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The reason Ronald Reagan gets slammed for having so badly exacerbated the problem of deficit spending is that he so plainly deserves it.

quote by Daniel Keys Moran
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The Lord of the Isles: Canto III.

I.
Hast thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled head
Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has roll'd,
How when its echoes fell, a silence dead
Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold?
The rye-glass shakes not on the sod-built fold,
The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still,
The wall-flower waves not on the ruin'd hold,
Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill,
The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the groaning hill.

II.
Artornish! such a silence sunk
Upon thy halls, when that grey Monk
His prophet-speech had spoke;
And his obedient brethren's sail
Was stretch'd to meet the southern gale
Before a whisper woke.
Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear,
Close pour'd in many an anxious ear,
The solemn stillness broke;
And still they gazed with eager guess,
Where, in an oriel's deep recess,
The Island Prince seem'd bent to press
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer,
And gesture fierce, scarce deign'd to hear.

III.
Starting at length with frowning look,
His hand he clench'd, his head he shook,
And sternly flung apart;-
'And deem'st thou me so mean of mood,
As to forget the mortal feud,
And clasp the hand with blood inbrued
From my dear Kinsman's heart?
Is this thy rede? - a due return
For ancient league and friendship sworn!
But well our mountain proverb shows
The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows.
Be it even so - believe, ere long,
He that now bears shall wreak the wrong.-
Call Edith - call the Maid of Lorn!
My sister, slaves! - for further scorn,
Be sure nor she nor I will stay.-
Away, De Argentine, away! -
We nor ally nor brother know,
In Bruce's friend, or England's foe.'

IV.
But who the Chieftain's rage can tell,

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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Lord of the Isles: Canto V.

I.
On fair Loch-Ranza stream'd the early day,
Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curl'd
From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay
And circling mountains sever from the world.
And there the fisherman his sail unfurl'd,
The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-Ghoil,
Before the hut the dame her spindle twirl'd,
Courting the sunbeam as she plied her toil, -
For, wake where'er he may, Man wakes to care and coil.

But other duties call'd each convent maid,
Roused by the summons of the moss-grown bell;
Sung were the matins, and the mass was said,
And every sister sought her separate cell,
Such was the rule, her rosary to tell.
And Isabel has knelt in lonely prayer;
The sunbeam, through the narrow lattice, fell
Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair,
As stoop'd her gentle head in meek devotion there.

II.
She raised her eyes, that duty done,
When glanced upon the pavement-stone,
Gemm'd and enchased, a golden ring,
Bound to a scroll with silken string,
With few brief words inscribed to tell,
'This for the Lady Isabel.'
Within, the writing farther bore,-
''Twas with this ring his plight he swore,
With this his promise I restore;
To her who can the heart command,
Well may I yield the plighted hand.
And O! for better fortune born,
Grudge not a passing sigh to mourn
Her who was Edith once of Lorn!'
One single flash of glad surprise
Just glanced from Isabel's dark eyes,
But vanish'd in the blush of shame,
That, as its penance, instant came.
'O thought unworthy of my race!
Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base,
A moment's throb of joy to own,
That rose upon her hopes o'erthrown!-
Thou pledge of vows too well believed,
Of man ingrate and maid deceived,
Think not thy lustre here shall gain
Another heart to hope in vain!
For thou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud,
Where worldly thoughts are overawed,

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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Lord of the Isles: Canto IV.

I.
Stranger! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced
The northern realms of ancient Caledon,
Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed,
By lake and cataract, her lonely throne;
Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known,
Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high,
Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown
Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry,
And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning sky.

Yes! 'twas sublime, but sad. - The loneliness
Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye;
And strange and awful fears began to press
Thy bosom with a stern solemnity.
Then hast thou wish'd some woodman's cottage nigh,
Something that show'd of life, though low and mean;
Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy,
Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have been,
Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green.

Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes
An awful thrill that softens into sighs;
Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's lakes,
In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise:
Or farther, where, beneath the northern skies,
Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar-
But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize
Of desert dignity to that dread shore,
That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskin roar.

II.
Through such wild scenes the champion pass'd,
When bold halloo and bugle blast
Upon the breeze came loud and fast.
'There,' said the Bruce, 'rung Edward's horn!
What can have caused such brief return?
And see, brave Ronald,- see him dart
O'er stock and stone like hunted hart,
Precipitate, as is the use,
In war or sport, or Edward Bruce.
- He marks us, and his eager cry
Will tell his news ere he be nigh.'

III.
Loud Edward shouts, 'What make ye here,
Warring upon the mountain-deer,
When Scotland wants her King?
A bark from Lennox cross'd our track,
With her in speed I hurried back,

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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Problems

Too many problems, oh why am I here?
I need to be me, cause youre all to clear
And I can see theres something wrong with you
Oh, what do you expect me to do?
At least I gotta know what I wanna be
Dont come to me if you need pity
Are you lonely, you got no-one
You got your body in suspension
Thats a problem, problem, problem
The problem is you
Eat your heart out on a plastic tray
You dont do what you want and you fade away
You work for me, youre working nine-to-five
Its too much fun of being alive
Im using my feet for my human machine
You work for me, living for the screen
Are you lonely, all needs catered
You got your brains dehydrated
Problem, problem, problem, the problem is you
Oh what what you gonna do, problem, problem
Problem, problem, problem, the problem is you
Well, what you gonna do with your problem
The problem is you, problem
I aint death trip, but I aint automatic
You work for me, just stay ecstatic
Dont you give me any orders
To people like me, there is no order
Bet you thought you had it all worked out
Bet you thought you knew what I was about
Bet you thought youd solved all your problems
But you are the problem
Problem, problem, problem, the problem is you
Oh, what you gonna do with your problem?
Ill leave it up to you, oh problem
The problem is you, you got a problem
Oh what you gonna do?
They know a doctor, gonna take you away
Thay take you away and they throw away the key
They dont want you and they dont want me
You got a problem the problem is you
Problem, well, what you gonna do?
Problem, have you got a problem?
Problem, well you got a problem
Problem (x17)

song performed by Megadeth
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The Lord of the Isles: Canto I.

Autumn departs - but still his mantle's fold
Rests on the groves of noble Somerville,
Beneath a shroud of russet dropp'd with gold,
Tweed and his tributaries mingle still;
Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill,
Yet lingering notes of silvan music swell,
The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill:
And yet some tints of summer splendour tell
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western fell.

Autumn departs - from Gala's fields no more
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer;
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er,
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear.
The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear,
And harvest-home hath hush'd the changing wain,
On the waste hill no forms of life appear,
Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train,
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scatter'd grain.

Deem'st thou these sadden'd scenes have pleasure still,
Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms to stray,
To see the heath-flower wither'd on the hill,
To listen to the wood's expiring lay,
To note the red leaf shivering on the spray,
To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain,
On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way,
And moralise on mortal joy and pain? -
O! if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the minstrel strain.

No! do not scorn, although its hoarser note
Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie,
Though faint its beauties as the tints remote
That gleam through mist in autumn's evening sky,
And few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry,
When wild November hath his bugle wound;
Nor mock my toil - a lonely gleaner I,
Through fields time-wasted, on and inquest bound,
Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest found.

So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved,
To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day;
In distant lands, by the rough West reproved,
Still live some relics of the ancient lay.
For, when on Coolin's hills the lights decay,
With such the Seer of Skye the eve beguiles;
'Tis known amid the pathless wastes of Reay,
In Harries known, and in Iona's piles,
Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles.

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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Glenfinlas; or, Lord Ronald's Coronach

'O hone a rie'! O hone a rie!'
The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree;
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!' -

O, sprung from great Macgillianore,
The chief that never fear'd a foe,
How matchless was thy broad claymore,
How deadly thine unerring bow!

Well can the Saxon widows tell,
How, on the Teith's resounding shore,
The boldest Lowland warriors fell,
As down from Lenny's pass you bore.

But o'er his hills, in festal day,
How blazed Lord Ronald's beltrane tree, *
While youths and maids in light strathspey,
So nimbly danced with Highland glee!

Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell,
E'en age forgot his tresses hoar;
But now the loud lament we swell,
O ne'er to see Lord Ronald more!

From distant isles a chieftain came,
The joys of Ronald's halls to find,
And chase with him the dark-brown game,
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind.

'Twas Moy; whom in Columba's isle
The seer's prophetic spirit found,
As with a minstrel's fire the while,
He waked his harp's harmonious sound.

Full many a spell to him was known,
Which wandering spirits shrink to hear;
And many a lay of potent tone,
Was never meant for mortal ear.

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood,
High converse with the dead they hold,
And oft espy the fated shroud,
That shall the future corpse enfold.

O so it fell, that on a day,
To rouse the red deer from their den,
The Chiefs have ta'en their distant way,
And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glen.

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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Lord of the Isles: Canto II.

I.
Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive board!
Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair!
Through the loud hall, in joyous concert pour'd,
Let mirth and music sound the dirge of Care!
But ask thou not if Happiness be there,
If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe,
Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear;
Lift not the festal mask! - enough to know,
No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal woe.

II.
With beaker's clang, with harpers' lay,
With all that olden time deem'd gay,
The Island Chieftain feasted high;
But there was in his troubled eye
A gloomy fire, and on his brow
Now sudden flush'd, and faded now,
Emotions such as draw their birth
From deeper source than festal mirth.
By fits he paused, and harper's strain
And jester's tale went round in vain,
Or fell but on his idle ear
Like distant sounds which dreamers hear.
Then would he rouse him, and employ
Each art to aid the clamorous joy,
And call for pledge and lay,
And, for brief space, of all the crowd,
As he was loudest of the loud,
Seem gayest of the gay.

III.
Yet nought amiss the bridal throng
Mark'd in brief mirth, or musing long;
The vacant brow, the unlistening ear,
They gave to thoughts of raptures near,
And his fierce starts of sudden glee
Seem'd bursts of bridegroom's ecstasy.
Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd,
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud,
And jealous of his honour'd line,
And that keen knight, De Argentine,
(From England sent on errand high,
The western league more firm to tie),
Both deem'd in Ronald's mood to find
A lover's transport-troubled mind.
But one sad heart, one tearful eye,
Pierced deeper through the mystery,
And watch'd, with agony and fear,
Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer.

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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Smooth And Amiable, Opaque

Smooth and amiable, opaque,
with facades like scrims, genteel,
my friends are ones you ought to take
unseriously, and for a meal
just when you think you’ve nothing better
to do, like watching television,
or sending the White House a letter,
or working out with great precision
your taxes for another audit.
Should it be that you don’t wish
to do these things and can afford it,
invite your friends to where the fish
is tastier than what you eat
at home, and then, when you come back,
resolve that you will not repeat
such invitations till you crack,
or there is nothing on TV,
and you’re not writing letters to
the President––since you can see,
unusually, his point of view––
and you’ve heard from the IRS
that you don’t owe them––this time! ––taxes.
At times like these your friends, I guess,
won’t cause you anticlimaxes.

Inspired by an article in the NYT Book Review, by Ross Dothat, January 18,2009 (“When Buckley Met Reagan”) :
On the night that William F. Buckley met Ronald Reagan, the future president of the United States put his elbow through a plate-glass window. The year was 1961, and the two men were in Beverly Hills, where Buckley, perhaps the most famous conservative in America at the tender age of 35, was giving an address at a school auditorium. Reagan, a former Hollywood leading man dabbling in political activism — the Tim Robbins or Alec Baldwin of his day — had been asked to do the introductions. But the microphone was dead, the technician was nowhere to be found and the control room was locked. As the crowd began to grumble, Reagan coolly opened one of the auditorium windows, stepped onto a ledge two stories above the street and inched his way around to the control room. He smashed his elbow through the glass and clambered in through the broken window. “In a minute there was light in the upstairs room, ” Buckley later wrote, “and then we could hear the crackling of the newly animated microphone.” This anecdote kicks off The Reagan I Knew (Basic Books, $25) , a slight and padded reminiscence published posthumously this past autumn, nine months after Buckley’s death. As a personal portrait of the 40th president, the narrative is sketchy at best: the Reagan whom Buckley knew turns out to be the Reagan most of his friends and allies knew — amiable, smooth and ultimately opaque.
What the book does offer, though, is an expansion on the theme lurking in that opening vignette, in which the man of ideas came face to face with the man of action, and the intellectual famous for describing the world met the future president eager to change it. At its most interesting, “The Reagan I Knew” provides a case study on the relationship between intellectuals and power, and specifically on the marriage between right-wing thinkers and populist politicians that has defined the modern right from the Goldwater era to our own. This union occasioned a great deal of comment during 2008, which turned out to be an annus horribilis for conservatism, and little of it was positive. Populism’s corrosive influence on the conservative mind — or the conservative mind’s cynical manipulation of populism — was cited in briefs against Sarah Palin, against the record of George W. Bush and against the entire run of conservative governance going back to Richard Nixon. Sometimes it was liberals arguing that an earlier generation of high-minded conservatives (Buckley being the prime example) would be horrified by the anti-intellectual spirit that had overtaken their movement in the age of Bush and Palin. Sometimes it was conservatives, your David Frums and Peggy Noonans, hinting at the same. And sometimes it was left-wingers — like Rick Perlstein, in his teeming history “Nixonland” — arguing that conservatives had always been cynical manipulators of populist sentiment: the mask might have slipped a bit more in the Bush era, but beneath the genteel facade provided by wordsmiths like Buckley (or William Safire or George Will or whomever) , the modern right has been Palins all the way down.

1/18/09

poem by Gershon Hepner
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The Lord of the Isles: Canto VI.

I.
O who, that shared them, ever shall forget
The emotions of the spirit-rousing time,
When breathless in the mart the couriers met,
Early and late, at evening and at prime;
When the loud cannon and the merry chime
Hail'd news on news, as field on field was won,
When Hope, long doubtful, soar'd at length sublime,
And our glad eyes, awake as day begun,
Watch'd Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the rising sun!
O these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears!
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delay'd,
The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears,
That track'd with terror twenty rolling years,
All was forgot in that blithe jubilee!
Her downcast eye even pale Affliction rears,
To sigh a thankful prayer, amid the glee,
That hail'd the Despot's fall, and peace and liberty!

Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode,
When 'gainst the invaders turn'd the battle's scale,
When Bruce's banner had victorious flow'd
O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Ury's vale;
And fiery English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale,
And fiery Edward routed stout St. John,
When Randolph's war-cry swell'd the southern gale,
And many a fortress, town, and tower, was won,
And fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of glory done.

II.
Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower,
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower,
And waked the solitary cell,
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell.
Princess no more, fair Isabel,
A vot'ress of the order now,
Say, did the rule that bid thee wear
Dim veil and wollen scapulare,
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair,
That stern and rigid vow,
Did it condemn the transport high,
Which glisten'd in thy watery eye,
When minstrel or when palmer told
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold?-
And whose the lovely form, that shares
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers?
No sister she of convent shade;
So say these locks in lengthen'd braid,
So say the blushes and the sighs,

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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Lady Clare

IT was the time when lilies blow,
And clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.

I trow they did not part in scorn-
Lovers long-betroth'd were they:
They too will wed the morrow morn:
God's blessing on the day !

'He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well,' said Lady Clare.

In there came old Alice the nurse,
Said, 'Who was this that went from thee?'
'It was my cousin,' said Lady Clare,
'To-morrow he weds vith me.'

'O God be thank'd!' said Alice the nurse,
' That all comes round so just and fair:
Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,
And you are not the Lady Clare.'

'Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?'
Said Lady Clare, 'that ye speak so wild?'
'As God's above,' said Alice the nurse,
' I speak the truth: you are my child.

'The old Earl's daughter died at my breast;
I speak the truth, as I live by bread!
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead.'

'Falsely, falsely have ye done,
O mother,' she said, ' if this be true,
To keep the best man under the sun
So many years from his due.'

'Nay now, my child,' said Alice the nurse,
'But keep the secret for your life,
And all you have will be Lord Ronald's,
When you are man and wife.'

' If I'm a beggar born,' she said,
'I will speak out, for I dare not lie.
Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold,
And fling the diamond necklace by.'

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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One Reason To Believe

Lighting candles in the church of my choice, loving strangers in the dark
Looking for someone to give me what I lack
Searching for something 'till you showed me the gun in my back
I'm human and I need it, I must have my beliefs
I open myself to the love, yeah
And I love you 'cause you showed me a merciful release
I'm living this time and I know you gave me the reason
Chorus:
One reason (to believe), one reason (you're the one)
One reason (to believe), one reason (my baby)
One reason (it's all I need), one reason (to believe)
One reason (my baby), one reason
Trying to get faith from the eight fifty paperbacks
Hoping they'll show me the way (the way to what?)
Man in a crisis, a young girl in his bed
She's trying to help him when she tells him it's all in his head
I'm human and I need it, I must have my beliefs
I open myself to the love, yeah
I love you 'cause you showed me a merciful release
I'm living this time and I know you gave me the reason
chorus
I bow to the east or I kneel to the west, it's a matter of faith
I'm the only one who has to believe it
chorus
(Solo)
One reason, one reason, one reason, one reason
I bow to the east or I kneel to the west, it's a matter of faith
I'm the only one who has to believe it
One reason (to believe), one reason (you're the one)
One reason (one reason), one reason (my baby)
One reason (that's all I need), one reason (to believe)
One reason (to believe), one reason (just give me one)
One reason (one reason), one reason (to believe)
One reason (it's all I need), one reason (my baby)
One reason (my baby), one reason (my baby)
One reason (you are the reason), one reason
One reason (that's all I want), one reason (that's all I need)...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------

song performed by Rick Springfield
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dear Mrs. Reagan

Dear mrs. reagan, i hope you're feeling well
Fighting drugs and abortion will keep you out of hell
Send in the troops, they'll shut the system down
Take away their leaders and replace them all with clowns
Out in the rose garden, time for a speech
Make up your face so it looks like a peach
Aw, nancy dear, what shall i say?
Tell ole ronnie it's all ok.
Oh mrs reagan, mrs reagangun your husband downyou'll collect insurancemake our country sounddear mrs reagan, gun your husband down,save us from this awful fategeorge bush will be our next president!dear mr reagan, your hair is really swellbuy another missile and damn the poor to hellpump up our resources,you'll make us strong abroadforeign country leadersknow that you're a fraudoh ron, you're such a patriotwe think that you're an idioteverybody's singing this timeoh mrs reagan, mrs reagan, gun your husband down,don't this let injustice reign,it's ron you must uncrownoh mrs reagan, gun your husband downsend him out to pasturehis brain cannot be found

song performed by Phish
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Confessions Of A Mind

(hicks)
She goes away for a couple of days
So you phone a few number you fancy a change
You say youll miss her but deep down inside
There are thoughts of another girl waiting somewhere for you
Shes been away for a couple of days
The affairs werent so good so youre mending your ways
You realise that theres nobody else who can do what she does for you
You tell yourself dont be a fool
Dont let her go chase as hard as you can
Or youll be the loser
Swallow your pride you can still be a man
Shell never refuse you
She deserved to be loved, she wants to love you
If you went away you know shed be true, yes you do.
Baby I was lonely, still love you only, but I was a bad boy
Know you couldnt see me, thought youd never leave me, so I was bad boy
Even though Im trying, there is no denying I am just a bad boy
Met a little baby, thought she was a lady, still I was a bad boy
She gives me everything a girls supposed to do
She gives me everything still I cant be true
She gives me everything, she gives me everything
Going off to different places
All I see is different faces
I love them all but not like you
She deserves to be loved, she wants to love you
If you went away you know shed be true, yes you do.
She deserves to be loved - yes she does, you know she does
She deserves to be loved - even if she goes away
She deserves to be loved - no one else can take her place
She deserves to be loved - youll be the loser if you let her go
She deserves to be loved - she gives you everything a girls supposed to do
She deserves to be loved - you love them all but shes the one for you
She deserves to be loved - yes she does, you know she does
She deserves to be loved - even if she goes away
She deserves to be loved - no one else can take her place

song performed by Hollies
Added by Lucian Velea
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One Reason

Lighting candles in the church of my choice
Loving strangers in the dark
Looking for someone to give me what i lack
Searching for something 'til you showed me
The gun in my back
I'm human and i need it
And i must have my beliefs
I open myself to the love (yea)
I love you 'cause you showed me
A merciful release
I'm living this time and i know you gave
Me the reason
One reason (to believe), one reason (you're the one)
One reason (to believe), one reason (my baby)
One reason (it's all i need), one reason (to believe)
Trying to get faith from the $8.50 paperbacks
Hoping they'll show me the way (the way to what)
Man in a crisis, a young girl in his bed
She's trying to help him when she tells him
It's all in his head
I'm human and i need it
I must have my beliefs
I open myself to the love (yea)
I love you 'cause you showed me
A merciful release
I'm living this time and i know you gave
Me the reason
One reason (to believe), one reason (you're the one)
One reason (to believe), one reason (my baby)
One reason (it's all i need), one reason (to believe)
I bow to the east or i kneel to the west
It's a matter of faith
I'm the only one who has to believe it
One reason (to believe), one reason (you're the one)
One reason (to believe), one reason (my baby)
One reason (it's all i need), one reason (to believe)
I bow to the east or i kneel to the west
It's a matter of faith
I'm the only one who has to believe it
One reason (to believe), one reason (you're the one)
One reason (to believe), one reason (my baby)
One reason (it's all i need), one reason (to believe)

song performed by Rick Springfield
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My Humps

(trumpets)
*sighs*
What you gon do with all that junk, all that junk inside your trunk?
Imma get-get-get-get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump.
My hump my hump, my hump my hump my hump.
My hump my hump my hump. My lovely little lumps.
Check it out
I drive these brothers crazy; I do it on the day
Look, they treat me really nicely; they buy me all these ices:
Dolce and Gabbana, Vinny and Nedonna.
Caring, they be sharing all their money, got me wearing fly
Brother I aint asking, they say they love my ass and
Seven jeans to religion, I say no but they keep giving
So I keep on taking, and no I aint taking,
We can keep on dating, I keep on demonstrating my love.
My love my love my love. You love my lady lumps.
My hump my hump my hump. My humps, they got you
Shes got me spending(ooh)
Spending all your money on me, and spending time on me [x2]
On, on me, on me.
What you gon do with all that junk, all that junk inside that trunk?
Imma get-get-get-get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump.
What you gon do with all that ass, all that ass inside them jeans?
Imma make-make-make-make you scream, make you scream make you scream!
Cuz of my hump, my hump my hump my hump,
My hump my hump my hump, my lovely lady lumps.
Check it out
I met a girl down at the disco, she said:
Hey, hey-hey yeh lets go. I could be your baby; you could be my honey, lets spend time, not money and:
Mix your milk with my cocoa, puh - milky, milky cocoa, mix your milk with my cocoa, huh - milky, milky right
They say Im really sexy. Them boys, they wanna sex me,
They always standing next to me, always dancing next to me.
Trying to feel my hump, hump, looking at my lump, lump,
You can look but you cant touch it, if you touch it
Imma start some drama, you dont want no drama.
Nono drama, nononono drama.
So dont pull on my hand boy, you aint my man boy
Im just trying to dance boy, and move my hump, my hump,
My hump my hump my hump, my hump my hump my hump,
My hump my hump my hump, my lovely lady lumps,
My lovely lady lumps, my lovely lady lumps,
In the back and in the front, my loving got you
Shes got me spending(ooh)
Spending all your money on me, and spending time on me [x2]
On, on me, on me.
What you gon do with all that junk, all that junk inside that trunk?
Imma get-get-get-get you drunk, get you love drunk off my hump.
What you gon do with all that ass, all that ass inside them jeans?
Imma make-make-make-make you scream, make you scream make you scream!
What you gon do with all that junk, all that junk inside that trunk?

[...] Read more

song performed by Black Eyed Peas
Added by Lucian Velea
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Spending My Time

Whats the time?
Seems its already morning.
I see the sky, its so beautiful and blue.
The tvs on but the only thing showing
Is a picture of you.
Oh I get up and make myself some coffee.
I try to read a bit but the storys too thin.
I thank the lord above
Youre not here to see me in this shape Im in.
Spending my time,
Watching the days go by.
Feeling so small,
I stare at the wall,
Hoping that you think of me too.
Im spending my time.
I try to call but I dont know what to tell you.
I leave a kiss on your answering machine.
Oh help me please,
Is there someone who can make me
Wake up from this dream?
Spending my time,
Watching the days go by.
Feeling so small,
I stare at the wall,
Hoping that you are missing me too.
Im spending my time,
Watching the sun go down.
I fall asleep to the sound
Of tears of a clown,
A prayer gone blind.
Im spending my time
My friends keep telling me:
Hey, life will go on,
Time will make sure Ill get over you.
This silly game of love -
You play, you win only to lose.
Im spending my time,
Watching the days go by.
Feeling so small,
I stare at the wall,
Hoping that you think of me too.
Im spending my time.
Im spending my time,
Watching the sun go down.
I fall asleep to the sound
Of tears of a clown,
A prayer gone blind.
Im spending my time.

song performed by Roxette
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pastime Paradise

Theyve been spending most their lives
Living in a pastime paradise
Theyve been spending most their lives
Living in a pastime paradise
Theyve been wasting most their time
Glorifying days long gone behind
Theyve been wasting most their days
In remembrance of ignorance oldest praise
Tell me who of them will come to be
How many of them are you and me
Dissipation
Race relations
Consolation
Segregation
Dispensation
Isolation
Exploitation
Mutilation
Mutations
Miscreation
Confirmation...to the evils of the world
Theyve been spending most their lives
Living in a future paradise
Theyve been spending most their lives
Living in a future paradise
Theyve been looking in their minds
For the day that sorrows gone from time
They keep telling of the day
When the savior of love will come to stay
Tell me who of them will come to be
How many of them are you and me
Proclamation
Of race relations
Consolation
Integretion
Verification
Of revelations
Acclamation
World salvation
Vibrations
Stimulation
Confirmation...to the peace of the world
Theyve been spending most their lives
Living in a pastime paradise
Theyve been spending most their lives
Living in a pastime paradise
Theyve been spending most their lives
Living in a future paradise
Theyve been spending most their lives
Living in a future paradise

[...] Read more

song performed by Stevie Wonder
Added by Lucian Velea
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She Deserves So Much More

Her mom is a bitch
She deserves so much more

This is were I come in and give her all my love
She deserves so much more

She deserves to have a good stable life
And not the shaky one she has now
She deserves a good and loving family
And not one that treats her like shit

That is were I come in and give her all my love
She deserves so much more

Is it too much to ask
All she wants it to be loved
But no your in Wonder Land with Alice
Having a nice trip?

All she wants is to get what she deserves
And it sure as hell isn't you

That is were I come in and give her all my love
She deserves so much more

Why do you think she wants to leave the place so soon
Hmm... Let me think
Oh its because of you

This is were I come in and give her all my love
She deserves so much more
And it sure as hell isn't you

(4-25-05)

poem by Brandi Young
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Deficit Demon

It was the lunatic poet escaped from the local asylum,
Loudly he twanged on his banjo and sang with his voice like a saw-mill,
While as with fervour he sang there was borne o'er the shuddering wildwood,
Borne on the breath of the poet a flavour of rum and of onions.
He sang of the Deficit Demon that dqelt in the Treasury Mountains,
How it was small in its youth and a champion was sent to destroy it:
Dibbs he was salled, and he boasted, "Soon I will wipe out the Monster,"
But while he was boasting and bragging the monster grew larger and larger.

One day as Dibbs bragged of his prowess in daylight the Deficit met him,
Settled his hash in one act and made him to all man a byword,
Sent hin, a raving ex-Premier, to dwell in the shades of oblivion,
And the people put forward a champion known as Sir Patrick the Portly.

As in the midnight the tom-cat who seeketh his love on the house top,
Lifteth his voice up and is struck by the fast whizzing brickbat,
Drops to the ground in a swoon and glides to the silent hereafter,
So fell Sir Patrick the Portly at the stroke of the Deficit Demon.

Then were the people amazed and they called for the champion of champions
Known as Sir 'Enry the Fishfag unequalled in vilification.
He is the man, said the people, to wipe out the Deficit Monster,
If nothing else fetches him through he can at the least talk its head off.

So he sharpened his lance of Freetrade and he practised in loud-mouthing abusing,
"Poodlehead," "Craven," and "Mole-eyes" were things that he purposed to call it,
He went to the fight full of valour and all men are waiting the issue,
Though they know not his armour nor weapons excepting his power of abusing.

Loud sang the lunatic his song of the champions of valour
Until he was sighted and captured by fleet-footed keepers pursuing,
To whom he remarked with a smile as they ran him off back to the madhouse,
"If you want to back Parkes I'm your man -- here's a cool three to one on the Deficit."

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Big Problem....

There is this BIG PROBLEM
WE decided not to talk about it
We think that that problem must solve itself
Auto-resolution

So day and night the problem stays there
Like a drunkard in the room
Vomiting
To every nook of the house
The house
That smells like fucking
Shit

But that problem is never considered a problem
There is a room for it to stay
And it can stay
It cannot consume us
It has no mouth and so it has no teeth
It has no tongue it cannot say a word
It stays there like a piece of art
And we begin to appreciate it
Like a piece of rock
Unchanged in the middle of the living room
We eat lunch there
They prepare nice dinners
We drink red wine
We munch chocolates
And sweet berries
The problem stays but it cannot nag us
Because we can pretend
That it is a brother
That we cannot junk but only love
And keep as part of the
Company

There is still this problem
And it did not solve itself
We live by this problem and this problem lives with us
Symbiosis

And so now
What is the problem? Is this a problem after all these years?
It is not anymore
We have learned that it is not a problem anymore
We die soon
And it shall perhaps disappear
Shall it weep over our departure?
That is its problem.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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