Did you lose your mind or for a day?
You don't remember anyway...
Like the waters of a dream encapsulate my mind
A place i haven't seen sits a the end of space and time
So lost in love...
Than i think i'm blind...
To purchanse upon this circumstance,
It's something of a miracle so spiritual it's verging on the physical...
Searching for a love i cannot find...
Oh, now i'm lost in your love...
Now i'm lost, and i don't know when to turn,
Now i'm lost in your, now i'm lost in your love...
Parira parira...parira parira...
(just play my tune, oh mr. moon)
Just play my tune, just play my tune
Just play my tune, just play my tune
Just play my tune, just play my tune
Ooooh la la, la lara lo la la, lalala...
Just give me a chance
I'll do what you want me to
Everybody wants to dance, so how come i can't dance with you
You really turn me on
You're the one that makes me smile...yeah......oh!
It's mr moon who plays in tune,
Mr moon who knows
And if it's mr. moon who gives the sign then that's the sign that goes on
I never know what to do till i'm there with you....
Eh, eh....oh now....
Oh mr. moon play that tune for me...

[...] Read more

song performed by Jamiroquai
Added by Lucian Velea
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Huckleberry Grove

Shirley was a lady whose teeth were made of gold
She danced before the music and everything it told

Huckleberry Grove
Where the music plays into tomorrow night
Huckleberry Grove
Only fools would need to argue or to fight

Shirley had eight children and each of them were told
You got joy for singing burning in your soul

Huckleberry Grove
Where the idiots can't ease you of your mind
Huckleberry Grove
Take a free train

song performed by Ocean Colour Scene from B-Sides: Seasides & Freerides
Added by Lucian Velea
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