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Yes, I've been very preoccupied with the survivor all through my work.

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Patrick White

Not With The Eye, But Through It

Not with the eye, but through it
easy to see all the pristine faults and flaws
in the immaculate mirror of the lake
that asks me to surrender my sword
as proof the scars on the mirage of my identity
were not self-inflicted or mythically inflated.
Sometimes the mind is nothing but a fraud of water,
a handful of starmud from the bottom up
with an ego like the snapping turtle of the world
savaging the plumage of the moon,
a wild swan thawing like an ice-floe
riding her own reflection downstream
like the pale fragrance of an elegant loveletter.

This place is the downgraded stuff of dreams
that animates the misfortunes of decay
with calendar-eyed views of propinquitous mortality.
Stakes of ghostly bones embedded like fractured trees.
Red ochre cedars like the fragile skeletons of filigreed fish.
Dozy limbs of basswood on the damp shore
pulped by a flesh-eating disease
like the hard heart of an old man gone soft
in the limelight of a circus of fungus on tour.
Not an outrage, but a lingering kind of odium,
this whole place smells like a human on its death bed.

Stealth in the indelible silence of the dead
undergoing their dissolute transformations
into the effluvium of the living in the wake
of their passage through life. What was
solid and upright as the rung of a ladder of oak
or the lifeboats of the oar-winged maple keys
before they went down with the ship,
good captains, all, with nowhere left to fall,
let's its hair down like wavelengths and willows
and returns to going with the flow of things
like ice melting into water again, everything real,
with nothing to stub your toe upon
like the imagined intransigence of the world.

Wing of bat, eye of newt, heart of toad
and the perfect pitch of a virgin hummingbird,
mummified skin from the leaves
of the star clusters of borage sapphires,
the ashes of a poem that immolated itself
like daylilies that no one had ever cried over,
the unreasoned ennui of a seasoned wizard's
attitude toward suffering to play musical chairs
at the periodic table and rise above the salt
where you properly belong enthroned like a dragon
on the skulls of your incommensurable ancestors.

Salt the earth and it will burn green as leaves
in the fires of life nothing can put out.
The axis mundi stirs the seabeds of the ocean
and visionary wraiths hang above it like rags of mist
summoned to the cauldron of the lake
like a seance to the endless first step
of an ongoing beginning that calls them out of exile,
like the lords of life from the last exorcism
they went through like the imperfectible ideals
of the wind sweeping stars and deserts off the stairs
of an underground passage burial
that aimed its spirit at the stars in Orion
but whose bones only made it as far as a flashlight
in the nervous hands of a grave robber
startled by his own amazement
at whose likeness embers in old gold
on the death mask that greets him like a twin of time.

Waterlilies blooming nocturnally in algaic scum
as if they were spreading their feathers
for any chance encounter with the stars
they've fallen in love with in their own images.
Stumps of the beavers, and here and there,
the occasional chain saw, I hear a man shrieking
in the tent of a field hospital trying to heal the Civil War
with the tools of neo-lithic carpenters.
I hear the crow barking orders to its officers.

Significance by association with the lost and fallen
bleeding out like flags on an abandoned battle field.
You fall through the cracks if you don't jump the gaps
and the rest is just the history of electricity
prodding you to twitch like the puppet-master
of Giovanni's frog prodded into leaping like the dead
trying to keep pace with the measure of their hearts
like lily pads wired to circuitous nervous systems
grounded in the silken muck at the bottom of things
that has settled like a peaceful sediment
over the useful refuse of our unsalvaged dreams.
The encyclopedic detritus of our arboreal souls
we keep recurring out of like cosmic eggs
in a deep sleep of inconceivable wonders to come.

Wingspans of the galaxies in the eyes of the seed-atoms,
I sow my thoughts and feelings like symbols and images
as far and wide as the Milky Way, the Road of Ghosts,
like an old farmer I heard of who went mad out here
sowing the deep woods, holding on to the tail
of a black bull that tugged at his heart like a new moon
or the harvest of stars in the wild rice fields of the Pleiades
adorning the horns of Taurus in a garland of light
so the wide-eyed native women could thresh them
into the bows of their birch bark canoes.

How long ago was that? Is there still
an Algonquin village around here somewhere
that didn't surrender its gates to the urgencies of time?
Some memory smouldering like a fire pit under the leaves
that have written over the history of this place
like draught after draught of an autumnal lie ever since?
Did they ever come down to the water like me
to watch the moonlight ricochet off
the wet anthracite scales of a rat snake
sliding its S-curves back into the water
like a wavelength of darkness alone and homeless
in the occult palace of its black diamond eyes?

Did they feel the same chill of recognition
when it disappeared like a sacred insight
into an abyss of enlightened unknowing
that's as boundless as the myriad infinitudes
of forms and events that arise
out of the creative destruction of the mind
efflorescing out of its own ashes, sunflowers at dawn
when the urns convulse like wombs,
and flowers imitate the garish rainbows
of our afterbirth like the palette of a masterpiece
that's caught the ruin and renewal of life
in the enigmatic features of our photogenic minds?

Posing like mood-shifting chameleons
aurorally lifting the veils of a dark mirror
to reveal our own eyes looking back at us
when the night turns around, saturated
like ripe fruit with the mysterious sorrows
of being alive to witness our own windfall
like a rootless tree well-seasoned in letting go
of the orchards that once danced with the wind
in their wedding gowns, climbing up
this scaffolding of bones like a serpent of picture-music
helically winding up the stairwells of our vertebrae
like a thought making the rounds
of an unbroken circle of zodiacal skulls
like boundary stones in an unsustainable orbit,
all living things perfecting the simplicity of death
in the labyrinth of their own elaboration
by reducing it to an axiom of collaborative absurdity
then erecting it like a meteoric cornerstone
above the graves they dig for themselves
monolithically from the sky down,
one foot in the boat and the other clinging to shore.

I can hear the music of the spheres
in the hidden harmonies of dark matter
I've been listening to for light years
like a song with an impact crater for a sea bed
I just can't seem to get out of my head and heart.

I've apprenticed my darkness to the mastery
of a dying art that might make the dead
a little more lyrically approachable
when the picture-music shepherds them
like black sheep born under a new moon
into the available dimensions of the future.

In everything I see and say and do here
I celebrate the emergence of the carrying forth
of the light out of the dark urgent with expression.

I say tree, stone, star, love, birth, death.

Lonely nightbird, or one of the frogs at night,
I make my sound like my mark upon life,
I add my eddy of light, the ripples of my fingerprints
to the flowing. As ignorant of where I come from
as I am of where I'm going, as homeless behind me
as it is ahead, there's an expiring calendar
of tree rings in my heartwood, waning or waxing,
always seems to be growing. What has my tongue
ever been, but a leaf on the wind, or my eyes,
if not stars coming out of clouds? Delusion
or clarity, the crazy wisdom of the madly enlightened,
or sorrow looking for asylum in its own vulnerability,
the lab rat in a random experiment with genetic lotteries,
or my voice disappear like the homing bird
of a word in the distance flying toward
the violet hills that adumbrate the sunset in residence?

A physics of the heart, or the logic of metaphor,
two ends of the same sky-borne telescope.
Whether they're eyelashes or my eyes
are sprouting wings for the journey ahead,
effortless effort of the absurd,
or a labour of elusive significance,
I struggle to celebrate the vital stillness
that animates the heart of all things
into being carried away on impulse
like water and love and life and light
or thousands of fireflies swarming the valley
after a storm of insight, trying to acquit themselves
like constellations in a chaos of starmaps.

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Worried Down With The Blues

By warren haynes, allen woody & john jaworowicz.
Copyright 1996 sony music entertainment, inc.
Transcribed by marcus fromm & cal watts
Im lying here for hours,
Cant get my eyes to close.
Cant get one moments peace,
To save my dog-gone soul.
Ive been doin more than drinkin
Tryin to ease my pain.
Everywhere I go,
Somebody speaks your name.
Oh my friends keep on askin
Boy whats a wrong with you,
I say Im worried,
Worried down with the blues.
Try to be a good man,
Work my fingers to the bone.
Oh and you return the favor,
By reckin oh a happy home.
Whyd you play so many dirty tricks
I lost my faith in you,
And now you want me to take you back.
Whats a poor man supposed to do?
[chorus]
I am worried down with the blues,
Oh yes I am,
I am worried down with the blues oh yea
I feel like I was born to lose.
I used to walk with pride and my head held high
And now Im starin down at my shoes.
Yes I am worried,
Worried down with the blues.
You made me turn my back,
On my very best friend.
And when my back was turned,
You were messin around with him.
Still Id give up everything,
Just to have you by my side.
In the cold cold nights when I reach for you.
Im holdin to my foolish pride.
[chorus]
I am worried down with the blues,
Oh yes I am,
I am worried down with the blues oh yea
I feel like I was born to lose.
I used to walk with pride and my head held high
And now Im starrin down at my shoes.
Yes I am worried,
Worried down with the blues.

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Robert Frost

Acquainted with the Night

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain -- and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

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The man with the deformed hand

On the Sabbath with my shrivelled deformed hand
in front of all the people I took my stand.
Everyone was watching expectantly
I know it's the Sabbath but will He heal me?

The Pharisees and the teachers of the law
were very unhappy with the things they saw.
They looked for reasons to accuse Him of sin
and if He healed me then they thought they would win.

He said, 'On the Sabbath should we do evil? '
'Should we save a person's life or should we kill? '
Jesus spoke these words to the Pharisees there
they were quiet showing no compassion or care.

Then, 'Stretch out your hand, ' Jesus commanded me
and restored my withered hand for all to see.
So when I placed both of my hands together
the bad hand was made as good as the other.

I cannot understand and did not know
why all of the Pharisees acted so.
But I am so glad that Jesus healed me
from my handicap and deformity.


Written after reading Luke 6: 6-10

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Acquainted with the Night

shut your eyes and dream
for that is where paradise is
the world is not
as good as a dream, daylight
at least for many
you see them
all over the morning papers
crimes that came out
of the nights
the husband who
in his rage
against a runaway wife
hanged all three children
and himself
terrorising readers
a wayward son
that beat mom to death
for a little money
to spend at the club
the old spinster
who fell to her death
as the snatch thief
used all his might
for her bag
the court trial
of a murdered woman
that heard of sperm stains
on ceiling
and a deputy prime minister
who allegedly groped with men
a whole mattress taken
to examine for lascivious stains
an artist former husband
who spewed terrible secrets
about wife that
ran away with a musician
carrying her children along with her
never allowing him to see his hearts
in three long years
or the shark money loaner
who forced weedkiller
down his debtor throat
a national top school achiever
denied entry to university
all because of her wrong race
i have been one acquainted
with the night
and as i walked down
the town alleyway
i cross path with
cats, well fed rats
especially the rats
a heapful of them
over rubbish
downtrodden
or not
we all strive to live
in our own ways
and you see them
clearly in the dead of night
where the rats run
and the cats sauntering by
shut your eyes and dream
for is perhaps where paradise is

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Acquainted with the Night
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain - and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
Robert Frost

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I've been very happy with the commercial Linux CD-ROM vendors linux Red Hat.

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All Through The Night

Dont you feel so lonely when its in the afternoon
And you gotta face it
All through the night
Dont it make you believe
That somethings gonna have to happen soon
Oh baby, all through the night
All through the night
Oh baby, all through the night
All through the night
All through the night
Have you ever played with an all night band
And gone trough it, baby
All through the night
When the daytime descends in a night time of hell
Everybodys gone to look for a bell to ring
All through the night
And they do it, all through the night
Babe, all through the night
When the words were donw and the poetry comes
And the novels written and the book is done
You said, oh lord, lover, baby, give it to me
All through the night
And she says it
My best friend sally, she got sick
And Im feeling mighty ill myself it happens all the time
And all through the night
I went to saint vincents and Im watching the ceiling
Fall down on her body as shes lying round on the ground
Said, oh babe, gotta celebrate all through the night
Feel so sad I cried all through the night
I said, oh jesus, all through the night
If the sinners sin and the good mans gone
And a woman cant come and help him home
And what youre gonna do about it
When they go on all through the night
And they sing, oh baby, oh baby, oh baby
All through the night
And he says, give it to me all through the night
It aint so much when a mans gotta cry
Give a little loving and some peace of mind
I said, hey babe, give it to me all through the night
And some people wait for things that never come
And some people dream of things theyve never been done
They do it, oh baby, all through the night
The citys funny and the countrys quiet
But Id wanna know why they dont have a riot
Why dont they do it, baby, all through the night
Ooohhh mama, ooohhh mama, tell me bout it
All through the night
I want to have it all through the night
If christmas comes only once a year
Why cant anybody shed just one tear
For things that dont happen all through the night
Ooohhh mama, all through the night
Oh baby, do it to me all through the night
Easy, easy, baby, why dont you give it to -
- me all through the night

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All Through The Night

(eric carmen/michael mcbride)
Hey now, sugar
Let me buy you a drink
Dont you tell me your last name
I wont recognize you after tonight
cause you just wont look the same
Well I could look for an hour or two
Trying to find someone just like you
Why don t you sit right down?
Have a double, let me get to know ya
All through the night
If you decide it ll be alright
Gonna make you sweat till the sheets are wet
Now dont say I didnt warn ya
All through the night
If you play your hand just right
Youre gonna know my bed
Take my hand
And hitchhike home in the morning
You feel so soft and you taste so sweet
Like cold wine in mid-july
Have the finest time when you shake and cry
And the drinks sure got me high
Now that Ive already had ya
Im gettin bored with the idle chat
bout the place you live, what you do all day
Well honey, the doors got a handle
All through the night
If you decide itll be alright
Gonna make you sweat till the sheets are wet
Now dont say I didnt warn ya
All through the night
If you play your hand just right
Youre gonna know my bed
Take my hand
And hitchhike home in the morning
All through the night
If you decide itll be alright
Gonna make you sweat till the sheets are wet
Now dont say I didnt warn ya
All through the night
If you play your hand just right
Youre gonna know my bed
Take my hand
And hitchhike home in the morning
If we meet again
Baby, who knows when
In a smoke-filled, sleazy bar
Dont you be surprised if between the flies
I cant tell which one you are
You all look just the same
And I never could remember names
So if you say, hello and I still dont know
Well, honey, its such a shame
All through the night
If you decide itll be alright
Gonna make you sweat till the sheets are wet
Now dont say I didnt warn ya
All through the night
If you play your hand just right
Youre gonna know my bed
Take my hand
And hitchhike home in the morning
Youre gonna know my bed
Baby, take my hand
And hitchhike home in the morning

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All Through The Years

Longing to sail on
Through the night to the stars
On until sunrise
Where the moon hides her tears
All through the years
If I could see the world through someone elses eyes
If I could see through you would I cast you to one side
And if you gave it all would I throw it all away
Like the leaves in autumn winds
From the window in the kitchen
To the fireside by the chair
Sat in familiar surroundings warm night air
Under the bridges that were burning
Before we reached the other side
All the feelings I remember I cannot hide
Not for want of trying
And if you held me here would the moment fade away
Into obscurity like the night becomes the day
For all the broken promises tell me where do I begin
To throw my caution to the wind
Longing to sail on
Through the night to the stars
On until sunrise
Where the moon hides her tears
All through the years
All through the years all through the years
All through the years all through the years
All through the years all through the years

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Blown With The Wind

You have taken my heart in your hands...
At first you were very gentle with it
But now you have left me with absolutely nothing
Nothing but a broken heart and shattered promises
Every commit you made had been broken
The wind is my sole witness...
For they carry with them all your lies and false dreams
Now I don't know if I could ever trust you again
For so long I waited and kept you in my heart
I never thought you would do anything to cause me hurt
I thought you loved me, at least that's what you claimed.
Then why am I sitting here all by myself?
And why am I having to put the broken pieces back?
Now you tell me if you want another chance...
How can I trust you again, to be true and sincere
You took me in once, twice, thrice, but let me go...
We were in love at least that's what it seemed
If that is what you think love is then, I don't want it!
Yes I loved you, I still do and I always will
But your love isn't unconditional like mine
You seem to fall in and out of love easy, at least you did with me.
So how do I know if you will carry my heart
Like it is fine china that you cherish?
You did really good at breaking my heart the first time
Then the second, then the third...I lost count
I've yet to collect pieces bit by bit
Can you put the memories back to make me complete?


*This is a narrative poem better off said than written, I wanted to convey its message, wanted it flow freely without minding the technical aspects...that's what we called, expression.
However, I experimented on rephrasing the poem with a more poetic touch. See it for yourself on the poem 'Swept'

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Running All Night (with The Lion)

Ive been waiting for my lady
One hour - she finally came
She came walking by my table
And Im thinking
Whats this foxs game
To be honest, I was ready
To play that white witchs game
And I knew that she was ready
To cut loose on the town and meet
Somebody new for a change
When youre running
All night with the lion
Running all night with the lion ...
I may not recall exactly
How I got her to sit down
She was sitting at my table
And Im making out like a clown
Oh, shell make me very happy
When she showed her fallen again
And I knew that she was ready
To cut loose on the town and meet
Somebody new for a change
Rocknrollin ladies
Good life to the games you cant win
Well drink right at my table
And well talk till its time to go in
This could be something heavy
If only youd show me a sign
And something says youre ready
To cut loose on the town and meet
Somebody new for a change

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Man With The Child In His Eyes

I hear him
before I go to sleep
and focus on the day
that's been.
I realize he's there
when I turn the light off
and turn over.
Nobody knows about my man.
They think he's lost on some horizon.
And suddenly I find myself listening
to a man I've never known before,
telling me about the sea,
oh his love is to eternity.
Ooh he's here again,
the man with the child in his eyes.
Ooh he's here again,
the man with the child in his eyes.
He's very understanding and he's so
aware of all my situations.
When I stay up late
he's always with me
what I feel when I hesitate.
Oh I'm so worried about my love.
They say "no, no it won't last forever".
And here I am again my girl,
wondering what on earth I am doing here.
Maybe he doesn't love me,
I just took a trip on my love for him.
Ooh he's here again,
the man with the child in his eyes.
Ooh he's here again,
the man with the child in his eyes

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The Man With The Child In His Eyes

(hes here! hes here!
Hes here! hes here!)
I hear him, before I go to sleep
And focus on the day thats been.
I realise hes there,
When I turn the light off and turn over.
Nobody knows about my man.
They think hes lost on some horizon.
And suddenly I find myself
Listening to a man Ive never known before,
Telling me about the sea,
All his love, til eternity.
Ooh, hes here again,
The man with the child in his eyes.
Ooh, hes here again,
The man with the child in his eyes.
Hes very understanding,
And hes so aware of all my situations.
And when I stay up late,
Hes always waiting, but I feel him hesitate.
Oh, Im so worried about my love.
They say, no, no, it wont last forever.
And here I am again, my girl,
Wondering what on earth Im doing here.
Maybe he doesnt love me.
I just took a trip on my love for him.
Ooh, hes here again,
The man with the child in his eyes.
Ooh, hes here again,
The man with the child in his eyes.

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Our House With The Rotary Phone

I sit in a room that no longer exists
On a chair long since splintered and gone
While I pick at a meal I once would devour
in our house with the rotary phone.

I sit in the room that doesn’t exist
Enjoying my choice of ice creams
Recalling the window in Tiffany glass
Forgive an old man his daydreams

A simple “A” frame with three beds and a bath,
obsolete, yes, but our home.
It stood with its’ sisters on Queens borough Hill,
where the L.I.E. jams are well known.

I had known for some time that her best days were gone
A plywood fence circled our home
Title had passed to a contractor’s hands
Neglected, our house looked forlorn

My past like a picture ripped from its frame
They left not a stone on a stone
Not even the numbers on wood painted green
of our house with the rotary phone.


Our house and its twin have been wrecked and removed
And replaced with a modern brick “home”
So pardon my tear as I stand at the bier
Of our house with the rotary phone

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What's Going On With The Chickens?

What's going on with the chickens?

'No one really knows exactly how all of this started.
Or wish to connect any of this,
To the making of common sense.
They are baffled.
We are baffled.
And since it was reported,
Those chickens were going home to roost...
Well,
The abundance of eggs they once had laid...
Has been limited to quite a few.
And 'now'...
Someone has decided to use them,
In some foolish sexual preference dispute.'

And...
Who is that guy tied up to the chair?

'He was the one who first declared,
A suspicion he had that chickens everywhere...
Were preparing to come home to roost.'

Oh yes...
I remember.
He was the one daring to tell the truth about the chickens.
And he was labelled a racist too.

'What are they calling the people,
Choosing to protect their rights...
Not to cater to those with same sex appetites? '

Conveniently they have called them conservatives.

'Has everyone lost their minds? '

I have no idea.
But grateful I am to be a vegetarian.

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Holding Hands With The Devil

You made the rope you're expected to hang yourself with.
Now as you try to squirm and twist yourself out of it.
Let me ask do you regret it?
Did you live the good life if only for a very short time?
Money to destroy.
Money to control.

Oh in this god forsaken world.
So many treasure troves buried deep within the sand.
All one has to do is dig.
But it would go so much faster with the right tools.
How about I loan them too you.
A debt can always be repaid.
Come on man what do you say?

Holding hands with the devil.
He says lets go play.
You say okay.
He says follow me this way.
Let me show all the reason why you shouldn't pray.
An end to all your suffering but it is only for you.
Once the choice has been made their will be no turning back.
For god abandons those who abandon him.
So lets live in this pleasure of sin.

Are you strong enough to say no?
Are you strong enough to say I won't go?
A temptation forever in your face.
The forbidding fruit has a sweet taste.

It is the empty escape.
Feel nothing, do nothing, be nothing.
Completely oblivious.
Why would you ever want to know?
As all the knowledge will bare the human pain.
Don't pay attention to me for you're right I am completely insane.
As much as evil has no definite name.
Constantly changing and conforming to its environment.

It is the chameleon.
It must blend in.
Never to be discovered.
Buried deep within the sand.
Will you be the one to dig it up?

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Down With The Clique (LP Version)

First Verse:
Well now I guess it's time for me to wreck shop,
So show your peace while the beat drops,
And if you're in the house just throw your hands up,
And let me see my brothas and sistas spread luv
And if you're not down there's sumthin wrong see,
'Cause see my project homies, they got my back G,
Droppin' a old school with a new school..
PA's in the house and it's a good thang..
(chorus)
Well if you down with the clique,
let me hear you say (I'm down wit it)
(repeat 4X)
Second Verse:
Now it's a phone checker, I musn't do this
And if you didn't know I thought you knew this,
It took a little time but now it's on see
You been waiting for so long to beep me...hmmm...
So check check check it out, all the dogs in the house (woof woof woof),
So pump your fist in the air and say,
R. Kelly's on the track and it's a good thang
(chorus)
Well if you down with the clique,
let me hear you say (I'm down wit it)
(repeat 4X)
(break it down)
tonite is the night that I...
I take you boy and I put you in my good thang all night...
R.Kelly Rap:
First we have the Black ground posse in her clique
Then we have the funky second chapter in her clique
PA's in the house and yes you know they're in her clique
And all the project homies are down with the clique
Well now we have the double x-tra large in her clique
Plus we have the DA to the Smahd in her clique
Then we have the down town possee in her clique
Peace to the hood cause ya down with her clique
(chorus repeat til' fade out

song performed by AaliyahReport problemRelated quotes
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With The Bug

Roy orbison
Well down through the ages. woman's had a time
Tryin' to get her man to walk the chalk line
To keep him on a string with a kiss and a hug
But there's never been a man who wasn't bitten by the bug
Yeah rockin' and rollin' with the bug
Rollin' and strollin' with the bug
Itchin' and twitchin' singin' and swingin'
Yeah with the bug
Well delilah loved sammy, but he wouldnt stay home
Always runnin' and leavin' dee home
She set out to find sammy late one night
Found him down at the sand dune rockin' it right
He was rockin' and rollin' with the bug
Rollin' and strollin' he had the bug
Itchin' and twitchin' singin' and swingin'
Yeah with the bug
Well helen of troy a cool smile on her face
She sported the face that launched a thousand ships
But she couldn't control the wiggle in her hips
She lost her fame and fortune, just one flip
Well rockin' and rollin' with the bug
Rollin' and strollin' had the bug
Itchin' and twitchin' singin' and swingin'
Yeah with the bug
And josephine, had trouble from the start
She couldn't keep her eye on little bonoparte
Every single time that josie looked around
She found her bony runnin' round and round
He was rockin' and rollin' with the bug
Rollin' and strollin' had the bug
Itchin' and twitchin' singin' and swingin'
Yeah with the bug
Well now, are modern times the same as history
Even in the twentieth century
And our future now, oh yes it's plain to see
If we don't look out, the bug will get you and me
We'll be rockin' and rollin' with the bug
Rollin' and strollin' with the bug
Itchin' and twitchin' movin' and groovin'
Yeah with the bug
Yeah, with the bug
With the bug
With the bug
With the bug
With the bug
With the bug
With the bug ...

song performed by Roy OrbisonReport problemRelated quotes
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Few Came to Socialize with the Baker

~There's an 'old' player on the field.
One who has yet been revealed,
As appealing with significance.
But...
Significant this player is.
Significant to 'that' which lives.
Under the current circumstances.
And the benefit to 'whom'...
Those significant looming circumstances,
Come to grow and groom.~

The easiest thing to do...
For those in positions of leadership,
Appointed and likeable too.
Was...
Not to create opposition,
For those elated who appreciated...
A charading done in masquerade.

When favorite cakes are baked to taste...
Those waiting in anticipation,
Can be counted on to celebrate.
But...
When that oven is finally turned off,
And the aroma of baked cakes fade away.
People once patient,
Begin to show a disrespect.
With a desire to twist the leader's neck.
And a stirring of the masses begin to rise!
When the incompetence of the leader...
Catches all by surprise.

What now becomes prioritized,
Is what has happened to the funds?
And why no one accepts responsibility...
For paying bills that has not been done!

~Has the baker taken ill? ~

No one had ever questioned,
The credibility of those 'appointed' to lead.
Or an ability to think.on feet...
To keep a sinking process,
Now believed and seen as getting deep.

Those looks of impressions,
Seem to be consciously addressed.
Those dressed impeccably with images given...
Are lost to define leadership qualities felt to express.

However...
Everyone knew the taste of good cake.
But very few came to socialize with the baker!
Or knew a thing about what the baking of a good cake takes.

They just came prepared to eat.
Feed pretentions and agreed to meet.
Slap a few backs in 'glad-hand' chatting.
Before exiting with pocketed money arrangements.
Then to hop in luxurized cars to leave!

~There's an 'old' player on the field.
One who has yet been revealed,
As appealing with significance.
But...
Significant this player is.
Significant to 'that' which lives.
Under the current circumstances.
And the benefit to 'whom'...
Those significant looming circumstances,
Come to grow and groom...
Is lost.!

And the baker has stated to the candlestick maker...
'Let them try to do this again.
Without paying 'upfront'...
Every cent that is due us,
In unpaid dividends! '

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The Hostess With The Mostes' On The Ball

I was born on a thousand acres of Oklahoma land
Nothing grew on the thousand acres for it was gravel and sand
One day father started digging in a field
Hoping to find some soil
He dug and he dug and what do you think?
Oil, oil, oil
The money rolled in and I rolled out with a fortune piled so high
Washington was my destination
And now who am I?
I'm the chosen party giver
For the White House clientele
And they know that I deliver
What it takes to make 'em jell
And in Washington I'm known by one and all
As the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
They could go to Elsa Maxwell
When they had an axe to grind
They could always grind their axe well
At the parties she designed
Now the hatchet grinders all prefer to call
On the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
I've a great big bar and good caviar
Yes, the best that can be found
And a large amount in my bank account
When election time comes 'round
If you're feeling presidential
You can make it, yes, indeed
There are just three things essential
Let me tell you all you need
Is an ounce of wisdom and a pound of gall
And the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
An Ambassador has just reached the shore
He's a man of many loves
An important gent from the Orient
To be handled with kid gloves
He can come and let his hair down
Have the best time of his life
Even bring his new affair down
Introduce her as his wife
But she mustn't leave her panties in the hall
For the hostess who's the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
[Encore:]
I've been highly complimented
And I thank you what is more
You'll be damned well represented
By your new ambassador
For my one ambition is to make them fall
For the hostess with the mostes' on the ball
In the handbag that I'll carry
There's a precious little note
To their highnesses from Harry
Introducing me he wrote:
"I'll appreciate a favor large or small
For the hostess with the mostes' on the ball"
There'll be no mistakes, I've got what it takes
To make friends across the sea
I'll make being smart an important part
Of my foreign policy
I'll cement our good relations
When I give my first affair
There'll be special invitations
To the Duke and Duchess there
Who's already written asking them to call
Not the priestess with the leastes'
But the hostess who's the hostess with the mostes' on the ball

song performed by Irving BerlinReport problemRelated quotes
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