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You never toot your own horn.

quote by Zakk Wylde
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Santa-Fe Trail (A Humoresque)

I asked the old Negro, "What is that bird that sings so well?" He answered: "That is the Rachel-Jane." "Hasn't it another name, lark, or thrush, or the like?" "No. Jus' Rachel-Jane."

I. IN WHICH A RACING AUTO COMES FROM THE EAST

This is the order of the music of the morning: —
First, from the far East comes but a crooning.
The crooning turns to a sunrise singing.
Hark to the calm -horn, balm -horn, psalm -horn.
Hark to the faint -horn, quaint -horn, saint -horn. . . .

Hark to the pace -horn, chase -horn, race -horn.
And the holy veil of the dawn has gone.
Swiftly the brazen ear comes on.
It burns in the East as the sunrise burns.
I see great flashes where the far trail turns.

Its eyes are lamps like the eyes of dragons.
It drinks gasoline from big red flagons.
Butting through the delicate mists of the morning,
It comes like lightning, goes past roaring.
It will hail all the wind-mills, taunting, ringing,
Dodge the cyclones,
Count the milestones,
On through the ranges the prairie-dog tills—
Scooting past the cattle on the thousand hills. . . .
Ho for the tear-horn, scare-horn, dare-horn,
Ho for the gay -horn, bark -horn, bay -horn.
Ho for Kansas, land that restores us
When houses choke us, and great books bore us!
Sunrise Kansas, harvester's Kansas,
A million men have found you before us.

II. IN WHICH MANY AUTOS PASS WESTWARD

I want live things in their pride to remain.
I will not kill one grasshopper vain
Though he eats a hole in my shirt like a door.
I let him out, give him one chance more.
Perhaps, while he gnaws my hat in his whim,
Grasshopper lyrics occur to him.

I am a tramp by the long trail's border,
Given to squalor, rags and disorder.
I nap and amble and yawn and look,
Write fool-thoughts in my grubby book,
Recite to the children, explore at my ease,
Work when I work, beg when I please,
Give crank-drawings, that make folks stare

[...] Read more

poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Rooty Toot Toot

Got my hands on a little bit of dough
So I went to the crocery store
And got some steaks to go
Went by, and picked up my gal, teddi jo
We had ourselves a picnic
Beside a dirty road
Chorus:
Rooty toot toot
Rooty toot toot
We had it made in the shade
Like a bell through the hoop
Spinnin and tumblin inside this
Hoola hoop
Livin and learnin
rooty toot toot
We laid out a blanket
And started a fire.
Had the radio playin
from inside the car
I took off my shirt
And kicked off my shoes
She read the paper
And told me the news
She said, theres a lot of
People out there
Who are at the end of their rope
Sometimes, baby
Youve got to lay low
Chorus:
Rooty toot toot
Rooty toot toot
We had it made in the shade
Like a bell through the hoop
Spinnin and tumblin inside this
Hoola hoop
Livin and learnin
rooty toot toot
We stayed there all day
We both get us some real
Good suntans
I thought, that was ok
Sometimes life can be so grand
We were gettin ready
To shake out that place
When the illinois state trooper
Got in my face
He said, youre on pirvate property
But once he cooled down, he was ok
Sometimes youre golden, man
Thats all I got to say

[...] Read more

song performed by John Mellencamp
Added by Lucian Velea
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Tattoo

Me and my brother were talking to each other
Me and my brother were talking to each other
bout what makes a man a man
bout what makes a man a man
Was it brain or brawn, or the month you were born
Was it brain or brawn, or the month you were born
We just couldnt understand
We just couldnt understand
Our old man didnt like our appearance
Our old man didnt like our appearance
He said that only women wear long hair
He said that only women wear long hair
So me and my brother borrowed money from mother
So me and my brother borrowed money from mother
We knew what we had to do
We knew what we had to do
We went downstairs, past the barber and gymnasium
We went downstairs, past the barber and gymnasium
And got our arms tattooed
And got our arms tattooed
Welcome to my life, tattoo
Welcome to my life, tattoo
Im a man now, thanks to you
Im a man now, thanks to you
I expect Ill regret you
I expect Ill regret you
But the skin graft man wont get you
But the skin graft man wont get you
Youl be there when I die
Youl be there when I die
Tattoo
Tattoo
My dad beat me cause mine said mother
My dad beat me cause mine said mother
But my mother naturally liked it and beat my brother
But my mother naturally liked it and beat my brother
cause his tattoo was of a lady in the nude
cause his tattoo was of a lady in the nude
And my mother thought that was extremely rude
And my mother thought that was extremely rude
Welcome to my life, tattoo
Welcome to my life, tattoo
Weve a long time together, me and you
Weve a long time together, me and you
I expect Ill regret you
I expect Ill regret you
But the skin graft man wont get you
But the skin graft man wont get you
Youll be there when I die
Youll be there when I die

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Great Conductors

Hans Richter Parsifal did not conduct,
and to the National Gallery he never paid
a visit, but he showed Franz Strauss who never sucked
just how the horn in Meistersinger should be played.

Franz Strauss refused to play a second time
for Hans von Bülow Meistersinger’s second act;
Hans begged his pardon when Franz told him: “I’m
retiring, since you for the hornist show no tact.”

There is an incident reported about the premiere of Die Meistersinger von Nuremberg. The first version: during a rehearsal Strauss complained about the terrible demanding horn part, but Hans Richter, Wagner's secretary & former first horn at the Viennese Kaerntnerthor Theatre (Beethoven's Sonata op.17 had been premiered there; forerunner theatre of the Imperial Opera House) , was present & asked Strauss to lend him his horn & played the passage from the endings of the second act flawless, but giving the horn back with the comment With your B-flat-horn you will have difficulties always; the F-horn sounds much better.
I do not believe this anecdote to be true. Even an already warmed up horn player of excellent qualities might have difficulties with the Pruegelszene How can a conducter to be (Richter became the first world famous conductor; he led the first Ring in Bayreuth 1876) , who had not played his horn for a while, play this passage flawless without any warm-up. A myth only! Richter used this complain about B-flat horn also, when he conducted in Bayreuth. He recommended the use of the single F horn always. No wonder. He came from Vienna.
The second incident happened after the end of the dress rehearsal of Mastersingers. Hans von Bülow wanted to repeat the ending of the 2nd Act again, but Strauss refused to do so, telling von Bülow that he could not do it again, as being exhausted already. If you cant do it again, so you must better ask for retirement! , replied von Buelow to Strauss. But Strauss left the pit and asked the opera's administration for immediate retirement. So Hans von Bülow had to come to Strauss house at the Pschorr Estate, ask for pardon, which was granted, - so the premiere of Mastersingers was saved.
There is an incident reported about the premiere of Die Meistersinger von Nuremberg. The first version: during a rehearsal Strauss complained about the terrible demanding horn part, but Hans Richter, Wagner's secretary & former first horn at the Viennese Kaerntnerthor Theatre (Beethoven's Sonata op.17 had been premiered there; forerunner theatre of the Imperial Opera House) , was present & asked Strauss to lend him his horn & played the passage from the endings of the second act flawless, but giving the horn back with the comment With your B-flat-horn you will have difficulties always; the F-horn sounds much better.
I do not believe this anecdote to be true. Even an already warmed up horn player of excellent qualities might have difficulties with the Pruegelszene. How can a conductor to be (Richter became the first world famous conductor; he led the first Ring in Bayreuth 1876) , who had not played his horn for a while, play this passage flawless without any warm-up. A myth only! Richter used this complain about B-flat horn also, when he conducted in Bayreuth. He recommended the use of the single F horn always. No wonder. He came from Vienna.
The second incident happened after the end of the dress rehearsal of Mastersinger. Hans von Bülow wanted to repeat the ending of the 2nd Act again, but Strauss refused to do so, telling von Bülow that he could not do it again, as being exhausted already. If you can’t do it again you had better ask for retiremen! replied von Bülow to Strauss. But Strauss left the pit and asked the opera's administration for immediate retirement. So Hans von Bülow had to come to Strauss house at the Pschorr Estate, ask for pardon, which was granted, - so the premiere of Mastersingers was saved.

8/25/08

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Loot

If you've ever stole a pheasant-egg be'ind the keeper's back,
If you've ever snigged the washin' from the line,
If you've ever crammed a gander in your bloomin' 'aversack,
You will understand this little song o' mine.
But the service rules are 'ard, an' from such we are debarred,
For the same with English morals does not suit.
(~Cornet~: Toot! toot!)
W'y, they call a man a robber if 'e stuffs 'is marchin' clobber
With the --
(~Chorus~) Loo! loo! Lulu! lulu! Loo! loo! Loot! loot! loot!
Ow the loot!
Bloomin' loot!
That's the thing to make the boys git up an' shoot!
It's the same with dogs an' men,
If you'd make 'em come again
Clap 'em forward with a Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot!
(~ff~) Whoopee! Tear 'im, puppy! Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot!

If you've knocked a nigger edgeways when 'e's thrustin' for your life,
You must leave 'im very careful where 'e fell;
An' may thank your stars an' gaiters if you didn't feel 'is knife
That you ain't told off to bury 'im as well.
Then the sweatin' Tommies wonder as they spade the beggars under
Why lootin' should be entered as a crime;
So if my song you'll 'ear, I will learn you plain an' clear
'Ow to pay yourself for fightin' overtime.
(~Chorus~) With the loot, . . .

Now remember when you're 'acking round a gilded Burma god
That 'is eyes is very often precious stones;
An' if you treat a nigger to a dose o' cleanin'-rod
'E's like to show you everything 'e owns.
When 'e won't prodooce no more, pour some water on the floor
Where you 'ear it answer 'ollow to the boot
(~Cornet~: Toot! toot!) --
When the ground begins to sink, shove your baynick down the chink,
An' you're sure to touch the --
(~Chorus~) Loo! loo! Lulu! Loot! loot! loot!
Ow the loot! . . .

When from 'ouse to 'ouse you're 'unting, you must always work in pairs --
It 'alves the gain, but safer you will find --
For a single man gets bottled on them twisty-wisty stairs,
An' a woman comes and clobs 'im from be'ind.
When you've turned 'em inside out, an' it seems beyond a doubt
As if there weren't enough to dust a flute
(~Cornet~: Toot! toot!) --
Before you sling your 'ook, at the 'ousetops take a look,
For it's underneath the tiles they 'ide the loot.
(~Chorus~) Ow the loot! . . .

[...] Read more

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Rupeat The Riley

Wholl ride in my rupert the riley
Ride on for mile after miley
Im the bravest driver, sit by my side
Ill drive you so wild if you sit by my side
See how far we travel, take ov the wheel,
Shell drive us to hell if you take ov the wheel
Whoa oh oh whoa, yeah yeah yeah yeah
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Wholl ride in my rupert the riley
Ride on for mile after miley
Like to take a ride, that riley of mine
Shes shakey on her legs that riley of mine
Im the bravest driver, sit by my side
Ill drive you so wild if you sit by my side
Whoa oh oh whoa, yeah yeah yeah yeah
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Toot beep-beep, beep-beep
Wholl ride in my rupert the riley
Ride on for mile after miley
Wholl ride in my rupert the riley
Ride on for mile after miley
Wholl ride in my rupert the riley
Ride on for mile after miley
Wholl ride in my rupert the riley

song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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Paying Taxes

Done-with-a-minimum.
Donewithaminimum.
Done -with-a-minimum.
Donewithaminimum.

The rich pay...
Donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum.
And some say...
With lifestyles out of reach.

They've got 'moolay'...
Donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum.
And you and I will not be relieved from paying taxes.

The rich pay...
Donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum.
And some say...
With lifestyles out of reach.

They've got 'moolay'...
Donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum.
And you and I will not be relieved from paying taxes.

The money,
The rich have...
Flows nonstop!
Pootoo-poo-too-too-toot!
Pootoo-poo-too-too-toot!

The money,
The rich have...
Many aint got!
Pootoo-poo-too-too-toot!
Pootoo-poo-too-too-toot!

And those poor have paved the way,
For the snobs and snots.
It's clear who are the 'haves' and those 'have nots'.

Oh...
Done-with-a-minimum.
Do newithaminimum.
Done-with-a-minimum.
Donewi thaminimum.

The rich pay...
Donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum, donewithaminimum.
And some say...
With lifestyles out of reach.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Hunter’s Song

RISE! Sleep no more! ’T is a noble morn:
The dews hang thick on the fringed thorn,
And the frost shrinks back, like a beaten hound,
Under the steaming, steaming ground.
Behold, where the billowy clouds flow by,
And leave us alone in the clear gray sky!
Our horses are ready and steady.—So, ho!
I ’m gone, like a dart from the Tartar’s bow.
Hark, hark!—Who calleth the maiden Morn
From her sleep in the woods and the stubble corn?
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, sweet ring of the hunter’s horn.

Now, thorough the copse, where the fox is found,
And over the stream, at a mighty bound,
And over the high lands, and over the low,
O’er furrows, o’er meadows, the hunters go!
Away!—as a hawk flies full at its prey,
So flieth the hunter, away,—away!
From the burst at the cover till set of sun,
When the red fox dies, and—the day is done!
Hark, hark!—What sound on the wind is borne?
’T is the conquering voice of the hunter’s horn.
The horn,—the horn!
The merry, bold voice of the hunter’s horn.

Sound! Sound the horn! To the hunter good
What ’s the gulley deep or the roaring flood?
Right over he bounds, as the wild stag bounds,
At the heels of his swift, sure, silent hounds.
O, what delight can a mortal lack,
When he once is firm on his horse’s back,
With his stirrups short, and his snaffle strong,
And the blast of the horn for his morning song?
Hark, hark!—Now, home! and dream till morn
Of the bold, sweet sound of the hunter’s horn!
The horn,—the horn!
O, the sound of all sounds is the hunter’s horn!

poem by Barry Cornwall
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The Wild Huntsman

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn,
To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo!
His fiery courser snuffs the morn,
And thronging serfs their lord pursue.

The eager pack, from couples freed,
Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake;
While answering hound, and horn, and steed,
The mountain echoes startling wake.

The beams of God's own hallow'd day
Had painted yonder spire with gold,
And, called sinful man to pray,
Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll'd:

But still the Wildgrave onward rides;
Halloo, halloo! and, hark again!
When, spurring from opposing sides,
Two Stranger Horsemen join the train.

Who was each Stranger, left and right,
Well may I guess, but dare not tell;
The right-hand steed was silver white,
The left, the swarthy hue of hell.

The right-hand Horseman, young and fair,
His smile was like the morn of May;
The left, from eye of tawny glare,
Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray.

He waved his huntsman's cap on high,
Cried, 'Welcome, welcome, noble lord!
What sport can earth, or sea, or sky,
To match the princely chase, afford?'-

'Cease thy loud bugle's changing knell,'
Cried the fair youth, with silver voice;
'And for devotion's choral swell,
Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise.

'To-day, the ill-omen'd chase forbear,
Yon bell yet summons to the fane;
To-day the Warning Spirit hear,
To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain.'-

'Away, and sweep the glades along!'
The Sable Hunter hoarse replies;
'To muttering monks leave matin-song
And bells, and books, and mysteries.'

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Ignition

Now, usualy I dont do this but uh... give em a lil preview of the remix
No Im not tryin to be rude,
But hey pretty girl Im feelin you
The way you do the things you do
Remind me of my lexus coup
Thats why Im all up in yo grill
Tryina get you to a hotel
You must be a foot ball coach
The way you got me playin the field
Now gimme that toot toot
And Ill give you that beep beep
Runnin her hands through my fro
Bouncin on 24s
While they say on the radio...
[chorus]
This is the remix to ignition
Hot and fresh out the kitchen
Mama rollin that body
Got evey man in her wishin
Sippin on coke and rum
Im like so what Im drunk
Its the freakin weekend baby
Im about to have me some fun
(let me see you) bounce-
Bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce
Bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce
(now let me see you) bounce-
Bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce
Bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce
Now its like murder she wrote
Once I get you out them clothes
Privacy is on the door
Still they can hear you screamin more
Girl Im feelin what you feelin
No more hopin and wishin
Im bout to take my key and
Stick it in the ignition
So gimme that toot toot
And Ill give you that beep beep
Runnin her hands through my fro
Bouncin on 24s
While they say on the radio...
This is the remix to ignition
Hot and fresh out the kitchen
Mama rollin that body
Got evey man in her wishin
Sippin on coke and rum
Im like so what Im drunk
Its the freakin weekend baby
Im about to have me some fun

[...] Read more

song performed by R. Kelly
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ignition - Remix

Now,um,usually I dont do this but uh....
Go head' on and break em off wit a lil' preview of the remix....
No I'm not tryin to be rude,
But hey pretty girl I'm feelin you
The way you do the things you do
Remind me of my Lexus coup
Thats why im all up in yo grill
Tryina get you to a hotel
You must be a football coach
The way you got me playin the field
So baby gimme that toot toot
Lemme give you that beep beep
Runnin her hands through my 'fro
Bouncin on 24's
While they say on the radio...
It's the remix to ignition
Hot and fresh out the kitchen
Mama rollin that body
got every man in here wishin
Sippin on coke and rum
I'm like so what I'm drunk
It's the freakin weekend baby
I'm about to have me some fun
Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce Bounce
Bounce Bounce Bounce
Now it's like murder she wrote
Once I get you out them clothes
Privacy is on the door
Still they can hear you screamin more
Girl I'm feelin what you feelin
No more hopin and wishin
I'm bout to take my key and
Stick it in the ignition
So baby gimme that toot toot
Lemme give you that beep beep
Runnin her hands through my 'fro
Bouncin on 24's
While they say on the radio...
This is the remix to ignition
Hot and fresh out the kitchen
Mama rollin that body
Got every man in here wishin
Sippin on coke and rum
I'm like so what i'm drunk
It's the freakin weekend baby
I'm about to have me some fun
Crystall poppin in the stretch Navigator
We got food every where
As if the party was catored
We got fellas to my left

[...] Read more

song performed by R. Kelly
Added by Lucian Velea
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She'll Boot Her Commuter-Taken for a Hairy Ride-Tongue Twisters II

Computing commuters hirsute
bawdy brutes though in collar and suit,
who as train hoots toot-toot
spy true beauty who’s mute,
on the fly give glad eye dissolute.

But each guy who sighs tries in pursuit,
who would lie, by and by, eye acute,
may through pride overshoot
by a wide margin moot
when he’d take for a ride maid astute.

Though some smiles superficial seem cute,
minds too sly should be given the boot,
be it beauty or loot,
or the two should it suit,
the solution seems 'ready, aim, shoot! '

Though this limerick sounds convolute
underground rails its humour to boot:
as a duty uproot
both at work and en route,
trample root underfoot and then scoot!

(Jonathan Robin limerick written 4 July 2006 and 16 July 2007
Parody Carolyn WELLS Tongue Twisters – A Tutor)

Tongue Twisters - A Tutor

A tutor who tooted the flute
Tried to tutor two tooters to toot.
Said the two to the tutor,
“Is it harder to toot, or
To tutor two tooters to toot? ”

(Carolyn WELLS 1869_1942)

Can Crime Pay?

When comptroller would syphon a dollar,
one may hear loud and clear victims holler!
Red-faced and red handed
the bait is soon landed, -
can crime pay in our heyday white collar?

There’s hot water, not flight, facts discovered,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Ghosts Of Cape Horn

All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Some who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
See them all in sad repair
Demons dance everywhere
Southern gales, tattered sails
And none to tell the tales
Come all of you rustic old sea dogs
Who follow the great southern cross
You were rounding the horn
In the eye of a storm
When ya lost er one day
And you read all yer letters
From oceans away
Then you took them to the bottom of the sea
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Those who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Come all you old sea dogs from devon
Southampton, penzance, and kinsale
You were caught by the chance
Of a sailors last dance
It was not meant to be
And ya read all yer letters
Cried anchor aweigh
Then ya took them to the bottom of the sea
All around old cape horn
Ships of the line, ships of the morn
Those who wish theyd never been born
They are the ghosts of cape horn
Fal deral da riddle de rum
With a rim dim diddy
And a rum dum dum
Sailing away at the break of morn
They are the ghosts of cape horn

song performed by Gordon Lightfoot
Added by Lucian Velea
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Book VII: Ethandune, the Last Charge

Away in the waste of White Horse Down
An idle child alone
Played some small game through hours that pass,
And patiently would pluck the grass,
Patiently push the stone.

On the lean, green edge for ever,
Where the blank chalk touched the turf,
The child played on, alone, divine,
As a child plays on the last line
That sunders sand and surf.

For he dwelleth in high divisions
Too simple to understand,
Seeing on what morn of mystery
The Uncreated rent the sea
With roarings, from the land.

Through the long infant hours like days
He built one tower in vain--
Piled up small stones to make a town,
And evermore the stones fell down,
And he piled them up again.

And crimson kings on battle-towers,
And saints on Gothic spires,
And hermits on their peaks of snow,
And heroes on their pyres,

And patriots riding royally,
That rush the rocking town,
Stretch hands, and hunger and aspire,
Seeking to mount where high and higher,
The child whom Time can never tire,
Sings over White Horse Down.

And this was the might of Alfred,
At the ending of the way;
That of such smiters, wise or wild,
He was least distant from the child,
Piling the stones all day.

For Eldred fought like a frank hunter
That killeth and goeth home;
And Mark had fought because all arms
Rang like the name of Rome.

And Colan fought with a double mind,
Moody and madly gay;
But Alfred fought as gravely

[...] Read more

poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Ballad of the White Horse (1911)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Horn Of Egremont Castle

ERE the Brothers through the gateway
Issued forth with old and young,
To the Horn Sir Eustace pointed
Which for ages there had hung.
Horn it was which none could sound,
No one upon living ground,
Save He who came as rightful Heir
To Egremont's Domains and Castle fair.

Heirs from times of earliest record
Had the House of Lucie born,
Who of right had held the Lordship
Claimed by proof upon the Horn:
Each at the appointed hour
Tried the Horn,--it owned his power;
He was acknowledged: and the blast,
Which good Sir Eustace sounded, was the last.

With his lance Sir Eustace pointed,
And to Hubert thus said he,
'What I speak this Horn shall witness
For thy better memory.
Hear, then, and neglect me not!
At this time, and on this spot,
The words are uttered from my heart,
As my last earnest prayer ere we depart.

'On good service we are going
Life to risk by sea and land,
In which course if Christ our Saviour
Do my sinful soul demand,
Hither come thou back straightway,
Hubert, if alive that day;
Return, and sound the Horn, that we
May have a living House still left in thee!'

'Fear not,' quickly answered Hubert;
'As I am thy Father's son,
What thou askest, noble Brother,
With God's favour shall be done.'
So were both right well content:
Forth they from the Castle went,
And at the head of their Array
To Palestine the Brothers took their way.

Side by side they fought (the Lucies
Were a line for valour famed),
And where'er their strokes alighted,
There the Saracens were tamed.
Whence, then, could it come--the thought--

[...] Read more

poem by William Wordsworth
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Snakes

Open the basket
Listen to the flute play
Open the basket
Listen to the flute play
Toot toot toot toot play
Snakes in the basket
Lie to lead you astray
Snakes in the basket
Force to make you betray
Your innermost truths hid away
Falling down to the underground
As you slither down to your lair
Hidden in the many trenches of a hopeless war
Those who were sold out by a corporate board
Carry the casket
Never mind the gun spray
Bury the casket
Pawns in someones gameplay
Shoot shoot shoot shoot obey
Subscription to the spreading of lies
Soldier catches a glimpse of his demise
Deep down inside even he knows
Snakes come in many shapes and sizes
Snakes have no hands to be tied
Concoction of malicious lies
Deep inside the general despises
Himself... listen to the flute play
Another reptile in line
Snakes without grass cannot hide
Falling down to the underground
As you slither down to your lair
Forked tongues spread the poison with a toxic sting
So much pain their serpentine inhibitions bring

song performed by Gwen Stefani
Added by Lucian Velea
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London Town

Walking down the sidewalk one purple afternoon,
I was accosted by a barker playing a simple tune upon his flute.
Toottoottoottoot.
Silver rain was falling down
Upon the dirty ground of london town.
People pass me by on my imaginary street,
Ordinary people its impossible to meet,
Holding conversations that are always incomplete.
Well I dont know.
Oh, where are there places to go?
Someone, somewhere has to know.
Idont know.
Out of work again,the actor entertains his wife
With the same old stories of his ordinary life.
Maybe he exaggerates the trouble and the strife.
Well, I dont know.
Oh, where are there places to go?
Someone, somewhere has to know.
Crawling down the pavement on a sunday afternoon,
I was arrested by a rozzer
Wearing a pink balloon about his foot.
Toot toot toot toot.
Silver rain was falling down
Upon the dirty ground of london town.
Someone, somewhere has to know.
Silver rain was falling down
Upon the dirty ground of london town.

song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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Love Street

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Ohh...ho...
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Ohh...ho...
It seems we've lost our touch
Used to be so in love, yeah, uh
But somehow we've gotten off-track
And we never really got it back, no, yeah
I think we better find a way, yeah
And get right back to them good old days, good old days
Wanna make it to Heaven's gate, yeah (oh)
And we need to escalate, I need
I need direction (whoo, I need direction)
To that street called love (to that street called love, yeah)
Lead me to that road (trying to get home, yeah)
Trying to get home (oh take me to love street, yeah)
Now life is gone and skipped a beat
Tell me where are all the dancing feet? Yeah
Boy I tell you there's always something going wrong
Tell me why can't we all just get along
Keep struggling (yeah) just to get by, oh (oh yeah)
So many hills, mountains to climb, yeah
We should all be ashamed of ourselves
'Cause if we don't love ourselves
Tell me how can we love somebody else?
I need direction (whoo, we need direction)
To that street called love (to that street called love yeah)
Lead me to that road (I'm trying to get home)
Trying to get home (come on and take me to love street)
Easter Sunday morning (yeah)
We weredressed up (yeah)
Ready to go and have some... Church
(And I remember feeling so joyful)
Whether East side or the West side
Or the North side or the South side
You were at... Church
(So tell me what is all this fighting for?)
So what is all this pouting about? (and whoa)
What is all this hating about? (whoa)
(We have got to figure out how to get right back to love street)
I need directions (we need direction, whoa)
To that street called love (to that street called love, yeah)
Lead me to that road (trying to get home)
Trying to get home (would you take me straight to love street, yeah)
I need directions (I need some direction yeah) (ohh)
To that street called love (yes I do, yes I do) (yes I do, yeah)
Lead me to that road (please let me lead me to that road) (yeah)
Trying to get home
Heard somebody say (Toot-toot, beep-beep)
Heard somebody say (Tell me how to get to love street) yeah

[...] Read more

song performed by R. Kelly
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hurry Up Please It's Time

What is death, I ask.
What is life, you ask.
I give them both my buttocks,
my two wheels rolling off toward Nirvana.
They are neat as a wallet,
opening and closing on their coins,
the quarters, the nickels,
straight into the crapper.
Why shouldn't I pull down my pants
and moon the executioner
as well as paste raisins on my breasts?
Why shouldn't I pull down my pants
and show my little cunny to Tom
and Albert? They wee-wee funny.
I wee-wee like a squaw.
I have ink but no pen, still
I dream that I can piss in God's eye.
I dream I'm a boy with a zipper.
It's so practical, la de dah.
The trouble with being a woman, Skeezix,
is being a little girl in the first place.
Not all the books of the world will change that.
I have swallowed an orange, being woman.
You have swallowed a ruler, being man.
Yet waiting to die we are the same thing.
Jehovah pleasures himself with his axe
before we are both overthrown.
Skeezix, you are me. La de dah.
You grow a beard but our drool is identical.

Forgive us, Father, for we know not.

Today is November 14th, 1972.
I live in Weston, Mass., Middlesex County,
U.S.A., and it rains steadily
in the pond like white puppy eyes.
The pond is waiting for its skin.
the pond is waiting for its leather.
The pond is waiting for December and its Novocain.

It begins:

Interrogator:
What can you say of your last seven days?

Anne:
They were tired.

Interrogator:
One day is enough to perfect a man.

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Sexton
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Frankie and Johnnie

Frankie and Johnnie were lovers,
O, my Gawd, how they could love,
They swore to be true to each other,
As true as the stars above;
He was her man, but he done her wrong.

Frankie was a good woman,
As everybody knows,
Gave her man a hundred dollars,
To get him a suit of clothes;
He was her man, but he done her wrong.

Frankie and Johnnie went walking,
Johnnie in his bran' new suit,
"Oh, my Gawd," said Frankie,
"But don't my Johnnie look cute?"
He was her man, but he done her wrong.

Frankie went down to Memphis,
Went on the morning train,
Paid a hundred dollars,
Got Johnnie a watch and chain;
He was her man, but he done her wrong.

Frankie lived in a crib-house,
Crib-house with only two doors,
Gave her money to Johnnie,
He spent it on those parlour whores;
He was her man, but he done her wrong.

Frankie went down to the corner,
Went for a bucket of beer,
She said, "Oh, Mr. Bar-tender,
Has my loving Johnnie been here?
He is my man, and he's done me wrong."

"I won't make you no trouble,
I won't tell you no lie,
But I saw Johnnie an hour ago
With a girl named Nellie Bly;
He is your man, and he's doing you wrong."

Frankie went to the hock-shop,
Bought her a big forty-four,
Aimed that gun at the ceiling,
Shot a big hole in the floor;
"Now where's my man that's doing me wrong?"

Frankie went down to the hook-shop,
Looked in at a window so high,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
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