Quotes like But I was singing loud,...

But I was singing loud, and most singers weren't singing loud.

quote by Little Richard
Added by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes

The Rain

(rock the joint)
Me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh-huh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
When the rain hits my window
I take and {inhale, cough} me some indo
Me and timbaland, ooh, we sang a jangle
We so tight, that you get our styles tango
Sway on dosie-do like you loco
{singing} can we get kinky tonight?
Like coco, so-so
You don't wanna play with my yo-yo
I smoke my hydro on the dee-low
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (say what?)
Yeah..
Beep beep, who got the keys to the jeep? v-r-rrrrrrrooooom!
(uh-huh) i'm drivin to the beach
Top down, loud sounds, see my peeps (uhh)
Give them pounds, now look who it be (who it be)
It be me me me and timothy (me me!)
Look like it's bout to rain, what a shame (uh-huh)
I got the armor-all to shine up the stain
Oh missy, try to maintain
Icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky..
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
(uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (say what? uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (yeah)

[...] Read more

song performed by Missy Elliott
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lets Get Loud[Pablo Flores Remix]

Hey! hey!hey! hey!hey! hey!hey! hey!hey! hey!hey! hey!hey
Chorus: lets get loud, lets get loud
Turn the music up, lets do it
Cmon people lets get loud
Lets get loud
Turn the music up to hear that sound
Lets get loud, lets get loud
Aint nobody gotta tell ya
What you gotta do
If you wanna live your life
Live it all the way and dont you waste it
Every feelin every beat
Can be so very sweet you gotta taste it
You gotta do it (you gotta do it)
You gotta do it your way
You gotta prove it (you gotta prove it)
You gotta mean what you say
You gotta do it (do it)
You gotta do it your way
You gotta prove it (prove it)
You gotta mean what you say
Lifes a party, make it hot
Dance dont ever stop, whatever rhythm
Every minute, every day
Take them all the way you gotta live em (cause Im going to live my life)
You gotta do it (you gotta do it)
You gotta do it your way
You gotta prove it (you gotta prove it)
You gotta mean what you say
You gotta do it (do it)
You gotta do it your way
You gotta prove it (prove it)
You gotta mean what you say
Chorus:
Lets get loud, lets get loud
Turn the music up to hear that sound
Lets get loud, lets get loud
Aint nobody gotta tell you
What you gotta do, oh no
(make it hot)
Lets get loud, lets get loud
Lets get loud, letsget loud
Its just a party, baby
Lets get loud, lets get loud
Lets get loud, pop it up
(hey! hey!hey! hey!hey! hey!hey! hey!hey! hey!hey! hey!)
Life is meant to be big fun
Youre not hurtin anyone
Nobody loses
Let the music make you free

[...] Read more

song performed by Jennifer Lopez
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Cant Take It Anymore

I cant take it any more
I cant take it any more
I cant take it any more
I cant take it any more
Too loud, too loud
Too loud, too loud
Too loud, too loud
Too loud, too loud
I cant take it any more
Can you take it any more?
Can you take it any more?
Can we take it any more?
Can we take it any more?
Too loud, too loud
Too loud, too loud
Too loud, too loud
Too loud, too loud
Ha, ha, ha
Ha, ha, ha
Ha, ha ...
Too loud, too loud
Too loud, too loud
Too loud, too loud
Too loud, too loud
Too loud ......

song performed by Vangelis
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Indications

THE indications, and tally of time;
Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs;
Time, always without flaw, indicates itself in parts;
What always indicates the poet, is the crowd of the pleasant company
of singers, and their words;
The words of the singers are the hours or minutes of the light or
dark--but the words of the maker of poems are the general light
and dark;
The maker of poems settles justice, reality, immortality,
His insight and power encircle things and the human race,
He is the glory and extract thus far, of things, and of the human
race.

The singers do not beget--only the POET begets;
The singers are welcom'd, understood, appear often enough--but rare
has the day been, likewise the spot, of the birth of the maker
of poems, the Answerer, 10
(Not every century, or every five centuries, has contain'd such a
day, for all its names.)

The singers of successive hours of centuries may have ostensible
names, but the name of each of them is one of the singers,
The name of each is, eye-singer, ear-singer, head-singer, sweet-
singer, echo-singer, parlor-singer, love-singer, or something
else.

All this time, and at all times, wait the words of true poems;
The words of true poems do not merely please,
The true poets are not followers of beauty, but the august masters of
beauty;
The greatness of sons is the exuding of the greatness of mothers and
fathers,
The words of poems are the tuft and final applause of science.

Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of reason, health,
rudeness of body, withdrawnness,
Gayety, sun-tan, air-sweetness--such are some of the words of
poems. 20

The sailor and traveler underlie the maker of poems, the answerer;
The builder, geometer, chemist, anatomist, phrenologist, artist--all
these underlie the maker of poems, the answerer.

The words of the true poems give you more than poems,
They give you to form for yourself, poems, religions, politics, war,
peace, behavior, histories, essays, romances, and everything
else,
They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes,
They do not seek beauty--they are sought,
Forever touching them, or close upon them, follows beauty, longing,

[...] Read more

poem by Walt Whitman
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We Want It Loud

Tonight - is a show
And I gotta be there
Banging my head to a metal attack
We got nothing to fear
Dancing and screaming begging our heroes for more
Burning the streets cause we gotta be first thru the door
We want it loud
Theres no other reason we came for
We want it loud
The louder the better we need more
They keep us locked, locked in
For hours and hours we wait in line
You get pushed to the limit
We cant even breath no more
Like a volcano were boiling and ready to blow
Fight all the way got to see this damn rock and roll show
We want it loud
Theres no other reason we came for
We want it loud
The louder the better we need more
We want it loud - we want it loud - we want it loud
Yeah, its gotta be loud
Yeah - we want it loud
Theres no other reason we came for
We want it loud
The louder the better we need more
We want it loud
Theres no other reason we came for
We want it loud
The louder the better we need more
We want it loud - we want it loud - we want it loud
We want it loud - we want it loud - we want it loud
Yeah, its gotta be loud

song performed by U. D. O.
Added by Lucian Velea
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Now, Heart' - Some Of What I Remember When I Listen

A river is a process through time, and the river stages are its momentary parts.
—Willard Van Orman Quine

From early poems,1970s, youthful indiscretions/attempts to vocally/poetically arrive at/derive a worthwhile writer's voice. Some explication might serve or enhance these under serving, undeserving though 'striving-after' poems hidden in old journals understandably unpublished but now so with apologies which are these expiatory explanations. Recently rediscovering these early arrivals, derivative yet aspiring I recognized and reembraced an enduring self maturing, arriving into late middle age:

Obsessed newly by jazz, mad about the many miraculous lady singers, entranced all too easily as youth are wont to be by sorrows and sexual infatuations which feel, emphasis on 'feel', like love, here are two of many 'songs' as tributes and life markers to jazz singers who provided soundtrack and felt expression to my angst and easily inflated/deflated sense of self, of beloved others, and of that new territory, independent life away from parental home and childhood community discovering, blundering into the fray of separate hearts and minds, irresponsible genitals and insouciant jouissance ('juiciness', in French) , discovering then and again and again that like Walt Whitman I 'contain worlds' and many disparate selves poorly formed, most of them collective projections and expectations of who or what I wanted to be, what others wanted and expected me to be, resulting in much confusion, tumult and multitudes of momentary throw-away selves. Thus singers like Bessie Smith and Dinah Washington became anchors, warm contexts and containers, for my daily fragmentation and re-formation.

I lived on 3rd street in downtown Chattanooga, a refugee from zealous, politically conservative white evangelicals and the vestigial yet still viral Southern Confederacy. Just a block or two from where Bessie Smith was born, I used to watch from my upstairs porch the steep hilly street's comings and goings with a glimpse of the Tennessee River between tenements across the street, its persistent rich aroma heavy in the air. I imagined Bessie Smith as a little girl playing up and down the street like the kids I saw then - once, two of them gleefully chasing a frighteningly large and confused looking rat.

William—he insisted on 'Willie'—an old man down the street who knew Bessie as a little girl, used to come up to my porch after one day hearing Bessie from my phonograph singing blues onto the always busy but attentive street. One of the first and permanent things I learned from my porch is that a city street has keen, observant eyes, acute ears, omnivorously seeing/hearing everything, indifferently, perhaps, but nothing escapes it, a roving, all-knowing urban Eye of God.

Extremely green and eager as green always is though stutteringly, and without apology, I enjoyed Willie's many stories and back pocket bottles of Old Mr. Boston Apricot Brandy, both of which—story and spirits/spirited story —dissolved or appeared to, age, racial, cultural, and sociological differences, along with those catalysts/cata-lusts, the forever alchemical Bessie and other jazz singers, Billie! Dinah! Ella! Sassy! Lil Ester Phillips! Nina Simone! to name only a few of the sensuous solutio chanteuses resolving sexual confoundaries by Miss-ambiguating sins' plethera with loose lilt and will- o-the-lisp whisper tongues.

One night Willie, much 'in the pocket'—an expression for being well onto tipsy which I've never heard from anyone but him—wanted to dance to a Bessie tune playing, 'Back Water Blues', him recalling nights as a young man in rural Tennessee where he'd worked hard days in oppressive vegetable fields then hit the after hours juke joints for 'colored, twas segregation days, ' he explained, where he would go to drink, dance then dive/delve, as it were, into the sensual mysteries of moist skin, hot breath, mutually open mouths with their commodious moans and mumbles, venial hands, always vital parts, private hearts mutually pounding ancient known rhythms, odors and tastes of gin and those slender, forbidden, now greedily stolen bites in those all too short nights with their damned intrusive dawns.

'Dawnus interuptus, ' I quipped, us both slapping knees, passing the narrative bottle fore and aft hefting moments re-grasped between us, offerings to the equally narrative river, the all-knowing hungry street.

Jumping to his feet, Willie described 'powder dancin'' (pronounced marvelously, 'powdah') which I had never heard of. Talcum powder would be copiously scattered onto the dance floor where couples in stocking or bare feet would ecstatically dance, gliding and sliding sweetly scented, muskily bent toward later glides and slides in the slippery joy of momentary allure and amour on dimmed porches or surrounding woods often enough and gratis upon delicate slabs of moonlight gratuitously dewy providing cushion for Passion's out and in, honoring and dignifying deities of skin wanting more making more skin, headlong Nature's frictional algo-rhythms indelibly scored in every/each his/her yawing yen.

Willie shouted, 'YOU GOT ANY TALC POWDER? ! '

...The jazz us trembled...

'NO! ' I bellowed, curious.

'YOU GOT ANY FLOUR? ! '

Even more curious, 'YEAH! ! '

'GO GIT IT! QUICK! ! '

He grinned an Old Mr. Boston juke-joint night-memories quaff-again grin.

Martha White, a brand of flour sold down South, has never been put to better use. Willie threw handfuls of 'Martha' over the tenement-planked living room floor as I half protested at the mess it (and me and Willie) was and would become. Completely gripped by his present-in-the-past brandy trance, a much younger man now, he suddenly grabbed me, brandied and tranced, too, my long hair flying, and danced me all over the floor the night through with swigs of Old But Now Spry 'n' Sprightly Mr. Boston with pauses to change record albums on the phonograph, 'catching up our breaths, ' he panted.

Next morning (more likely early afternoon) , Willie long gone, I awakened sprawled on the penitent porch—a cool concrete floor my sinner's bench—sweaty and thick as pan gravy, mosquito bitten, marinaded in Tennessee night mists. I staggered into the living room onto the ghostly floor powdery white, 'stroked' with two attached, or close to, sets of foot prints, heel slides and smears, a kind of 'Jackson Pollock meets Tibetan sand painting 'yazzed' yantra'**' with cigarette ashes flicked into the flickering impermanent mix. I've not powder danced since when we drank discovering oral history's joys, opened eager ears and fraternal arms forgetting fears of race and religion, age and expressed/ espressed Desire's multilingual disseminations.

I know that wheat is anciently sacred but now even more so for flour, the sight and feel of it, its unbaked smell, turns me again toward a Chattanooga 3rd street, its compass river swelling like bread nearby bearing witness still for one cannot say too much about rivers—their irreverence of edges scored, spilling themselves, proclaiming natural gods deeper than memory yet dependent upon it for traced they must be in every human activity, no matter the breech, for something there is to teach even deity though it may be wrong to do so, or hearsay to say it or sing, but the song is there for those whose ears are broken onto bottoms from which cry urgencies of Being and between, dutiful banks barely containing the straining Word.

**From Tibetan Buddhism. Visual meditation devices,
Yantras function as revelatory conduits of cosmic truths.

1. To Bessie Smith,3rd Street Chattanooga (circa 1971)

Already the river begins its sweat.
April to September I'll be on the porch
Come sunsets listening to cars in the
Dark and you, remembering the flour
On the floor and me and Willie in
Stocking feet dancing till dawn,

[...] Read more

poem by Warren Falcon
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Once In Love With Amy

I caught you sir
Having a look at her
As she went strolling by
Now didn't your heart go
Boom,boom,boom,boom,boom
And didn't you sigh a sigh
I warned you sir
Never to dream of her
Just bid such thoughs begone
Or it'll be
Boom,boom,boom,boom,boom,boom,boom
Boom,boom,boom,boom
From then on
For once in love with Amy
Always in love with Amy
Ever and ever fasinated by her
Sets your heart a fire to stay
Once you're kissed by Amy
Tear up your list it's Amy
Ply her with bon-bons, poetry,and flowers
Moon a million hours away
You might be quiet the fickle hearted rover
So care free and bold
Who loves a girl
And later thinks it over
And just quits cold
But once in love with Amy
Alway in love with Amy
Ever and ever sweetly you'll romance her
Trouble is the answer will be
That Amy rather stay in love with me
Da,da,da,da,da,da,da,da,da,da
Ever and ever fasinated by her
(Barry talks) oh I just love this song so much
I want everybody to sing along with me
Once your kissed by Amy
(backround singers)once your kissed by Amy
(Barry)tear up your list it's Amy
(backround singers)tear up your list it's Amy
(Barry) ply her with bon-bon,poetry,and flowers
(backround singers)ply her with bon-bons, poetry,and flowers
(Barry) moon a million hours away
(backround singers)moon a million hours away
(Barry)come on let me take it please
You might be quite the fickle hearted rover
So care free and bold
Who loves a girl and later thinks it over
And just quits cold
(Barry)everybody sing
Once in love with Amy

[...] Read more

song performed by Barry Manilow
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Imagination

Imagine the concert

The concert did not cost a dime
But every soul was there- from the beginning of time.
It was the biggest concert the heavens had ever seen.
The greatest dancers and singers that were ever known.
On the largest television screen it was shown.

You had the crooners, the swooners,
the rockers, the boppers, and the opera singers
All gathered together for one big show.
In heaven- this is the way to go.

It started off with the “tappers” coming on to the stage
All well known in the archives of fame.
First Bill “Bo jangles” Robinson with Fred Astaire in back.
Then Jean Kelly. Ginger Rodgers,
and Gregory Hines picking up the slack.

Then came the female singers who were all
In the hall of fame, and all well known by their names.
Billie holiday, Lena Horne, Doris Day and Peggy Lee
Judy Garland and Dinah Shore-and lets not forget
The Andrew Sisters- who gave us so much more.

Then out came the male singers who touched the
Hearts of women all around the world
And made all their hair stand up and curl.
Mario Lanza, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como, Dean Martin
Just to name a few, then let us not forget the soul singers
Otis Redding, Sam Cooke, and Nat “king” Cole
Then Marvin Gaye who really put on a show.

OH! This concert was a wonder to behold!
And the greatest one was yet to unfold.
Everyone waited in anticipation
As the angels blew their trumpets
And the harps let out the most beautiful melody.
For behind that big curtain
Walked out our all Mighty King.

All knees bent, and all heads bowed
You couldn’t hear a pin drop
Not a single solitary sound.

He gave the heavens his blessings
As every face lit with delight
And all the way to earth
You could see this glaring light.

[...] Read more

poem by Louis Rams
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Now You're Here (Rock Ballad) :

Now you're here, we're ready to play.
Ready to play for you..
And now you're here, we're ready to sing.
Ready to sing for you..

We are the players, the singers.
We play for your town.
We keep you rockin', a rollin', a movin' around.
We get you movin', a groovin'..Yaahh! feelin' real fine.
We get you screamin', a shoutin'..
We get your hands in the air..

We are the players, the singers.
We play for your town.
We keep you rockin', a rollin', a movin' around.
We are the players, the singers.
And we bring on the sound..

So now you're here, we're ready to play.
Ready to play for you.
And now you're here, we're ready to sing.
Ready to sing for you..

We are the players, the singers.
We play for your town.
We keep you rockin', a rollin', a movin' around.
We get you swingin', a swayin', so join in the crowd.
We get you spinnin', a grinnin', a turnin' around.
We are the players, the singers.
And we play for your town.

So now you've stayed, you've listened to us.
We're so glad we played for you.
And now you've stayed, you've listened to us.
We're so glad we sang this tune..

We're so glad we sang this tune..

Rock-Ballad-By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1987,2009..
ALL rights reserved..

poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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I'm Singing (A Song You Like) :

I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like..

And if you want me, and need me real bad.
Just call me.
I'm there when you want.
Just call me.
I'm there when you need my love.

I'll give you, the things that you need.
I'll give you, the things that you want.
I'll give you, the love that you need from me..

Because I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like.

When I give you, the love that you need.
Return, your love to me.
Return, your love to me at once..

Because I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like.

And when you call me.
Please want me real bad.
I need you.
I need you real bad.
I love you.
I love you for what you are.

I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like..

Song-Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1988,2009..
ALL rights reserved..

See>>www.edwardspoetry.com

poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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The Cremona Violin

Part First

Frau Concert-Meister Altgelt shut the door.
A storm was rising, heavy gusts of wind
Swirled through the trees, and scattered leaves before
Her on the clean, flagged path. The sky behind
The distant town was black, and sharp defined
Against it shone the lines of roofs and towers,
Superimposed and flat like cardboard flowers.

A pasted city on a purple ground,
Picked out with luminous paint, it seemed. The cloud
Split on an edge of lightning, and a sound
Of rivers full and rushing boomed through bowed,
Tossed, hissing branches. Thunder rumbled loud
Beyond the town fast swallowing into gloom.
Frau Altgelt closed the windows of each room.

She bustled round to shake by constant moving
The strange, weird atmosphere. She stirred the fire,
She twitched the supper-cloth as though improving
Its careful setting, then her own attire
Came in for notice, tiptoeing higher and higher
She peered into the wall-glass, now adjusting
A straying lock, or else a ribbon thrusting

This way or that to suit her. At last sitting,
Or rather plumping down upon a chair,
She took her work, the stocking she was knitting,
And watched the rain upon the window glare
In white, bright drops. Through the black glass a flare
Of lightning squirmed about her needles. 'Oh!'
She cried. 'What can be keeping Theodore so!'

A roll of thunder set the casements clapping.
Frau Altgelt flung her work aside and ran,
Pulled open the house door, with kerchief flapping
She stood and gazed along the street. A man
Flung back the garden-gate and nearly ran
Her down as she stood in the door. 'Why, Dear,
What in the name of patience brings you here?

Quick, Lotta, shut the door, my violin
I fear is wetted. Now, Dear, bring a light.
This clasp is very much too worn and thin.
I'll take the other fiddle out to-night
If it still rains. Tut! Tut! my child, you're quite
Clumsy. Here, help me, hold the case while I -
Give me the candle. No, the inside's dry.

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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Love You Out Loud

I sit in my living room thinking of you
And the feelings I fear are coming true
And everything about you is wrong I know it
But I still taste you on my tongue
And I still breathe you in my lungs
And I wish I could stop breaking down
Wish I could love you out loud
Wish I could love you out loud
But I'll just keep it to myself
Wish I could hear how it sounds
To be with you and no one else
Don't make a sound
Don't tell a soul
It's 7:00am and I just want to call you
And tell you I'm falling in love
But, there's someone else inside these four walls
If she smells you on my skin
I can't let her know where I've been
I wish I could be with you now
Wish I could love you out loud
Wish I could love you out loud
But I'll just keep it to myself
Wish I could hear how it sounds
To be with you and no one else
Wish I could love you out loud
Because I'm under your spell
Wish I could tell the whole world
But I'll just keep it to myself
Don't make a sound
Don't tell a soul
Don't tell them anything
And I won't let you go
Don't say a word
Don't tell a soul
And I shiver at the thought of you
I can't believe that you love me too
And we quiver when we touch
I can't believe I love you so much
And I hate it when you walk away
I know we can't go on this way
But there's magic when we touch
I can't believe I love you so much
Wish I could love you out loud
Wish I could hear how it sounds
Wish I could love you out loud
Wish I could hear how it sounds
Wish I could love you out loud
But I'll just keep it to myself
Wish I could hear how it sounds
To be with you and no one else

[...] Read more

song performed by Meat Loaf
Added by Lucian Velea
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Singing All Day

Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing,
Oo, my, my, my,
Oo, my, my, my.
Went down to the station to look for her there,
Looked through the crowds for a glimpse of her hair,
Nothing to see but the crowds keep a-staring at me,
My, my,
Oo, my, my, my.
Down in the street, tryn to remember,
Shuffling my feet outside a menswear,
Is that her in the fur coat?
No its not december yet,
My, my, my,
Oo, my, my, my.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Back to the house, maybe shell phone me,
Singing my song, feeling so lonely.
Ill sing very softly, so if the phone rings
I can hear it, I can hear it.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing,
Oo, my, my, my,
Oo, my, my, my.

song performed by Jethro Tull
Added by Lucian Velea
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Judgement Day

(Ohhhh, yeah yeah yeah yeah)
[Chorus: singers]
You can turn your back and then walk away
(You can turn your back and then walk away)
Soon be comin the judgement day
(Ahh, soon there be comin the judgement day)
[Xzibit - starts over Chorus]
Yes, uhh, breathe with me
C'mon.. listen, yo
I know you're fed up, feel like you can't get up
Have faith, stay strong, keep your head up
Yo, it only gets worse; we in a world
where your status and your bank account determine your worth
There's no time to rehearse, the clock been tickin
cause we all started dyin at birth, I speak the truth and it hurts
It felt like I was dyin of thirst
'til I was blessed with my voice, I move mountains with verse
The worst thing you ever seen in your life, "The Passion of Christ"
Pregnant chicks buyin rock, hittin the pipe
It ain't like I ain't tried to tell ya; misery love company
Keepin the wrong company brings failure
Cause people use people like paraphenalia
With a scam, with a scheme, with a dream to sell ya
But I ain't got nothin but love for all my soldiers and thugs
To all of my women, we gotta keep livin, c'mon
[Chorus: singers]
You can turn your back and then walk away
(Ohh, don't turn your back and then walk away y'all)
Soon be comin the judgement day
(Soon there be comin judgement day)
[Xzibit - starts over Chorus]
Yeah! C'mon
Mr. X to the Z had to raise the stakes
Had to touch my people like T.D. Jakes
On the ground like a nigga flippin crumbs to cake
I won't stop like an eighteen wheeler with no brakes
Bein dipped in her-on so each CD's weight
Niggaz be fake, they speak what they can't create (create)
You won't, see me break, I'm built for a tough frame
One-eighty-five and I'm still on huff
I was only 15, tryin to pass that rock
Never got caught, just sat down, collected my thoughts
This is bullshit, I ain't got a plane or a boat
I'm just another nigga sellin some coke, y'know?
Had to grab life right by the throat, murder I wrote
My callin for ballin wasn't pedalin dope
It was oversea convoys, bangin out cuts
No police or government agency lockin me up, so what?
[Chorus: singers]
You can turn your back and then walk away

[...] Read more

song performed by Xzibit
Added by Lucian Velea
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Alankar (Decor) -10

Music My Love

'Music my love, singing in heart repletes
I swear on my singing you too love it
My notes, my scales, singing my choice, my taste
When I go on singing sure for repeats
Listen to my singing closing your eyes
Honour you my singing with mind open
And you to my singing you ears sharpen
Never to my singing should you despise'

'Oh me to your singing I close my eyes
And me to your singing with mind open
I pray as your singing in heart repletes
And mine to your singing ears do depise
Not mine but yours, singing not to happen
Music your love, singing yours no repeats'

poem by Indira Renganathan
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Squatter, Three Cornstalks, and the Well

There was a Squatter in the land—
So runs the truthful tale I tell—
There also were three cornstalks, and
There also was the Squatter’s Well.

Singing (slowly): “Sin and sorrer, sin and sor-rer, sin and sor-r-r-rer.”

The Squatter he was full of pluck,
The Cornstalks they were full of sin,
The well it was half full of muck
That many rains had drifted in.

Singing (with increased feeling): “Sin, &c.”

The Squatter hired the Cornstalks Three
To cleanse the well of mud and clay;
And so they started willing-lee
At five-and-twenty bob a day.

Singing (apprehensively): “Sin, &c.”

At five-and-twenty bob the lot—
That’s eight-and-four the day would bring
To each; and so they thought they’d got
A rather soft and easy thing.

Singing (sadly): “Sin, &c.”

The Cornstalks cleaned the well within
A day or two, or thereabout—
And then they worked an awful sin—
A scheme to make the job last out.

Singing (reproachfully): “Sin and sorrer, &c.”

For when the well was cleaned out quite
Of all its logs and muck and clay
They tipped a drayload down at night
And worked to haul it up next day.

Singing (dismally): “Sin, &c.”

But first the eldest, christened Hodge,
He greased the dray-wheel axles, so
The super wouldn’t smell the dodge
And couldn’t let the Squatter know.

Singing (hopelessly): “Sin and sorrer, &c.”

The stuff they surfaced out each day

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
Added by Poetry Lover
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Autumn

As a harvester, at dusk,
Faring down some woody trail
Leading homeward through the musk
Of may-apple and pawpaw,
Hazel-bush, and spice and haw,--
So comes Autumn, swart and hale,
Drooped of frame and slow of stride.
But withal an air of pride
Looming up in stature far
Higher than his shoulders are;
Weary both in arm and limb,
Yet the wholesome heart of him
Sheer at rest and satisfied.

Greet him as with glee of drums
And glad cymbals, as he comes!
Robe him fair, O Rain and Shine.
He the Emperor--the King--
Royal lord of everything
Sagging Plenty's granary floors
And out-bulging all her doors;
He the god of corn and wine,
Honey, milk, and fruit and oil--
Lord of feast, as lord of toil--
Jocund host of yours and mine!

Ho! the revel of his laugh!--
Half is sound of winds, and half
Roar of ruddy blazes drawn
Up the throats of chimneys wide,
Circling which, from side to side,
Faces--lit as by the Dawn,
With her highest tintings on
Tip of nose, and cheek, and chin--
Smile at some old fairy-tale
Of enchanted lovers, in
Silken gown and coat of mail,
With a retinue of elves
Merry as their very selves,
Trooping ever, hand in hand,
Down the dales of Wonderland.

Then the glory of his song!--
Lifting up his dreamy eyes--
Singing haze across the skies;
Singing clouds that trail along
Towering tops of trees that seize
Tufts of them to stanch the breeze;
Singing slanted strands of rain
In between the sky and earth,

[...] Read more

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Added by Poetry Lover
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Song of Wink Star

☼ ☼

☼ Preamble

Come…children all, children of all ages…sit close and listen…
Come and listen to this happy story of the stars and of life…
Come children of the universe, children of all nations and of all races, and of all climates and of all kinds of space and dimensions and universes…
Come, dearest children of all beings of the living universe, come and listen to The Song of Wink Star…

Come and listen to this story, this happy story…listen, as the story itself sings to you…

Sit close then, and listen to the story that was not made by any, or written by a poet, or fashioned by grandfathers and grandmothers warming themselves at the fire of burning stars…

O dearest children all, come and listen to the story that lives
of itself, and that glows bright and happy….

Come…children all, children of all ages, come and listen to this happy story, the story so natural and smooth as life, as it sings itself to you….

☼ The Song of Wink Star
a happy story for children of all ages

☼ 1

Night Child, always so light and gentle, slept on a flower.
And every night, before he went to sleep, he would look up at the sky.
He would look at the eastern corner, five o’clock.

And there he would see all the stars in near and distant galaxies that were only visible to the People of Star Eyes.

Night Child was one of the People of Star Eyes. And so he could see the stars. And of all the stars he could see, he loved to watch Wink Star.

Wink Star twinkled and winked and laughed.
Every night Wink Star did that. Winked and laughed.

[...] Read more

poem by Raj Arumugam
Added by Poetry Lover
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Turn The Music Loud (Rock Lyrics) :

If you're looking for a great adventure honey.
Lookin' for the things you need.
If you're lookin' for times of passion baby.
Someone you can meet.
I suggest the local tavern honey.
I suggest a real good time.
You should try to throw a party baby.
Buy the bar a round.
Try to keep this party going till morning.
Bring along a crowd.
I suggest we go to your apartment baby.
Turn the music loud.
Turn the music way up loud now.
Turn the music loud.
Turn the music way up loud now.
Turn the music loud..

We can keep this party movin' honey.
If we turn the music loud.
Turn the music way up loud now.
Turn the music loud.
We can really crank it up now.
Just turn the music loud.
Turn the music way up loud now.
Turn the music loud.

Turn the music loud...

poem by Kim Robin Edwards
Added by Poetry Lover
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[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
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Citatepedia^®.com

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