I dropped the script in the fireplace, called my agent and said, they can jail me, sue me, but I'm never acting again, unless I can do something worthwhile.
quote by Piper Laurie
Added by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Peggy Sue
If you knew a-peggy sue
Then youd know why I feel blue
My peggy a-my peggy sue
Well I love you, girl, yes I love you, peggy sue
Peggy sue, peggy sue
Oh how my heart yearns for you
Oh peggy--my peggy sue
Well I love you, girl, yes I love you, peggy sue
Peggy sue, peggy sue
Pretty pretty pretty pretty peggy sue
Oh peggy a-my peggy sue
Well I love you, girl, and I need you, peggy sue
I love you, peggy sue
With a love so rare and true
Oh peggy--my-my peggy sue
Well I love you, girl, and I want you, peggy sue
Peggy sue, peggy sue
Pretty pretty pretty pretty peggy sue
My peggy a-my peggy sue
Well I love you, girl, and I want you, peggy sue
Well I love you, girl, and I want you, peggy sue
(pretty pretty pretty pretty peggy sue)
song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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Peggy Sue
(holly / petty / allison)
If you knew, peggy sue,
Then you know why I feel blue
Without peggy, my peggy sue.
Well, I love you girl.
Yes, I love you, peggy sue.
Peggy sue, peggy sue,
Oh, how my heart yearns for you.
Oh, peggy, my peggy sue.
Well, I love you girl.
Yes, I love you, peggy sue.
I love you, peggy sue,
With a love so rare and true.
Oh, peggy, my peggy sue.
Well, I love you girl.
I want you, peggy sue.
Peggy sue, peggy sue.
Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty peggy sue.
Oh, peggy, my peggy sue.
Well, I love you girl.
Yes, I need you, peggy sue.
I love you, peggy sue,
With a love so rare and true.
Oh, peggy, my peggy sue.
Well, I love you girl,
And I want you, peggy sue.
song performed by Hollies
Added by Lucian Velea
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Would you ever believe
WOULD YOU EVER believe if I called a nondescript table of teakwood; as a vivacious bird soaring high in the sky,
Would you ever believe if I called a ruffled sheet of paper; as a chunk of glittering gold,
Would you ever believe if I called a grandiloquent watch embodied with diamonds; as a lump of bedraggled stone,
Would you ever believe if I called a mountain of compacted mud; as a switchboard of pugnacious electricity,
Would you ever believe if I called a resplendent rainbow in the sky; as a broomstick with incongruous bristles,
Would you ever believe if I called a rusty canister of dilapidated iron; as a mesmerizing rose growing in the garden,
Would you ever believe if I called a pink tablet of luxury soap; as a mosquito hovering acrimoniously in the cloistered room,
Would you ever believe if I called a boat rollicking merrily on the undulating waves; as a rustic jungle spider,
Would you ever believe if I called a valley profusely embedded with snow; as an unscrupulous dog on the street,
Would you ever believe if I called a pair of luscious lips; as a disdainfully fetid shoe,
Would you ever believe if I called a fluorescent rod of light; as a jagged bush of cactus growing in the sweltering desert,
Would you ever believe if I called the blazing sun; as a pudgy bar of delectable chocolate,
Would you ever believe if I called an angular sculptured bone; as acid bubbling in a swanky bottle,
Would you ever believe if I called a scintillating oyster; as an inarticulate matchstick coated with lead,
Would you ever believe if I called a cluster of bells jingling from the ceiling; as a sordid cockroach philandering beside the lavatory seat,
Would you ever believe if I called a fruit of succulent coconut; as a dead mans morbid tooth,
Would you ever believe If I called a steaming cup of filter coffee; as gaudily colored water emanating from the street fountains,
Would you ever believe if I called the majestic statue of a revered historian; as a slab of tangy peanut butter,
Would you ever believe if I called a vibrant shirt; as a protuberant pigeon discerningly pecking its beak at grains scattered on the floor,
Would you ever believe if I called a flocculent bud of cotton; as a camouflaged lizard transgressing through wild projections of grass,
Would you ever believe if I called a photograph depicting the steep gorges; as a gutter inundated with obnoxious sewage,
Would you ever believe if I called a lanky giraffe; as a convict nefariously lurking through solitary streets of the city,
Would you ever believe if I called a pair of flamboyant sunglasses; as a weird tattoo to be adhered to the chest,
Would you ever believe if I called a chicken’s egg; as logs of sooty charcoal abundantly stashed in the colossal warehouse,
Would you ever believe if I called a biscuit replete with golden honey; as a ominously slithering reptile in the jungles,
Would you ever believe if I called a bald man possessing a profoundly tonsured scalp; as a gas balloon floating in insipid air,
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Reverend Simon Magus
A rich advowson, highly prized,
For private sale was advertised;
And many a parson made a bid;
The REVEREND SIMON MAGUS did.
He sought the agent's: "Agent, I
Have come prepared at once to buy
(If your demand is not too big)
The Cure of Otium-cum-Digge."
"Ah!" said the agent, "THERE'S a berth -
The snuggest vicarage on earth;
No sort of duty (so I hear),
And fifteen hundred pounds a year!
"If on the price we should agree,
The living soon will vacant be;
The good incumbent's ninety five,
And cannot very long survive.
See - here's his photograph - you see,
He's in his dotage." "Ah, dear me!
Poor soul!" said SIMON. "His decease
Would be a merciful release!"
The agent laughed - the agent blinked -
The agent blew his nose and winked -
And poked the parson's ribs in play -
It was that agent's vulgar way.
The REVEREND SIMON frowned: "I grieve
This light demeanour to perceive;
It's scarcely COMME IL FAUT, I think:
Now - pray oblige me - do not wink.
"Don't dig my waistcoat into holes -
Your mission is to sell the souls
Of human sheep and human kids
To that divine who highest bids.
"Do well in this, and on your head
Unnumbered honours will be shed."
The agent said, "Well, truth to tell,
I HAVE been doing very well."
"You should," said SIMON, "at your age;
But now about the parsonage.
How many rooms does it contain?
Show me the photograph again.
[...] Read more
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
Added by Poetry Lover
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Peggy Sue
If you knew peggy sue,
Then you know why I feel blue without peggy,
My peggy sue-ue-ue-ue.
Oh, well, I love you, gal,
Yes, I love you, peggy sue.
Peggy sue, peggy sue,
Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty peggy sue.
Oh ho, peggy,
My peggy sue-ue-ue-ue-ue.
Oh, well, I love you, girl,
And I need you, peggy sue.
I love you, peggy sue,
With that love so rare and true,
Oh ho, peggy,
My peggy sue-ue-ue-ue-ue.
Oh, yes, I love you, girl,
And I want you, peggy sue.
Look out!
Peggy sue, peggy sue,
Oh, how my heart yearns for you,
Oh ho, peggy,
My peggy sue-ue-ue-ue-ue.
Oh, well, I love you, girl,
And I want you, peggy sue.
Oh, yes, I love you, girl,
And I want you, peggy sue.
Oh!
song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Peggy Sue
If you knew peggy sue,
Then you know why I feel blue without peggy,
My peggy sue-ue-ue-ue.
Oh, well, I love you, gal,
Yes, I love you, peggy sue.
Peggy sue, peggy sue,
Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty peggy sue.
Oh ho, peggy,
My peggy sue-ue-ue-ue-ue.
Oh, well, I love you, girl,
And I need you, peggy sue.
I love you, peggy sue,
With that love so rare and true,
Oh ho, peggy,
My peggy sue-ue-ue-ue-ue.
Oh, yes, I love you, girl,
And I want you, peggy sue.
Look out!
Peggy sue, peggy sue,
Oh, how my heart yearns for you,
Oh ho, peggy,
My peggy sue-ue-ue-ue-ue.
Oh, well, I love you, girl,
And I want you, peggy sue.
Oh, yes, I love you, girl,
And I want you, peggy sue.
Oh!
song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Old Spense
You've seen his place, I reckon, friend?
'Twas rather kind ov tryin'.
The way he made the dollars fly,
Such gimcrack things a-buyin'--
He spent a big share ov a fortin'
On pesky things that went a snortin'
And hollerin' over all the fields,
And ploughin' ev'ry furrow;
We sort ov felt discouraged, for
Spense wusn't one to borrow;
An' wus--the old chap wouldn't lend
A cent's wuth to his dearest friend!
Good land! the neighbours seed to wunst
Them snortin', screamin' notions
Wus jest enough tew drown the yearth
In wrath, like roarin' oceans,
'An' guess'd the Lord would give old Spense
Blue fits for fightin' Pruvidence!'
Spense wus thet harden'd; when the yearth
Wus like a bak'd pertater;
Instead ov prayin' hard fur rain,
He fetched an irrigator.
'The wicked flourish like green bays!'
Sed folks for comfort in them days.
I will allow his place was grand
With not a stump upon it,
The loam wus jest as rich an' black
Es school ma'am's velvet bunnit;
But tho' he flourish'd, folks all know'd
What spiritooal ear-marks he show'd.
Spense had a notion in his mind,
Ef some poor human grapples
With pesky worms thet eat his vines,
An' spile his summer apples,
It don't seem enny kind ov sense
Tew call that 'cheekin' Pruvidence!'
An' ef a chap on Sabbath sees
A thunder cloud a-strayin'
Above his fresh cut clover an'
Gets down tew steddy prayin',
An' tries tew shew the Lord's mistake,
Instead ov tacklin' tew his rake,
He ain't got enny kind ov show
[...] Read more
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
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Dead, Jail, Or Rock 'n Roll
When I was a kid all I wanted to be
Was the meanest dude on the meanest machine
Now I'm going to wrong way on a one-way street
I never fit this society
I don't really mind
Doing my own time
The three choices I ever came to find
Were:Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
I ain't looking for trouble but it's looking for me
The law of the jungle is protecting me
Lose sleep man stay out of your bed
You might wind up in jail if you lose your head
In death I might find
True peace of mind
But while I'm alive
Free choice is mine
It's either:Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
I don't really mind
Doing my own time
The three choices I ever came to find
Were either:Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
song performed by Warrant
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dead, Jail, Or Rock 'n Roll
When I was a kid all I wanted to be
Was the meanest dude on the meanest machine
Now I'm going to wrong way on a one-way street
I never fit this society
I don't really mind
Doing my own time
The three choices I ever came to find
Were:Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
I ain't looking for trouble but it's looking for me
The law of the jungle is protecting me
Lose sleep man stay out of your bed
You might wind up in jail if you lose your head
In death I might find
True peace of mind
But while I'm alive
Free choice is mine
It's either:Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
I don't really mind
Doing my own time
The three choices I ever came to find
Were either:Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
Dead, Jail or Rock'n'Roll
song performed by Warrant
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Silent Member
He lived in Mundaloo, and Bill McClosky was his name,
But folks that knew him well had little knowledge of that same;
For he some'ow lost his surname, and he had so much to say –-
He was called 'The Silent Member' in a mild, sarcastic way.
He could talk on any subject -- from the weather and the crops
To astronomy and Euclid, and he never minded stops;
And the lack of a companion didn't lay him on the shelf,
For he'd stand before a looking-glass and argue with himself.
He would talk for hours on literature, or calves, or art, or wheat;
There was not a bally subject you could say had got him beat;
And when strangers brought up topics that they reckoned he would baulk,
He'd remark, 'I never heard of that.' But all the same -- he'd talk.
He'd talk at christ'nings by the yard; at weddings by the mile;
And he used to pride himself upon his choice of words and style.
In a funeral procession his remarks would never end
On the qualities and virtues of the dear departed friend.
We got quite used to hearing him, and no one seemed to care --
In fact, no happ'ning seemed complete unless his voice was there.
For close on thirty year he talked, and none could talk him down,
Until one day an agent for insurance struck the town.
Well, we knew The Silent Member, and we knew what he could do,
And it wasn't very long before we knew the agent, too,
As a crack long-distance talker that was pretty hard to catch;
So we called a hasty meeting and decided on a match.
Of course, we didn't tell them we were putting up the game;
But we fixed it up between us, and made bets upon the same.
We named a time-keep and a referee to see it through;
Then strolled around, just casual, and introduced the two.
The agent got first off the mark, while our man stood and grinned;
He talked for just one solid hour, then stopped to get his wind.
'Yes; but --' sez Bill; that's all he said; he couldn't say no more;
The agent got right in again, and fairly held the floor.
On policies, and bonuses, and premiums, and all that,
He talked and talked until we thought he had our man out flat.
'I think --' Bill got in edgeways, but that there insurance chap
Just filled himself with atmosphere, and took the second lap.
I saw our man was getting dazed, and sort of hypnotized,
And they oughter pulled the agent up right there, as I advised.
'See here -' Bill started, husky; but the agent came again,
And talked right on for four hours good -- from six o'clock to ten.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
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You Make It All Worthwhile
He arrives home. he fumbles in his
Pockets for his keys but there is no
Need. andrea is waiting to greet him
With open arms.
Wife:
Hello love. you look all worn out!
Let me take your brief case. thats a
Good boy. now you come and sit down
Ouer here and relax and Ill make you
A nice cuppa tea. then well have
Dinner and we can sit and watch the
Tele. by the way dear, howd you get
On at the office.
You make it all worthwhile
I mustnt stay in this job too long
I gotta get out before the hold is too strong
Gotta get out before my ambition is gone
cos its breaking me up and bringing me down.
But when I get home you make it all worthwhile,
You make me laugh and you make me smile
And after a hard day sorting out the files
You make it all worthwhile.
Wife:
Oh, Ive just remembered weve only got shepherds pie,
Do you like it?
Star:
No, I hate it.
Wife:
Hate it? but you see norman loves it so much and you did ask me to
Act normally, didnt you. I mean I cant cope with all that
Fancy stuff you like to eat.
Star:
Alright, Ill eat it and afterwards, Ill write a whole verse about
Your cooking.
You mustnt blame yourself like you do,
Its gonna make a nervous wreck out of you,
So wipe your nose and dry your eyes,
Whats the point of cracking up all because of shepherds pie?
Baby, you never know what Ive been through.
I break my back and sweat and slave
To bring some money home to you.
Baby, you wont believe it but its true
What a boring occupation can do,
It can make a nervous wreck out of you,
It can kill your spirit and destroy your mind.
But when I get home you make it all worthwhile.
You make me laugh and you make me smile
And after a hard day sorting out the files
You make it all worthwhile.
Wife:
[...] Read more
song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Book Agent Story
As we have given several humorous Scottish stories in verse we will venture to
trespass on your good nature by giving an American specimen. The scene is laid
in the suburbs of New York. It was a prose tale, and we fancy we have not
diminished the height, breadth or depth of the humour by grinding it in our
poetical mill and having it flow out in rhyme.
There is a man, his name is Brown,
He lives in a suburban town
And has an office in the city,
His misfortunes you will pity.
His mind it was on stocks and change,
He cared not for things new or strange ;
But agent managed him to hook
And sold to him a costly book.
Brown cared not for those glorious names-
Died for religion in the flames;
Now he felt agent was a Tartar
For selling him a book of martyr.
The agent knew it would make strife,
But sold another to his wife;
She did not know that Brown had bought,
And agent on her easy wrought .
Approaching her with winning smile
He poor woman did beguile.
He made her believe without a doubt
No Christian could do without
This book, which would all inspire
With spark of celestial fire,
With feelings like the first martyr
Who had died for Christian charter.
When Brown did home return at night
His wife, to add to his delight,
Resolved that she would, after tea,
Get chatting with her husband free
And tell him of fine book she bought ;
Of trouble fresh she never thought,
But she noticed a gloomy frown
On the brow of her husband Brown,
But thought when I my purchase tell
Those dark clouds they will dispel ;
She said, my dear, I bought martyr,
He looked as if he her could quarter.
And said the scoundrel sold me book ;
Out of the window then he did look
And saw the agent haste to train ;
He tried to stop him, but in vain ;
Smith then was passing in spring waggon,
[...] Read more
poem by James McIntyre
Added by Poetry Lover
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Christmas (A Sestina)
Christmas is here, Jesus to the world brought peace
Everyone is rested as kids spend time with family
Kitchens are ablaze, wives creating good ol’ soul-food
Leslie and Destra, await their turn, under the mistletoe
Love is burning bright, outshining the fireplace
And playing kids fill the house with laughter
Worries are swept away, sadness replaced by laughter
As love flies through the air, enemies make peace
Whilst sweet carols are sung by the fireplace
We thank God for the greatest gift of family
As grandma and grandpa steal a kiss, under the mistletoe
My tummy just yelled: where is my soul-food?
Memories to the tongue, grandma’s special soul-food
Don’t know how, but to my tongue, it brings laughter.
Grandma and Grandpa are still under the mistletoe
Showing love so ancient, a picture of heaven’s peace
They are the beginning and measure of our family
Captured purely in pictures taken by the fireplace
Love bubbles deep within, and around the fireplace
As its oil fuses with the spice of Grandma’s soul-food.
Moriah, the youngest; four weeks added to the family
Her little eyes sparkle, her little face filled with laughter
Looking at her, so lovely, One is taken into peace
In times coming soon, her place would be the mistletoe
Her's would be lovely and her destiny the mistletoe
And she too, someday would have her own fireplace
As she grows to celebrate and cherish Christmas peace,
She would learn from Grandma, how to craft soul-food
Her kids would fill the house solely with laughter
As one day, she would have her a family
Fresh out the womb, Moriah completes the family
Even as Grandma and her boo are still by the mistletoe
Their love brings to the heart tears and laughter
Treasures of joy. Now we depart from the fireplace
To the table to dive into some soul-food
That the wives had made in love, and peace.
Thank God for family! Gazing at the fireplace
And the mistletoe, loving me some soul-food
That sets my tongue on laughter, I thank God for peace.
Copyright © 2009 Leslie Alexis
poem by Leslie Alexis
Added by Poetry Lover
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Slop They Dropped
Move from a tainting of a game maintained,
To have people painted to sustain a gain.
With a mopping up slop that's enjoyed alot.
But the cleaning of it up,
Will be theirs nonstop.
To mop up slop that's enjoyed alot.
But the cleaning of it up,
Will be theirs nonstop.
Move from a tainting of a game maintained,
To have people painted to sustain a gain.
With a mopping up slop that's enjoyed alot.
But the cleaning of it up,
Will be theirs nonstop.
Sticky fingerprints all over the place.
With a hoping that in time they will be erased.
And unhappiness appearing on faces now chased.
Those who mopped up slop they enjoyed alot.
But the cleaning of it up,
Is now theirs nonstop.
Those who mopped up slop they enjoyed alot.
But the cleaning of it up,
Is now theirs nonstop.
Those who mopped up slop they enjoyed alot.
But the cleaning of it up,
Is now theirs nonstop.
Sticky fingerprints all over the place.
With a hoping that in time they will be erased.
But the cleaning of it up,
Is now theirs nonstop.
It's too late to move from a tainting game,
To have people painted to sustain a gain.
'Cause the cleaning of it up,
Is now theirs nonstop.
It's too late to move from a tainting game
To have people painted to sustain a gain.
'Cause the cleaning of it up,
Is now theirs nonstop.
Tainting people's names to sustain a gain,
Has other people mopping up the slop they dropped.
Tainting people's names to sustain a gain,
Has other people mopping up the slop they dropped.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Holloway Jail
They took my baby, to holloway jail,
They took my baby, down holloway jail,
She was a lady, when she went in,
Now shes in jail, and its giving me hell.
She was succeeding in the city,
She was just beginning to excel,
Then a spiv named frankie simes
Led her to a life of crime,
And led her on the downward trail.
Frankie came home late from work one evening,
The c.l.d. were hot on his trail,
Frankie promised everything,
And then he went and turned her in,
She went and took the rap for him,
Now shes impaled in holloway jail.
They took my baby, down holloway jail,
They took my baby, to holloway jail,
There aint no pity, there aint no bail,
And she assures me that its living hell.
She was young and ever so pretty,
Now she looks so old and pale,
She never sees the day,
She wastes her life away,
Sitting in that prison cell.
They took my baby to holloway jail,
They took my baby, down holloway jail,
She was a lady when she went in,
Now shes in jail, and its giving me hell.
Shes impaled, in holloway jail.
song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Since I’ve Been In Jail
Since I've been in jail
the world has turned around the sun ten times
And if you ask the earth, it will say:
'It's not worth mentioning,
a microscopic time.'
And if you ask me, I will say:
'It's ten years of my life.'
I had a pencil
the year I came to jail.
It wore out in a week from writing.
And if you ask the pencil, it will say:
'A whole life.'
And if you ask me, I will say:
'It's nothing, a mere week.'
Osman who was jailed for murder
completed a seven-year stretch and left
since I've been in jail.
He wandered around outside for a while,
and then got jailed again for smuggling.
He served a six-month term and left again,
and yesterday a letter came saying he's married
and a child will be born in the spring.
Now they're ten years old
the children who fell from their mothers' womb
that year I came to jail,
And the colts of that year who had long thin shaky legs
have long since become docile broad-rumped mares.
But the olive shoots are still shoots
and they're still children.
New squares have opened up in my distant city
since I've been in jail.
And our family
is living in a house I've never seen
on a street I don't know.
The bread was pure white, like cotton,
the year I came to jail.
Later it was rationed out,
And we here on the inside beat one another
for a piece of black crust the size of a fist.
Now it's free again,
But brown and tasteless.
The year I came to jail
The Second One had just begun.
The ovens in Dachau Camp were not yet lit,
The atom bomb was not yet hurled upon Hiroshima.
Time flowed like the blood of a child with his throat cut.
Later that chapter was officially closed,
Now American dollars are talking about a Third.
But in spite of everything, the days have brightened
since I've been in jail,
[...] Read more
poem by Nazim Hikmet
Added by Poetry Lover
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Choral Leader With a Love
On you they're too dependent,
And that's what you love.
A dependency defended,
And fits like a glove.
On your nerves they irritate,
And you wish from them to get away...
To breathe and celebrate.
But you're the one who picked this tune.
Deciding what is done they do.
On you they're too dependent,
And that's what you love.
A dependency defended,
And fits like a glove.
In harmony with them you choose their solos too.
Trying to convince yourself you've had it and you're through.
A choral leader with a focus only to lead.
With a love to hear the doo wop,
Dropped nonstop.
A choral leader with a focus only to lead.
With a love to hear the doo wop,
Dropped nonstop.
And when the arguments get heated in intensity,
You say you want to pack up and from them you want to leave.
A choral leader with a focus only to lead.
With a love to hear the doo wop,
Dropped nonstop.
A choral leader with a focus only to lead.
With a love to hear the doo wop,
Dropped nonstop.
In harmony with them you choose their solos too.
Trying to convince yourself you've had it and you're through.
And when the arguments get heated in intensity,
You say you want to pack up and from them you want to leave.
On you they're too dependent,
And that's what you love.
A dependency defended,
And fits like a glove.
On your nerves they irritate,
And you wish from them to get away...
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Sue Me, Sue You Blues
You serve me
And Ill serve you
Swing your partners, all get screwed
Bring your lawyer
And Ill bring mine
Get together, and we could have
A bad time
Its affidavit swearing time
Sign it on the dotted line
Hold your Bible in your hand
Now all thats left is to
Find yourself a new band . . .
Were gonna play the sue me, sue
You blues
Were gonna play the sue me, sue
You blues
Hold the block on money flow
Move it into joint escrow
Court receiver, laughs, and thrills
But in the end we just pay those
Lawyers theit bills
When you serve me
And I serve you
Swing your partners, all get screwed
Bring your lawyer
And Ill bring mine
Get together, and we could have
A bad time
Were gonna play the sue me, sue
You blues
Im tired of playing the
Sue me, sue you blues
song performed by George Harrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rubber Bullets
I went to a party at the local county jail
All the cons were dancing and the band began to wail
But the guys were indiscreet
They were brawling in the street
At the local dance at the local county jail
Well the band were playing
And the booze began to flow
But the sound came over on the police car radio
Down at precinct 49
Having a tear-gas of a time
Sergeant baker got a call from the governor of the county jail
Load up, load up, load up with rubber bullets
Load up, load up, load up with rubber bullets
I love to hear those convicts squeal
Its a shame these slugs aint real
But we cant have dancin at the local county jail
Sergeant baker and his men made a bee-line for the jail
And for miles around
You could hear the sirens wail
Theres a rumor goin round death row
That a fuse is gonna blow
At the local hop at the local county jail
Whatcha gonna do about it, whatcha gonna do
Whatcha gonna do about it, whatcha gonna do
Sergeant baker started talkin
With a bullhorn in his hand
He was cool, he was clear
He was always in command
He said blood will flow;
Here padre
Padre you talk to your boys...
Trust in me -
God will come to set you free
Well we dont understand
Why you called in the national guard
When uncle sam is the one
Who belongs in the exercise yard
We all got balls and brains
But somes got balls and chains
At the local dance at the local county jail
Load up, load up, load up with rubber bullets
Load up, load up, load up with rubber bullets
Is it really such a crime
For a guy to spend his time
At the local dance at the local county jail
At the local dance at the local county jail
Whatcha gonna do about it, whatcha gonna do
Whatcha gonna do about it, whatcha gonna do
song performed by 10 Cc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Medley: Rubber Bullets/silly Love Songs/life Is A Hinestrone
I went to a party at the local county jail
All the cons were dancing and the band began to wail
But the guys were indiscreet
They were brawling in the street
At the local dance at the local county jail
Well the band were playing
And the booze began to flow
But the sound came over on the police car radio
Down at precinct 49
Having a tear-gas of a time
Sergeant baker got a call from the governor of the county jail
Load up, load up, load up with rubber bullets
Load up, load up, load up with rubber bullets
I love to hear those convicts squeal
Its a shame these slugs aint real
But we cant have dancin at the local county jail
Sergeant baker and his men made a bee-line for the jail
And for miles around
You could hear the sirens wail
Theres a rumor goin round death row
That a fuse is gonna blow
At the local hop at the local county jail
Whatcha gonna do about it, whatcha gonna do
Whatcha gonna do about it, whatcha gonna do
Sergeant baker started talkin
With a bullhorn in his hand
He was cool, he was clear
He was always in command
He said blood will flow;
Here padre
Padre you talk to your boys...
Trust in me -
God will come to set you free
Well we dont understand
Why you called in the national guard
When uncle sam is the one
Who belongs in the exercise yard
We all got balls and brains
But somes got balls and chains
At the local dance at the local county jail
Load up, load up, load up with rubber bullets
Load up, load up, load up with rubber bullets
Is it really such a crime
For a guy to spend his time
At the local dance at the local county jail
At the local dance at the local county jail
Whatcha gonna do about it, whatcha gonna do
Whatcha gonna do about it, whatcha gonna do
===================
10cc - silly love
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song performed by 10 Cc
Added by Lucian Velea
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