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Legendary

Cast: Paul Bealer, Jacob Bianchini, Beau Brasso, Kimberly Lynn Campbell, John Cena

trailer for Legendary, directed by Mel Damski (2010)
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The King of the Vasse

A LEGEND OF THE BUSH.

MY tale which I have brought is of a time
Ere that fair Southern land was stained with crime,
Brought thitherward in reeking ships and cast
Like blight upon the coast, or like a blast
From angry levin on a fair young tree,
That stands thenceforth a piteous sight to see.
So lives this land to-day beneath the sun,—
A weltering plague-spot, where the hot tears run,
And hearts to ashes turn, and souls are dried
Like empty kilns where hopes have parched and died.
Woe's cloak is round her,—she the fairest shore
In all the Southern Ocean o'er and o'er.
Poor Cinderella! she must bide her woe,
Because an elder sister wills it so.
Ah! could that sister see the future day
When her own wealth and strength are shorn away,
A.nd she, lone mother then, puts forth her hand
To rest on kindred blood in that far land;
Could she but see that kin deny her claim
Because of nothing owing her but shame,—
Then might she learn 'tis building but to fall,
If carted rubble be the basement-wall.

But this my tale, if tale it be, begins
Before the young land saw the old land's sins
Sail up the orient ocean, like a cloud
Far-blown, and widening as it neared,—a shroud
Fate-sent to wrap the bier of all things pure,
And mark the leper-land while stains endure.
In the far days, the few who sought the West
Were men all guileless, in adventurous quest
Of lands to feed their flocks and raise their grain,
And help them live their lives with less of pain
Than crowded Europe lets her children know.
From their old homesteads did they seaward go,
As if in Nature's order men must flee
As flow the streams,—from inlands to the sea.

In that far time, from out a Northern land,
With home-ties severed, went a numerous band
Of men and wives and children, white-haired folk:
Whose humble hope of rest at home had broke,
As year was piled on year, and still their toil
Had wrung poor fee from -Sweden's rugged soil.
One day there gathered from the neighboring steads,
In Jacob Eibsen's, five strong household heads,—
Five men large-limbed and sinewed, Jacob's sons,

[...] Read more

poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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Robin Hood and the Monk

In somer, when the shawes be sheyne,
And leves be large and long,
Hit is full mery in feyre foreste
To here the foulys song,

To se the dere draw to the dale,
And leve the hilles hee,
And shadow hem in the leves grene,
Under the grene wode tre.

Hit befel on Whitson
Erly in a May mornyng,
The son up feyre can shyne,
And the briddis mery can syng.

'This is a mery mornyng,' seid Litull John,
'Be Hym that dyed on tre;
A more mery man then I am one
Lyves not in Cristianté.

'Pluk up thi hert, my dere mayster,'
Litull John can sey,
'And thynk hit is a full fayre tyme
In a mornyng of May.'

'Ye, on thyng greves me,' seid Robyn,
'And does my hert mych woo:
That I may not no solem day
To mas nor matyns goo.

'Hit is a fourtnet and more,' seid he,
'Syn I my Savyour see;
To day wil I to Notyngham,' seid Robyn,
'With the myght of mylde Marye.'

Than spake Moche, the mylner sun,
Ever more wel hym betyde!
'Take twelve of thi wyght yemen,
Well weppynd, be thi side.
Such on wolde thi selfe slon,
That twelve dar not abyde.'

'Of all my mery men,' seid Robyn,
'Be my feith I wil non have,
But Litull John shall beyre my bow,
Til that me list to drawe.'

'Thou shall beyre thin own,' seid Litull Jon,
'Maister, and I wyl beyre myne,
And we well shete a peny,' seid Litull Jon,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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How the Boy Stole Christmas

Based on 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas', by Dr. Seuss.
Done for a school project=)

Once, upon a falling snowflake,
In a land far, far away,
There lived all the Whats,
Preparing for Christmas day.

There was one What that stuck out,
The richest What of them all,
He had light brown hair, and big brown eyes
His given name was Paul.

Paul was a greedy boy,
His best friend was Ebenezer Scrooge
And anytime Paul lied,
His little nose turned huge!

Paul was the only What in Whattown,
That really hated this time of the year,
He ruined all the children’s fun,
His pranks were in full gear.

Paul thought Christmas was just trouble,
He only thought of himself,
He thought that Santa Claus was stupid,
And hurt the feelings of every single elf.

He hated everybody that liked Christmas,
There was only one exception of his,
A beautiful What named Rachel,
Whom he never wanted to diss.

Now every story has a problem,
And this one’s is pretty big,
Paul crushed on the Christmas-lover Rachel,
But Rachel thought Paul was a pig.

You see, Rachel was an EXTREME Christmas fanatic,
Loving every aspect of it,
She volunteered everywhere that she could,
And her money? Donated every bit.

She helped out at school and Church,
Sang carols at the old folks’ home,
Baked cookies with younger children,
Made ornaments out of foam.

Rachel hated anybody that hated Christmas,
She was like a packaged deal,

[...] Read more

poem by Selina Marie
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Trooper Campbell

One day old Trooper Campbell
Rode out to Blackman's Run,
His cap-peak and his sabre
Were glancing in the sun.
'Twas New Year's Eve, and slowly
Across the ridges low
The sad Old Year was drifting
To where the old years go.

The trooper's mind was reading
The love-page of his life --
His love for Mary Wylie
Ere she was Blackman's wife;
He sorrowed for the sorrows
Of the heart a rival won,
For he knew that there was trouble
Out there on Blackman's Run.

The sapling shades had lengthened,
The summer day was late,
When Blackman met the trooper
Beyond the homestead gate.
And if the hand of trouble
Can leave a lasting trace,
The lines of care had come to stay
On poor old Blackman's face.

`Not good day, Trooper Campbell,
It's a bad, bad day for me --
You are of all the men on earth
The one I wished to see.
The great black clouds of trouble
Above our homestead hang;
That wild and reckless boy of mine
Has joined M'Durmer's gang.

`Oh! save him, save him, Campbell!
I beg in friendship's name!
For if they take and hang him,
The wife would die of shame.
Could Mary or her sisters
Hold up their heads again,
And face a woman's malice
Or claim the love of men?

`And if he does a murder
'Twere better we were dead.
Don't take him, Trooper Campbell,
If a price be on his head;
But shoot him! shoot him, Campbell,

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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Wat Tyler - Act III

ACT III.

SCENE—SMITHFIELD.

PIERS (meeting JOHN BALL.)

You look disturb'd, my father?

JOHN BALL.

Piers, I am so.
Jack Straw has forced the Tower: seized the Archbishop,
And beheaded him.

PIERS.

The curse of insurrection!

JOHN BALL.

Aye, Piers! our nobles level down their vassals—
Keep them at endless labour like their brutes,
Degrading every faculty by servitude:
Repressing all the energy of the mind.
We must not wonder then, that like wild beasts,
When they have burst their chains, with brutal rage
They revenge them on their tyrants.

PIERS.

This Archbishop!
He was oppressive to his humble vassals:
Proud, haughty, avaricious.—

JOHN BALL.

A true high-priest!
Preaching humility with his mitre on!
Praising up alms and Christian charity
Even whilst his unforgiving hand distress'd
His honest tenants.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Southey
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Joseph’s Dreams and Reuben's Brethren [A Recital in Six Chapters]

CHAPTER I

I cannot blame old Israel yet,
For I am not a sage—
I shall not know until I get
The son of my old age.
The mysteries of this Vale of Tears
We will perchance explain
When we have lived a thousand years
And died and come again.

No doubt old Jacob acted mean
Towards his father’s son;
But other hands were none too clean,
When all is said and done.
There were some things that had to be
In those old days, ’tis true—
But with old Jacob’s history
This tale has nought to do.

(They had to keep the birth-rate up,
And populate the land—
They did it, too, by simple means
That we can’t understand.
The Patriarchs’ way of fixing things
Would make an awful row,
And Sarah’s plain, straightforward plan
Would never answer now.)
his is a tale of simple men
And one precocious boy—
A spoilt kid, and, as usual,
His father’s hope and joy
(It mostly is the way in which
The younger sons behave
That brings the old man’s grey hairs down
In sorrow to the grave.)

Old Jacob loved the whelp, and made,
While meaning to be kind,
A coat of many colours that
Would strike a nigger blind!
It struck the brethren green, ’twas said—
I’d take a pinch of salt
Their coats had coloured patches too—
But that was not their fault.

Young Joseph had a soft thing on,
And, humbugged from his birth,
You may depend he worked the thing
For all that it was worth.

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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Sir Peter Harpdon's End

In an English Castle in Poictou. Sir Peter Harpdon, a Gascon knight in the English service, and John Curzon, his lieutenant.

John Curzon

Of those three prisoners, that before you came
We took down at St. John's hard by the mill,
Two are good masons; we have tools enough,
And you have skill to set them working.

Sir Peter

So-
What are their names?

John Curzon

Why, Jacques Aquadent,
And Peter Plombiere, but-

Sir Peter

What colour'd hair
Has Peter now? has Jacques got bow legs?

John Curzon

Why, sir, you jest: what matters Jacques' hair,
Or Peter's legs to us?

Sir Peter

O! John, John, John!
Throw all your mason's tools down the deep well,
Hang Peter up and Jacques; they're no good,
We shall not build, man.

John Curzon

going.

Shall I call the guard
To hang them, sir? and yet, sir, for the tools,
We'd better keep them still; sir, fare you well.

[...] Read more

poem by William Morris
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The Shadow

Paul Jannes was working very late,
For this watch must be done by eight
To-morrow or the Cardinal
Would certainly be vexed. Of all
His customers the old prelate
Was the most important, for his state
Descended to his watches and rings,
And he gave his mistresses many things
To make them forget his age and smile
When he paid visits, and they could while
The time away with a diamond locket
Exceedingly well. So they picked his pocket,
And he paid in jewels for his slobbering kisses.
This watch was made to buy him blisses
From an Austrian countess on her way
Home, and she meant to start next day.

Paul worked by the pointed, tulip-flame
Of a tallow candle, and became
So absorbed, that his old clock made him wince
Striking the hour a moment since.
Its echo, only half apprehended,
Lingered about the room. He ended
Screwing the little rubies in,
Setting the wheels to lock and spin,
Curling the infinitesimal springs,
Fixing the filigree hands. Chippings
Of precious stones lay strewn about.
The table before him was a rout
Of splashes and sparks of coloured light.
There was yellow gold in sheets, and quite
A heap of emeralds, and steel.
Here was a gem, there was a wheel.
And glasses lay like limpid lakes
Shining and still, and there were flakes
Of silver, and shavings of pearl,
And little wires all awhirl
With the light of the candle. He took the watch
And wound its hands about to match
The time, then glanced up to take the hour
From the hanging clock.
Good, Merciful Power!
How came that shadow on the wall,
No woman was in the room! His tall
Chiffonier stood gaunt behind
His chair. His old cloak, rabbit-lined,
Hung from a peg. The door was closed.
Just for a moment he must have dozed.
He looked again, and saw it plain.

[...] Read more

poem by Amy Lowell
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Flower-De-Luce: The Bells Of Lynn. Heard At Nahant

O curfew of the setting sun! O Bells of Lynn!
O requiem of the dying day! O Bells of Lynn!

From the dark belfries of yon cloud-cathedral wafted,
Your sounds aerial seem to float, O Bells of Lynn!

Borne on the evening wind across the crimson twilight,
O'er land and sea they rise and fall, O Bells of Lynn!

The fisherman in his boat, far out beyond the headland,
Listens, and leisurely rows ashore, O Bells of Lynn!

Over the shining sands the wandering cattle homeward
Follow each other at your call, O Bells of Lynn!

The distant lighthouse hears, and with his flaming signal
Answers you, passing the watchword on, O Bells of Lynn!

And down the darkening coast run the tumultuous surges,
And clap their hands, and shout to you, O Bells of Lynn!

Till from the shuddering sea, with your wild incantations,
Ye summon up the spectral moon, O Bells of Lynn!

And startled at the sight like the weird woman of Endor,
Ye cry aloud, and then are still, O Bells of Lynn!

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Gimme The Light Remix,

[Intro]
[Busta Rhymes:] Ay yo Sean Paul!!!
[Sean Paul:] Yo yo
[Busta Rhymes:] A Busta Rhymes this yuh know
[Sean Paul:] Wah gwaan
[Busta Rhymes]
Pass me the blow torch let me light up this big head nigga
[Sean Paul:] No doubt
[Busta Rhymes:] Bring dat come rudebwoy
[Sean Paul:] A Dutty Yeah!!!
[Busta Rhymes:] Flipmode check it!!!
[Chorus (Busta Rhymes):]
Just gimme the light and pass the dro! Buss anotha bokkle a moe
(Huh huh huh huh huh come on)
Gal dem inna mi sight and I got to know (Yeah, yeah)
Which one is gonna catch my flow (Busta Bus now)
Cause I'm inna di vibe and I got my dough! (Yeah, Sean Paul now)
Buss anotha bokkle a moe
(Remix, remix, remix) Gal dem lookin hype and I got to know!!!
[Verse 1: Busta Rhymes]
Yeah yeah check it, clap oonu hand oonu fi clap oonu hand
Busta Bus inna di place oonu fi clap oonu hand
Seh mi and Sean Paul link up come fi create a plan
To go a dancehall buss it up and mek couple grand
Run the streets you never move without the rest of the clan
With a nine in the door panel in the side of the van
Despite the hate that be always comin for you and your man
It's Flipmode and Sean Paul nigga, understand
[Sean Paul]
Tell dem nuh ready fi di level weh di Dutty deh pon
Turn up di bass and di treble music a di weopen
Gal a whine up dem waist like a phenomenom
All over di world oonu fi sing this a song yo
[Chorus]
Just gimme the light and pass the dro! Buss anotha bottle a moe
Gal dem inna mi sight and I got to know (Yo, yo, yo yo yo)
Which one is gonna catch my flow
Cause mi inna di vibe and I got my dough! (Flipmode baby!!!)
Buss anotha bottle a moe (Come on, Sean Paul baby!!!)
Gal dem lookin hype and I got to know!!!
(Come on, yeah, yeah, Busta Bus now!!!)
[Verse 2: Busta Rhymes]
We be blazin cellular phones in wire or cingular
And still gotta connect to smoke a piece of the rizla
See if you could in a philly or a chalice I'm givin you
The chance to smoke up until a ugly chick look like Vivica Fox
Clap oonu hand oonu fi clap oonu hand
Busta Bus inna di place oonu fi clap oonu hand
Seh mi and Sean Paul link up come fi create a plan
To go a dancehall buss it up and mek couple grand

[...] Read more

song performed by Sean Paul
Added by Lucian Velea
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John Daniel

(Dolly Parton)
John Daniel came to town one summer afternoon
Wearin' dirty work clothes so everyone presumed
He was just another logger from the loggin' camp nearby
And he was, but there was somethin' different in John Daniel's eyes
John Daniel was a young man, not more than twenty-four
And there was an air about him that one could not ignore
And in spite of callused hands & dirty clothes, his face was kind
And I wanted so to know what was in John Daniel's mind
John Daniel, tell me where did you come from; tell me where is it you've been
John Daniel, tell me why are you different from all of these other men
John Daniel, there's somethin' about you that I don't quite understand
John Daniel, do you hold the answer to a higher plan?
I rented him a room; he went upstairs like all the rest
It was Saturday and he'd be goin' in to town, I guessed
But he left in a robe and sandals, with a Bible in his hand;
And I thought to myself, John Daniel, I don't understand
Now I'd planned to meet some friends of mine when I got off at three,
In the park we often gather to talk of love and peace
When I got there I found that a crowd had gathered 'round;
And there I saw John Daniel a sittin' on the ground
John Daniel, tell me where did you come from; tell me where is it you've been
John Daniel, tell me why are you different from all of these other men
John Daniel, there's somethin' about you that I don't quite understand
John Daniel, do you hold the answer to a higher plan?
So, "You want to be free," he said, "Well, this is how you can."
As he read from the Bible he held in his hand
We were searchin' for the truth not knowin' where to look,
Not knowin' that the answers all were in John Daniel's book
John Daniel told us all how we could be free
John Daniel taught us all a better way for you and me
He came to us in our own way so we'd be sure to see
He had the light and essence of the man from Galilee
John Daniel, tell me where did you come from; tell me where is it you've been
John Daniel, tell me why are you different from all of these other men
John Daniel, there's something about you that I don't quite understand
John Daniel, do you hold the answer to a higher plan?
John Daniel, John Daniel, John Daniel
John Daniel do you hold the answer to a higher plan?
John Daniel came to town one summer afternoon
Wearin' dirty work clothes so everyone presumed
He was just another logger from the loggin' camp nearby
And he was, but there was somethin' different in John Daniel's eyes
Ooh, John Daniel, tell me where did you come from
Tell me where is it you've been
John Daniel, tell me why are you different from all of these other men
John Daniel, there's something about you that I don't quite understand
John Daniel, do you hold the answer to a higher plan?

song performed by Dolly Parton
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Golden Legend: IV. The Road To Hirschau

PRINCE HENRY _and_ ELSIE, _with their attendants, on
horseback._

_Elsie._ Onward and onward the highway runs
to the distant city, impatiently bearing
Tidings of human joy and disaster, of love and of
hate, of doing and daring!

_Prince Henry._ This life of ours is a wild aeolian
harp of many a joyous strain,
But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail,
as of souls in pain.

_Elsie._ Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart
that aches and bleeds with the stigma
Of pain, alone bears the likeness of Christ, and can
comprehend its dark enigma.

_Prince Henry._ Man is selfish, and seeketh pleasure
with little care of what may betide;
Else why am I travelling here beside thee, a demon
that rides by an angel's side?

_Elsie._ All the hedges are white with dust, and
the great dog under the creaking wain
Hangs his head in the lazy heat, while onward the
horses toil and strain

_Prince Henry._ Now they stop at the wayside inn,
and the wagoner laughs with the landlord's daughter,
While out of the dripping trough the horses distend
their leathern sides with water.

_Elsie._ All through life there are wayside inns,
where man may refresh his soul with love;
Even the lowest may quench his thirst at rivulets fed
by springs from above.

_Prince Henry._ Yonder, where rises the cross of
stone, our journey along the highway ends,
And over the fields, by a bridle path, down into the
broad green valley descends.

_Elsie._ I am not sorry to leave behind the beaten
road with its dust and heat;
The air will be sweeter far, and the turf will be softer
under our horses' feet.

(_They turn down a green lane._)

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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John, John

John, oh, john,
John,
Let's hope for peace.
Oh, john, let's hope for peace.
John, oh, john,
Let's hope for peace,
Let's hope for peace,
Let's hope for peace,
Peace, peace, peace.
Oh, john, oh, john, john, john,
Oh, john,
John,
Oh, oh, john, john, john,
John, john, john, john, john, john,
John, john, john, john, john, john, john,
Let's hope, hope, hope, hope, hope, hope, hope for peace.
Peace -
John.

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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John, John

John, oh, john,
John,
Let's hope for peace.
Oh, john, let's hope for peace.
John, oh, john,
Let's hope for peace,
Let's hope for peace,
Let's hope for peace,
Peace, peace, peace.
Oh, john, oh, john, john, john,
Oh, john,
John,
Oh, oh, john, john, john,
John, john, john, john, john, john,
John, john, john, john, john, john, john,
Let's hope, hope, hope, hope, hope, hope, hope for peace.
Peace -
John.

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Jacob Homnium’s Hoss

One sees in Viteall Yard,
Vere pleacemen do resort,
A wenerable hinstitute,
'Tis call'd the Pallis Court.
A gent as got his i on it,
I think 'twill make some sport.

The natur of this Court
My hindignation riles:
A few fat legal spiders
Here set spin their viles;
To rob the town theyr privlege is,
In a hayrea of twelve miles.

The Judge of this year Court
Is a mellitary beak,
He knows no more of Lor
Than praps he does of Greek,
And prowides hisself a deputy
Because he cannot speak.

Four counsel in this Court—
Misnamed of Justice—sits;
These lawyers owes their places to
Their money, not their wits;
And there's six attornies under them,
As here their living gits.

These lawyers, six and four,
Was a livin at their ease,
A sendin of their writs abowt,
And droring in the fees,
When their erose a cirkimstance
As is like to make a breeze.

It now is some monce since,
A gent both good and trew
Possest an ansum oss vith vich
He didn know what to do:
Peraps he did not like the oss;
Peraps he was a scru.

This gentleman his oss
At Tattersall's did lodge;
There came a wulgar oss-dealer,
This gentleman's name did fodge,
And took the oss from Tattersall's
Wasn that a artful dodge?

One day this gentleman's groom

[...] Read more

poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Tale XIX

THE CONVERT.

Some to our Hero have a hero's name
Denied, because no father's he could claim;
Nor could his mother with precision state
A full fair claim to her certificate;
On her own word the marriage must depend -
A point she was not eager to defend:
But who, without a father's name, can raise
His own so high, deserves the greater praise;
The less advantage to the strife he brought,
The greater wonders has his prowess wrought;
He who depends upon his wind and limbs,
Needs neither cork nor bladder when he swims;
Nor will by empty breath be puff'd along,
As not himself--but in his helpers--strong.
Suffice it then, our Hero's name was clear,
For call John Dighton, and he answer'd 'Here!'
But who that name in early life assign'd
He never found, he never tried to find:
Whether his kindred were to John disgrace,
Or John to them, is a disputed case;
His infant state owed nothing to their care -
His mind neglected, and his body bare;
All his success must on himself depend,
He had no money, counsel, guide, or friend;
But in a market-town an active boy
Appear'd, and sought in various ways employ;
Who soon, thus cast upon the world, began
To show the talents of a thriving man.
With spirit high John learn'd the world to

brave,
And in both senses was a ready knave;
Knave as of old obedient, keen, and quick,
Knave as of present, skill'd to shift and trick;
Some humble part of many trades he caught,
He for the builder and the painter wrought;
For serving-maids on secret errands ran,
The waiter's helper, and the ostler's man;
And when he chanced (oft chanced he) place to lose,
His varying genius shone in blacking shoes:
A midnight fisher by the pond he stood,
Assistant poacher, he o'erlook'd the wood;
At an election John's impartial mind
Was to no cause nor candidate confined;
To all in turn he full allegiance swore,
And in his hat the various badges bore:
His liberal soul with every sect agreed,
Unheard their reasons, he received their creed:

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Make It Clap

[Intro: Sean Paul (Busta Rhymes)]
We make it clap, we make it clap (Huh!)
Yeah yeah yeah (Flipmode!!!) Busta Rhymes (Busta Rhymes!!!)
Sean-A-Paul (Sean Paul!!!)
One more time (Ha!!!) kill 'em with a rhyme (Huh!!!)
Remix time (remix!!!) a dutty yeah, yo, Spliff Star (Spliff!!!)
Flipmode Squad (Ha!!!) we kill 'em with a rhyme, a dutty yeah
[Verse 1: Busta Rhymes]
Cau mi seh jump up clap oonu hand and siddung get up
And mi nah wig out mek everybody flip out oonu fi carry on
To get tired I waan chillout, all a di gal a sweat out
Mek your body keep clappin on
[Sean Paul]
Flipmode a roll wid all di hottest set a gal dem inna di dance
And Dutty Cup we deyah mek di gal dem jump up and prance
Busta Rhymes and Sean-A-Paul di lyrical magician
There fi mek dem switch and jump up wave up dem hands
Flipmode a roll wid all di hottest set a gal dem inna di dance
And Dutty Cup we deyah mek di gal dem jump up and prance
Busta Rhymes and Sean-A-Paul di lyrical magician
There fi mek dem switch and jump up wave up dem hands, so push it up deh
[Busta Rhymes]
Back with the remix with Spliff and Sean-A-Paul on the corner
Can't believe when we do it we smack it down how we wanna
Keepin it comin keepin it goin cause we ain't playin
I'm talkin to all my people cause what I'm sayin is
[Chorus: Busta Rhymes]
In case you ain't know and in case you ain't heard
And if you want us to set it just give me the word
This one goes out to my soldiers that be flippin them birds
To all my shorties wigglin they shakin they curves
[Sean Paul]
We make it clap, we make it clap, we make it clap, we make it clap
[Verse 2: Spliff Star]
Poor snapper, lookin at shorty shakin it and makin it clap
Booty big pokin out like twenties on the lap
When I give it to her shorty know how to throw it back
Booty bangin to the beat sometimes we overlap-sing
Gal peel out your blouse and your tight-jeans
Let me lick you down dip you with some ice-cream
Gal holla holla my name when I slide-in
Thunderstorm, rain, sleet and light-ning
Hold me tight feel the triniman grin-ding and grin-ding and grin-ding
Gal dip and bounce start whin-ning
You see Spliff, Sean Paul and Busta Rhymes, seen
([Busta Rhymes:] We got dough) You could tell by what we dri-ving
([Busta Rhymes:] Lookin to chose) How it's different and blin-ding
And blin-ding and blin-ding it's like that make it clap now
[Chorus]
[Sean Paul]

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song performed by Busta Rhymes
Added by Lucian Velea
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Make It Clap (remix)

[Sean Paul]
We make it clap, we make it clap (Huh!)
Yeah yeah yeah (Flipmode!!!) Busta Rhymes (Busta Rhymes!)
Sean-A-Paul (Sean Paul!)
One more time (Ha!) kill 'em with a rhyme (Huh!)
Remix time (remix!) a Dutty yeah, yo, Spliff Star (Spliff!)
Flipmode Squad (Ha!) we kill 'em with a rhyme, a dutty yeah
[Busta Rhymes]
Cau mi seh jump up clap oonu hand and siddung get up
And mi nah wig out mek everybody flip out oonu fi carry on
To get tired I waan chillout, all a di gal a sweat out
Mek your body keep clappin on
[Sean Paul]
Flipmode a roll wid all di hottest set a gal dem inna di dance
And Dutty Cup we deyah mek di gal dem jump up and prance
Busta Rhymes and Sean-A-Paul di lyrical magician
There fi mek dem switch and jump up wave up dem hands
Flipmode a roll wid all di hottest set a gal dem inna di dance
And Dutty Cup we deyah mek di gal dem jump up and prance
Busta Rhymes and Sean-A-Paul di lyrical magician
There fi mek dem switch and jump up wave up dem hands, so push it up deh
[Busta Rhymes]
Back with the remix with Spliff and Sean-A-Paul on the corner
Can't believe when we do it we smack it down how we wanna
Keepin it comin keepin it goin cause we ain't playin
I'm talkin to all my people cause what I'm sayin is
[Busta Rhymes]
In case you ain't know and in case you ain't heard
And if you want us to set it just give me the word
This one goes out to my soldiers that be flippin them birds
To all my shorties wigglin they shakin they curves
[Sean Paul]
We make it clap,
We make it clap,
We make it clap,
We make it clap
[Spliff Star]
Poor snapper, lookin at shorty shakin it and makin it clap
Booty big pokin out like twenties on the lap
When I give it to her shorty know how to throw it back
Booty bangin to the beat sometimes we overlap-sing
Gal peel out your blouse and your tight-jeans
Let me lick you down dip you with some ice-cream
Gal holla holla my name when I slide-in
Thunderstorm, rain, sleet and light-ning
Hold me tight feel the triniman grin-ding and grin-ding and grin-ding
Gal dip and bounce start whin-ning
You see Spliff, Sean Paul and Busta Rhymes, seen
(We got dough) You could tell by what we dri-ving
(Lookin to chose) How it's different and blin-ding

[...] Read more

song performed by Sean Paul
Added by Lucian Velea
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The White Cliffs

I
I have loved England, dearly and deeply,
Since that first morning, shining and pure,
The white cliffs of Dover I saw rising steeply
Out of the sea that once made her secure.
I had no thought then of husband or lover,
I was a traveller, the guest of a week;
Yet when they pointed 'the white cliffs of Dover',
Startled I found there were tears on my cheek.
I have loved England, and still as a stranger,
Here is my home and I still am alone.
Now in her hour of trial and danger,
Only the English are really her own.

II
It happened the first evening I was there.
Some one was giving a ball in Belgrave Square.
At Belgrave Square, that most Victorian spot.—
Lives there a novel-reader who has not
At some time wept for those delightful girls,
Daughters of dukes, prime ministers and earls,
In bonnets, berthas, bustles, buttoned basques,
Hiding behind their pure Victorian masks
Hearts just as hot - hotter perhaps than those
Whose owners now abandon hats and hose?
Who has not wept for Lady Joan or Jill
Loving against her noble parent's will
A handsome guardsman, who to her alarm
Feels her hand kissed behind a potted palm
At Lady Ivry's ball the dreadful night
Before his regiment goes off to fight;
And see him the next morning, in the park,
Complete in busbee, marching to embark.
I had read freely, even as a child,
Not only Meredith and Oscar Wilde
But many novels of an earlier day—
Ravenshoe, Can You Forgive Her?, Vivien Grey,
Ouida, The Duchess, Broughton's Red As a Rose,
Guy Livingstone, Whyte-Melville— Heaven knows
What others. Now, I thought, I was to see
Their habitat, though like the Miller of Dee,
I cared for none and no one cared for me.

III
A light blue carpet on the stair
And tall young footmen everywhere,
Tall young men with English faces
Standing rigidly in their places,
Rows and rows of them stiff and staid

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poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
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Courtship of Miles Standish, The

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
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