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Wuh ever in de 'ole cow in de kiddle.

Bajan proverbs
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Drawing a Purple Blank Verse after Gelett BURGESS Purple Cow

DRAWING A PURPLE BLANK VERSE
Kindly refer to notes

I've never cowed to purple prose
know now I'll never write it,
for anyhow true writer knows
hand stretched finds critics bite it.

I've never wowed, and goodness knows
hacks lack the knack of versing,
won't bow, kowtow to backhand blows,
preferring role reverse_sing.

Ah, yes, I wrote on purple prose,
yet can't regret I penned it,
one far prefers rhyme's timeless flows,
no blush need rush defend it.

10 February 2009
robi03_1856_burg01_0001 PWX_IXX

Parody Gelett BURGESS The Purple Cow

Author notes

For original and variations on a theme see bekiw
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
THE PURPLE COW

I never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one,
But I can tell you anyhow,
I’d rather see than be one.

Gelett BURGESS 1866_1951
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
CONFESSION

Ah, yes! I wrote the « Purple Cow » -
I’m Sorry, now, I Wrote it,
But I can Tell you Anyhow
I’ll Kill you if you Quote it.

Gelett BURGESS 1866_1951
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
A Perfect Woman

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Ole Ola

When the blue shirts run out in Argentina
Our hearts will be beating like a drum
And your nerves are so shattered you can't take it
Automatically you reach out for the run
But there really isn't any cause for panic
Ally's army had it all under control
It's not merely speculations
It's not just imagination
To bring the World Cup home is Scotland's goal
Ole ola, Ole ola
We're gonna bring that World Cup back from over there
Ole ola, Ole ola
We're gonna bring that World Cup back from over there
We got Dalglish, Buchan and Macari
We got Archie Gemmill, Johnstone and McQueen
We got Big Joe Jordan waiting at the middle and the best support
This world has ever seen
We got Donachie, Rioch and Don Masson
We got Andy Gray and Asa Hartford too
And with this lethal combination it's a fair estimation
That the World Cup will be ours the end of June
Ole ola, Ole ola
We're gonna bring that World Cup back from over there
Ole ola, Ole ola
We're gonna bring that World Cup back from over there
Oh, Brazil, this time I don't think so
Holland without Cruyff just ain't the same
Germany will, we feel,be a challenge
The Italians can still play the game
But there's really only one team in it
We'll be singing as we'll get off of the plane
We are bound for Buenos Aires, we don't care just what they tell us
Only wish we had Danny McGrain
Ole ola, Ole ola
We're gonna bring that World Cup back from over there
Willie Johnstone, then it goes to Dalglish. Lou Macari supporting. There's on opener, defended by Buchan, there's Kenny Dalglish in there. Oh, what a goal!Oh, yes! That does it!
They'll be singing up there in Aberdeen and Dundee
Glasgow will be reaching fever pitch
Cause with a nation of five million we're gonna really turn the heat on
Cause we invented football anyway
Ole ola, Ole ola
We're gonna bring that World Cup back from over there Yes, we are
Ole ola, Ole ola
We're gonna bring that World Cup back from over there
Ole ola, Ole ola
We're gonna bring that World Cup back from over there All together now:
Ole ola, Ole ola
We're gonna bring that World Cup back from over there. One more
Ole ola, Ole ola
We're gonna bring that World Cup back from over there Yes, we are

[...] Read more

song performed by Rod Stewart
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The Purple Cow Parodies

Gelett Burgess' original poem…

A Purple Cow

I never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one;
But I can tell you, anyhow,
I'd rather see than be one.

Poem parodied in the
style of…

John Milton

Hence, vain, deluding cows.
The herd of folly, without colour bright,
How little you delight,
Or fill the Poet's mind, or songs arouse!
But, hail! thou goddess gay of feature!
Hail divinest purple creature!
Oh, Cow, thy visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight.
And though I'd like, just once, to see thee
I never, never, never'd be thee!

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Hail to thee, blithe spirit!
Cow thou never wert;
But in life to cheer it
Playest thy full part
In purple lines of unpremeditated art.

The pale purple colour
Melts around thy sight
Like a star, but duller,
In the broad daylight.
I'd see thee, but I would not be thee if I might.

We look before and after
At the cattle as they browse;
Our most hearty laughter
Something sad must rouse.
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of Purple Cows.

[...] Read more

poem by Carolyn Wells
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Cow

Aw, go write yer tinklin' jingle, an' yer pretty phrases mingle,
Fer the mamby-pamby girl, all fluffy frill an' shinin' silk.
Them's the sort ter fetch yer trouble, when yer tries 'em, in the double.
Blow yer beauty! Wot's the matter with the maiden 'oo kin milk?
Them there rhymers uv the wattle! An' the bardlet uv the bottle -
'Im that sings uv sparklin' wine, an' does a perish fer the beer;
An' yer slap-dash 'orsey po-it! Garn! If you blokes only know it,
You 'ave missed the single subjec' fit ter rhyme about down 'ere.
An' although I ain't a bard, with bloomin' bays upon me brow,
I kinsider that it's up ter me ter sing about The Cow.
Cow, Cow
(Though it ain't a pretty row,
It's a word that 'ipnertises me; I couldn't tell yer 'ow.)
Though I ain't a gifted rhymer,
Nor a blamed Parnassus climber,
I'm inspired ter sing a tune er two about the Blessed Cow.

0h, the cow-bells are a-tinklin', and the daisies are a twinklin'
Well, that ain't the style ersackly I intended fer to sing.
'Ark, was over music greater then the buzzin' sepy-rater,
Coinin' gaily money daily fer the - no, that's not the thing!
'Omeward comes the cows a-lowin', an' the butter-cups are blowin';
But there's better butter in the - Blarst ! That ain't the proper way
See the pretty milkmaid walkin' - aw, it ain't no use er talkin'.
Listen 'ere, I want ter tell yer this: A cow's ther thing ter pay!
Sell yer 'orses, sell yer arrers, an' yer reapers, an' yer plough;
If yer want yer land ter pay yer, sacrifice yer life ter Cow
Cow, Cow
Sittin' underneath the bough,
With a bail, an' with a pail, an' with a little stool, an' thou
Kickin' when I pull yer teat there,
Swishin' flies, the pretty creatur.
Ah, there ain't no music sweeter - money squirtin' from the Cow.

Take away the wine-cup; take it. An' the foamin' flagon, break it.
Brimmin' cups uv butter-milk'll set yer glowin' thro' an' thro';
An' the reason I'm teetotal is becos me thrifty throat'll
Jest refuse ter swaller stuff that's costin' me a precious sou.
Once I wus a sinful spender. Used ter go a roarin' bender
Used ter often spend a thruppence when ther' wasn't any need.
An' the many ways I've busted money, when I should er trusted
It ter cattle an' erconomy, 'ud cause yer 'eart ter bleed
But I'm glad, me friends, that godliness 'as made me careful now;
Tho' I lorst the thing wot's next it when I cottoned ter the Cow.
Cow, Cow
Trudin' thro' the sloppy slough.
Ah, I once despised the Jews, but I kin under-stand 'em now
When they needed elevatin',
An' ole Moses kep' 'em waitin'
Fer religi'n, they went straight 'n' sorter substichooted Cow.

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Dad

I've knowed ole Flood this last five year or more;
I knoo 'im when 'is Syd went to the war.
A proud ole man 'e was. But I've watched 'im,
An' seen 'is look when people spoke uv Jim:
As sour a look as most coves want to see.
It made me glad that this 'ere Jim weren't me.

I sized up Flood the first day that we met
Stubborn as blazes when 'is mind is set,
Ole-fashioned in 'is looks an' in 'is ways,
Believin' it is honesty that pays;
An' still dead set, in spite uv bumps 'e's got,
To keep on honest if it pays or not.

Poor ole Dad Flood, 'e is too old to fight
By close on thirty year; but if I'm right
About 'is doin's an' about 'is grit,
'E's done a fair bit over 'is fair bit.
They are too old to fight, but, all the same,
'Is kind's quite young enough to play the game.

I've 'eard it called, this war - an' it's the truth
I've 'eard it called the sacrifice uv youth.
An' all this land 'as reckernized it too,
An' gives the boys the praises that is doo.
I've 'eard the cheers for ev'ry fightin' lad;
But, up to now, I ain't 'eard none for Dad.

Ole Flood, an' all 'is kind throughout the land,
They aint' been 'eralded with no brass band,
Or been much thought about; but, take my tip,
The war 'as found them with a stiffened lip.
'Umpin' a load they thought they'd dropped for good,
Crackin' reel 'ardy, an' - jist sawin' wood.

Dad Flood, 'is back is bent, 'is strength is gone;
'E'd done 'is bit before this war come on.
At sixty-five 'e thought 'is work was done;
'E gave the farmin' over to 'is son,
An' jist sat back in peace, with 'is ole wife,
To spend content the ev'nin' of 'is life.

Then comes the war. An' when Syd 'esitates
Between the ole folk an' 'is fightin' mates,
The ole man goes outside an' grabs a hoe.
Sez 'e, 'Yeh want to, an' yeh ought to go.
Wot's stoppin' yeh?' 'E straightens 'is ole frame.
'Ain't I farmed long enough to know the game?'

There weren't no more to say. An' Syd went - West:

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Ole Mulholland

Hey, sleepy monster in the sand
Time to get up and have a drink
Pacific rim has a tank that thinks
That she is really something grand
Let me tell you about
When I was hanging out
Just in my dothi
Running in the dawn
Right across my lawn
I saw a coyote
Ole, ole, ole for mulholland
See the water fall
And hooray, hooray the sky is falling
Down on bradburys mall
Ole, ole, ole for mulholland
All waxed in pride
Ive got a comfortable ride
And man, she could take us
Out across the salts
Right out of these faults
And on into vegas
So slept a monster in the dune
Woke him up and then he drank
Pacific rim has a think tank
But does she have iq for the moon?
The concrete of the aquaduct
Will last as long as the pyramid of egypt
Or the parthenon of athens
Long after joe harriman is elected major of los angeles
Ole, ole, ole for mulholland
See the water fall
And hooray, hooray the ants are crawling
Down in bradburys mall
Ole, ole, ole for mulholland
Yeah, its quite a sprawl
And hooray, hooray the sky is falling
Down on bradburys mall
Ole, ole, ole for mulholland
Ole

song performed by Frank Black
Added by Lucian Velea
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Fust Mate Joe

'E's a tough ole salt,
With a 'ide well tanned,
An' it ain't 'is fault
If the craft is manned
With a motley sort er crew.
Ya-hoo!
An' it is a mixed-up crew.
But 'e's sailed, 'as 'e, on many a sea,
An' e's journeyed nigh an' fur;
'E's a tough ole, rough ole - not to mention gruff ole,
Bluff ole mar-i-ner

Fer 'e sailed among
The Labor Seas
When 'e wus young;
An' since that 'e's
Been on all sorts o' craft
Abaft
And 'fore the mast 'o craft.
Fer ther ain't no boat that's bin afloat
As 'e don't know ev'ry spar;
This sly ole, fly ole, mind-yer-weather-eye ole,
Spry ole deep-sea tar.

Once in the ship
Re-pub-li-can
'E took a trip
As a 'fore-mast man,
An' e transhipped in mid-sea,
Did 'e
Went overside at sea.
Frum a Freetrade raft to a 'Tection craft
'E knows 'em stem to starn.
'E's ratin' as a great un at the art of navigatin',
An' 'e ain't got much to larn.
To watch 'im skip,
On 's nimble feet,
Frum ship to ship
Is a 'igh ole treat.
Fer 'e don't stop long on none.
'E's done
A fair, long cruise on none.
But 'e's larned a lot from the points 'e got
Since 'is cruisin' fust began,
This saine old smarty, sail-with-any-party,
Hearty aailor-man.

Now 'e's signed fust mate
Fer another trip,
Fer to naviprate

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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De Stove Pipe Hole

Dat's very cole an' stormy night on Village St. Mathieu,
W'en ev'ry wan he's go couché, an' dog was quiet, too--
Young Dominique is start heem out see Emmeline Gourdon,
Was leevin' on her fader's place, Maxime de Forgeron.

Poor Dominique he's lak dat girl, an' love her mos' de tam,
An' she was mak' de promise--sure--some day she be his famme,
But she have worse ole fader dat's never on de worl',
Was swear onless he's riche lak diable, no feller's get hees girl.

He's mak' it plaintee fuss about hees daughter Emmeline,
Dat's mebbe nice girl, too, but den, Mon Dieu, she's not de queen!
An' w'en de young man's come aroun' for spark it on de door,
An' hear de ole man swear 'Bapteme!' he's never come no more.

Young Dominique he's sam' de res',--was scare for ole Maxime,
He don't lak risk hese'f too moche for chances seein' heem,
Dat's only stormy night he come, so dark you cannot see,
An dat's de reason w'y also, he's climb de gallerie.

De girl she's waitin' dere for heem--don't care about de rain,
So glad for see young Dominique he's comin' back again,
Dey bote forget de ole Maxime, an' mak de embrasser
An affer dey was finish dat, poor Dominique is say--

'Good-bye, dear Emmeline, good-bye; I'm goin' very soon,
For you I got no better chance, dan feller on de moon--
It's all de fault your fader, too, dat I be go away,
He's got no use for me at all--I see dat ev'ry day.

'He's never meet me on de road but he is say 'Sapré!'
An' if he ketch me on de house I'm scare he's killin' me,
So I mus' lef' ole St. Mathieu, for work on 'noder place,
An' till I mak de beeg for-tune, you never see ma face.'

Den Emmeline say 'Dominique, ma love you'll alway be
An' if you kiss me two, t'ree tam I'll not tole noboddy--
But prenez garde ma fader, please, I know he's gettin ole--
All sam' he offen walk de house upon de stockin' sole.

'Good-bye, good-bye, cher Dominique! I know you will be true,
I don't want no riche feller me, ma heart she go wit' you.'
Dat's very quick he's kiss her den, before de fader come,
But don't get too moche pleasurement--so 'fraid de ole Bonhomme.

Wall! jus' about dey're half way t'roo wit all dat love beez-nesse
Emmeline say, 'Dominique, w'at for you're scare lak all de res?
Don't see mese'f moche danger now de ole man come aroun','
W'en minute affer dat, dere's noise, lak' house she's fallin' down.

[...] Read more

poem by William Henry Drummond
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100 STD's 10,000 MTD's

There are STD's, sexually transmitted diseases.
and then there are MTD's, meat transmitted diseases.

The latter take a lot more lives.

*********

In Animal Flesh: Blood Sweat Tears as well as Carcinogens Cholesterol Colon Bacteria

Animal products kill more people annually in the US than
tobacco, alcohol, traffic accidents, war, domestic violence,
guns, and drugs combined. USAMRID wrote that consumption of pig flesh caused the world's most lethal pandemic in WW1,
euphemistically called flu. Anthrax
used to be called wool sorters'
disease. Smallpox used to be called
cow pox or kine pox because of
its origin in animal flesh.
.

WHAT'S IN A BURGER? BLOOD SWEAT AND TEARS (AS WELL AS BIOTERRORISM)

POISONS IN ANIMAL AND FISH FLESH... A PARTIAL LIST

a partial list in alphabetical order

acidification diseases
addiction (to trioxypurines)
adrenalin (secreted by terrorized
animals before and during slaughter)

ANTIBIOTICS (too many to list) (crowded factory farm animals standing in their own feces are often infected)

BACTERIA
creiophilic bacteria survive
the freezing of animal flesh
thermophilic bacteria survive
the baking boiling and roasting

bacteriophages (viruses FDA allows to
be injected)
blood
colon bacteria.. euphemistically
called ecoli animals defecate
all over themselves in terror
John Harvey Kellogg MD studied
the exponential rate into the billions

BSE DISEASES, PRIONS IN SPECIES FROM GELATIN (JELLO ETC)
Mad Chicken

[...] Read more

poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Big Ole Butt

I was at the mall, sippin on a milkshake
Playin the wall, takin a break
Admirin the girls with the bamboo earings
Baby hair and bodies built to swing
Thats when I seen her
Her name was tina
Grace and poise kinda like a ballerina
I said, how you doin, my names big l
Dont ask me how Im livin, cause, yo, Im living swell
But then again Im livin kind of foul
cause my girl dont know that Im out on the prowl
To make a long story short, I got the digits
Calls her on my car phone and paid her a visit
I was spankin her and thankin her, chewin her and doin her
Layin like a king on sheets of satin
Thats what time it is, you know whats happenin
She had a big ole booty, I was doin my duty
I mean, yo, I admit that my girls a cutie
But tina was erotic, earls my witness
With the kind of legs that put stockings out of business
When I went home, I kissed my girl on the cheek
But in the back of my mind it was this big butt freak
I sat my girl down, I couldnt hold it in
And said to her with a devilish grin...
Tina got a big ole butt
I know I told you Id be true
But tina got a big ole butt
So Im leavin you
Tina got a big ole butt
I know I told you Id be true
But tina got a big ole butt
So Im leavin you
I went to the high school about three oclock
To try to catch a cutie ridin my jock
My homeboys jeep, the system blastin
Cold forty dogs, smilin and laughin
Girls all over, the kind I adore
I felt like a kid in a candy store
Thats when I seen her
Her name was brenda
She had the kind of booty that Id always remember
I said to my man, stop the jeep
Shes only senteen but, yo, dont sleep
I kicked the bass like an nfl punter
And scoped the booty like a big game hunter
I said to the girl, yo, you look tired
Lets go get some rest, relax by the fire
I put the big booty on a bearskin rug
She gave me a kiss, I have her a hug
I said to the girl, them young boys aint nothin

[...] Read more

song performed by LL Cool J
Added by Lucian Velea
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Cherry

'Some I got with amber stems an' some with silver bands,
Bent ones an' straight ones an' all sorts o' brands.
A lot of pipes, sez you, for one old pensioner to own;
But, folks, as soon as Christmas comes, they won't leave me alone.
'We'll give old Pete a pipe,' they sez, forgetful in their way,
It's wot they gives me every year,' said old Pete Parraday.
'Bent ones an' straight ones, some must ha' cost real dear -
More than I'd smoke if I should live for two hundred year.

''We'll give ole Pete a pipe,' they sez. (People is awful good
Here in the bush! 'He sucks,' they sez, 'at that ole cherrywood
All bound with bits of wire an' stuff, an' cracked an' caked up too!'
But, lordy, none of 'em don't know that pipe the way I do.
I've had him over seven year, an' I just likes him fine;
For, cracked an' all, an' caked an' all, he's a good ole mate o' mine.
'Cherry,' I calls him, just for short. I own he smells no end,
But, if I was to lose him now, I'd feel I'd lost a friend.

'Yes, he knows me an' I knows him - a cranky coot some ways:
Got to be youmered, like a man; he has his sulky days.
Goes stubborn an' won't dror at all if I packs him too tight;
An', if I cuts the baccy coarse, the cow won't stay alight!
But on long winter evenin's, there by the blazin' log,
The three of us gits yarnin' - him an' me an' my ole dog -
But, lordy, if I told you all about ole Cherry here,
You'd say me brain was softnin'; you'd say; 'Ole Pete's gone queer.'

'He lost his self last winter down there along the creek,
An' a pretty dance he led me with his crazy hide an' seek.
That's how I catched pnoomonier. The doctor sez, 'Yer mad!
Risk death for that old stikin' pipe!' But I sez, 'Listen, lad,
Ole Cherry does me far more good than all your doctor's stuff!'
But he jist stands an' grins at me; he knowed it sure enough.
'Cherry,' I sez, 'has been my mate -'. But he sez, 'Hold yer row!
You tough ole hunk o' hide!' he sez. 'Sit up an' drink this now.'

'Some I got with amber stems an' some with silver bands,
Bent ones an' straight ones - all sorts o' brands.
If you came into my bush hut you'd see a brave array -
Pipes of every shape an' cut,' said old Pete Parraday.
'But don't you say you seen 'em, 'cos folks is awful good.
'We'll give ole Pete a pipe,' they sez. 'Pooh! That ole cherrywood!'
Yes; folks is kind at Christmas time; but, now an' then, I grants,
I wish they'd stand a man a short, or p'raps a pair o' pants.'

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Seasonable Retour-Knell

SEASONABLE RETOUR KNELL
Variations on a theme...
SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS

Author notes

A mirrored Retourne may not only be read either from first line to last or from last to first as seen in the mirrors, but also by inverting the first and second phrase of each line, either rhyming AAAA or ABAB for each verse. thus the number of variations could be multiplied several times.- two variations on the theme have been included here but could have been extended as in SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS robi03_0069_robi03_0000

In respect of SEASONABLE ROUND ROBIN ROLE REVERSALS
This composition has sought to explore linguistic potential. Notes and the initial version are placed before rather than after the poem.
Six variations on a theme have been selected out of a significant number of mathematical possibilities using THE SAME TEXT and a reverse mirror for each version. Mirrors repeat the seasons with the lines in reverse order.

For the second roll the first four syllables of each line are reversed, and sense is retained both in the normal order of seasons and the reversed order as well... The 3rd and 4th variations offer ABAB rhyme schemes retaining the original text. The 5th and 6th variations modify the text into rhyming couplets.

Given the linguistical structure of this symphonic composition the score could be read in inversing each and every line and each and every hemistitch. There are minor punctuation differences between versions.

One could probably attain sonnet status for each of the four seasons and through partioning in 3 groups of 4 syllables extend the possibilites ad vitam.

Seasonable Round Robin Roll Reversals
robi03_0069_robi03_0000 QXX_DNZ
Seasonable Retour-Knell
robi03_0070_robi03_0069 QXX_NXX
26 March 1975 rewritten 20070123
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllll
For previous version see below
_______________________________________
SPRING SUMMER

Life is at ease Young lovers long
Land under plough; To hold their dear;
Whispering trees, Dewdrops among,
Answering cow. Bold, know no fear.

Blossom, the bees, Life full of song,
Burgeoning bough; Cloudless and clear;
Soft-scented breeze, Days fair and long,
Spring warms life now. Summer sends cheer.

AUTUMN WINTER

Each leaf decays, Harvested sheaves
Each life must bow; And honeyed hives;
Our salad days Trees stripped of leaves,
Are ending now. Jack Frost has knives.

Fruit heavy lays Time, Prince of thieves,
Bending the bough, - Onward he drives,

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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When Good Ol' Boys Go Bad

Old Clarence was a corn fed sunday school teacher
At the Cheephill Church of Christ
A God fearing fence clearing, hay slinging,
Hymm singing, back breaker all of his life
Came in early one night, find his pretty wife
In the arms of another man
There's hell to pay when a good ole boy goes bad.
In a smoke filled late night club by the river
Sat a stranger dealing five card stud
He was a big talkin', fast walkin' fly by nighter
There to take the money and run
They caught the fella cheatin'
So they set him up a meeting
With his maker in the promise land
Nobody see's a thing when a good ole boy goes bad.
The good book goes out the window
When the gloves go to the floor
His give a damn to be a rightous man
Don't give a damn no more
Under that blue collar
There's a big ole long red tail
It hides the truth
But it bleeds thru
When a good ole boy goes bad.
Now old man Taylor was a fourth generation
Crop growin' son of a gun
One dry summer Uncle Sam come a runnin'
Wantin' money but there wasn't none
He put a crop in the hollar
When night came he watered
By fall he had the cold hard cash
When times get hard
Sometimes a good ole boy goes bad.
The good book goes out the window
When the gloves go to the floor
His give a damn to be a rightous man
Don't give a damn no more
Under that blue collar
There's a big ole long red tail
It hides the truth
But it bleeds thru
When a good ole boy goes bad.
The good book goes out the window
When the gloves go to the floor
His give a damn to be a rightous man
Don't give a damn no more
Under that blue collar
There's a big ole long red tail
It hides the truth
But it bleeds thru

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song performed by Travis Tritt
Added by Lucian Velea
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Before the War

'Before the war,' she sighs. 'Before the war.'
Then blinks 'er eyes, an' tries to work a smile.
'Ole scenes,' she sez, 'don't look the same no more.
Ole ways,' she sez, 'seems to 'ave changed their style.
The pleasures that we had don't seem worth while
Them simple joys that passed an hour away
An' troubles, that we used to so revile,
'Ow small they look', she sez. ''Ow small today.

'This war!' sighs ole Mar Flood. An' when I seen
The ole girl sittin' in our parlour there,
Tellin' 'er troubles to my wife Doreen.
As though the talkin' eased 'er load 'uv care,
I thinks uv mothers, 'ere and everywhere,
Smilin' a bit while they are grievin' sore
For grown-up babies, fightin' Over There;
An' then I 'ears 'em sigh, 'Before the war.'

My wife 'as took the social 'abit bad.
I ain't averse - one more new word I've learned
Averse to tea, when tea is to be 'ad;
An' when it comes I reckon that it's earned.
It's jist a drink, as fur as I'm concerned,
Good for a bloke that toilin' on the land;
But when a caller comes, 'ere am I turned
Into a social butterfly, off-'and.

Then drinkin' tea becomes a 'oly rite.
So's I won't bring the family to disgrace
I guts a bit 'uv coachin' overnight
On ridin' winners in this bun-fed race.
I 'ave to change me shirt, an' wash me face,
An' look reel neat, from me waist up at least,
An sling remarks in at the proper place,
An' not makes noises drinkin', like a beast.

''Ave some more cake. Another slice, now do.
An' won't yeh 'ave a second cup uv tea?
'Ow is the children?' Ar, it makes me blue!
This boodoor 'abit ain't no good to me.
I likes to take me tucker plain an' free:
Tea an' a chunk out on the job for choice,
So I can stoke with no one there to see.
Besides, I 'aven't got no comp'ny voice.

Uv course, I've 'ad it all out with the wife.
I argues that there's work that must be done.
An' tells 'er that I 'ates this tony life.
She sez there's jooties that we must not shun.
You bet that ends it; so I joins the fun,

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Dummy Bridge

'If I'd 'a' played me Jack on that there Ten'
Sez Peter Begg, 'I might 'a' made the lot.'
''Ow could yeh?' barks ole Poole. ''Ow could yeh, when
I 'ad me Queen be'ind?' Sez Begg, 'Wot rot!
I slung away me King to take that trick.
Which one! Say, ain't yer 'ead a trifle thick?'

'Now, don't yeh see that when I plays me King
I give yer Queen a chance, an' lost the slam.'
But Poole, 'e sez 'e don't see no such thing,
So Begg gits 'ot, an' starts to loose a 'Damn.'
'E twigs the missus jist in time to check,
An' makes it 'Dash,' an' gits red down 'is neck.

There's me an' Peter Begg, an' ole man Poole
Neighbours uv mine, that farm a bit close by
Jist once a week or so we makes a school,
An' gives this game uv Dummy Bridge a fly.
Doreen, she 'as her sewing be the fire,
The kid's in bed; an' 'ere's me 'eart's desire.

'Ome-comfort, peace, the picter uv me wife
'Appy at work, me neighbours gathered round
All friendly-like - wot more is there in life?
I've searched a bit, but better I ain't found.
Doreen, she seems content, but in 'er eye
I've seen reel pity when the talk gits 'igh.

This ev'nin' we 'ad started off reel 'ot:
Two little slams, an' Poole, without a score,
Still lookin' sore about the cards 'e'd got
When, sudden-like, a knock comes to the door.
'A visitor,' growls Begg, 'to crool our game.'
An' looks at me, as though I was to blame.

Jist as Doreen goes out, I seen 'er grin.
'Deal 'em up quick!' I whispers. 'Grab yer 'and,
An' look reel occupied when they comes in.
Per'aps they'll 'ave the sense to understand.
If it's a man, maybe 'e'll make a four;
But if' - Then Missus Flood comes in the door.

'Twas ole Mar Flood, 'er face wrapped in a smile.
'Now, boys,' she sez, 'don't let me spoil yer game.
I'll jist chat with Doreen a little while;
But if yeh stop I'll be ashamed I came.'
An' then she waves a letter in 'er 'and.
Sez she, 'Our Jim's a soldier! Ain't it grand?'

'Good boy,' sez Poole. 'Let's see. I make it 'earts.'

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Corduroy Road

De corduroy road go bompety bomp,
De corduroy road go jompety jomp,
An' he' s takin'beeg chances upset hees load
De horse dat 'll trot on de corduroy road.

Of course it's purty rough, but it's handy
t'ing enough
An' dey mak' it wit' de log all jine togeder
W'en deystrek de swampy groun' w' ere de
Water hang aroun'
Or passin'by some tough ole beaver medder.

But it' s not macadamize, so if you're only
wise
You will tak' your tam an' never min' de
worry
For de corduroy is bad, an' will mak' you
plaintee mad
By de way de buggy jomp, in case you hurry.

An' I' m sure you don't expec' leetle Victorine
Leveque
She was knowin' moche at all about dem
places,
'Cos she's never dere before, till young Zeph-
irin Madore
He was takin' her away for see de races.

O, I wish you see her den, dat's before she
marry, w' en
She's de fines' on de lan' but no use talkin'
I can bet you w'at you lak, if you meet her
you look back
Jus' to watch de fancy way dat girl is walkin'.

Yass de leetle Victorine was de nices' girl be-
tween
De town of Yamachiche an' Maskinongé,
But she's stuck up an' she's proud, an' you 'll
never count de crowd
Of de boy she geev' it w'at dey call de congé.

Ah! De moder spoil her sure, for even Joe
D'Amour
W'en he's ready nearly ev'ry t'ing to geev
her
If she mak' de mariée, only say, 'please go
away'
An' he's riches habitant along de reever.

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poem by William Henry Drummond
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The Old Gunn's Gully Line

The ole train puffs in once a day
On the ole Gunn's Gully line;
In a lazy, leisurely kind o' way
She comes in, wet or fine.
Nobody wants her, nobody needs her,
Nobody likes her, nobody heeds; her
Usefulness is done.
But, wet or fine, or sun or shine,
That ole train's got to run.

A man an' a dog, they loaf about
To watch the train come in;
An' a man an' a boy an' a bag get out
With Bowyang's ole cream-tin.
An' all men say wot all men know:
That all things are as all things show,
An' the trip don't pay for grease.
But, come wot may, the Heads they say
Them trips must never cease.

Now, to an' from the market town,
On the new Gunn's Gully road,
The motor cars speed up an' down,
An' trucks with many a load,
For there's the road, an' there's the car,
An' there's the chance; so, there you are!
Let progress forge ahead!
But the Heads they say them cars must pay
Or the ole train might dropp dead.

The ole train puffs out once a day
On the ole Gunn's Gully spin;
With a man inside, some days, to ride
With Bowyang's old cream-tin.
And men ask, Why? An' men ask who
The ole train serves like the morors do?
But the Heads must have their fun.
So they shoves a tax on the people's backs;
For that ole train's-got-to-run!

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A Letter to the Front

I 'ave written Mick a letter in reply to one uv 'is,
Where 'e arsts 'ow things is goin' where the gums an' wattles is -
So I tries to buck 'im up a bit; to go fer Abdul's fez;
An' I ain't no nob at litrachure; but this is wot I sez:

I suppose you fellers dream, Mick, in between the scraps out them
Uv the land yeh left be'ind yeh when yeh sailed to do yer share:
Uv Collins Street, or Rundle Street, or Pitt, or George, or Hay,
Uv the land beyond the Murray or along the Castlereagh.
An' I guess yeh dream of old days an' the things yeh used to do,
An' yeh wonder 'ow 'twill strike yeh when yeh've seen this business thro';
An' yeh try to count yer chances when yeh've finished wiv the Turk
An' swap the gaudy war game fer a spell o' plain, drab work.

Well, Mick, yeh know jist 'ow it is these early days o' Spring,
When the gildin' o' the wattle chucks a glow on everything.
Them olden days, the golden days that you remember well,
In spite o' war an' worry, Mick, are wiv us fer a spell.
Fer the green is on the paddicks, an' the sap is in the trees,
An' the bush birds in the gullies sing the ole, sweet melerdies;
An' we're 'opin', as we 'ear 'em, that, when next the Springtime comes,
You'll be wiv us 'ere to listen to that bird tork in the gums.

It's much the same ole Springtime, Mick, yeh reckerlect uv yore;
Boronier an' dafferdils and wattle blooms once more
Sling sweetness over city streets, an' seem to put to shame
The rotten greed an' butchery that got you on this game -
The same ole sweet September days, an' much the same ole place;
Yet, there's a sort o' somethin', Mick, upon each passin' face,
A sort o' look that's got me beat; a look that you put there,
The day yeh lobbed upon the beach an' charged at Sari Bair.

It isn't that we're boastin', lad; we've done wiv most o' that -
The froth, the cheers, the flappin' flags, the giddy wavin' 'at.
Sich things is childish memories; we blush to 'ave 'em told,
Fer we 'ave seen our wounded, Mick, an' it 'as made us old.
We ain't growed soggy wiv regret, we ain't swelled out wiv pride;
But we 'ave seen it's up to us to lay our toys aside.
An' it wus you that taught us, Mick, we've growed too old fer play,
An' everlastin' picter shows, an' going' down the Bay.

An', as grown man dreams at times uv boy'ood days gone by,
So, when we're feelin' crook, I s'pose, we'll sometimes sit an' sigh.
But as a clean lad takes the ring wiv mind an' 'eart serene,
So I am 'opin' we will fight to make our man'ood clean.

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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(I'm A) Mean Ole Lion

(Charlie Smalls)
Say what you wanna
But I'm here to stay
'Cause I'm a mean ole lion
You can go where you're gonna
But don't get in my way
I'm a mean ole lion
You'll be standing in a draft
If you don't hear me laugh
And if you happen to come around
Well, you best not make me frown
For I just might knock you down
I'm a mean ole lion
You know I'm ready to fight
And turn your day into night
'Cause I'm a mean ole lion
If you're half bright
You'll detour to the right
From a mean ole lion
All you strangers better beware
This is the king of the jungle here
And if I happen to let you slide
Don't just stand here
Run and hide
You just caught my better side
I'm a mean ole lion
Look,
You better beware
This is the king of the jungle here
And if I happen to let you slide
Don't stand here
Run and hide
You just caught my better side
I'm a mean ole lion
I'm a mean ole lion

song performed by Diana Ross
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mean Ole Lion

(charlie smalls)
Say what you wanna
But i'm here to stay
'cause i'm a mean ole lion
You can go where you're gonna
But don't get in my way
I'm a mean ole lion
You'll be standing in a draft
If you don't hear me laugh
And if you happen to come around
Well, you best not make me frown
For i just might knock you down
I'm a mean ole lion
You know i'm ready to fight
And turn your day into night
'cause i'm a mean ole lion
If you're half bright
You'll detour to the right
From a mean ole lion
All you strangers better beware
This is the king of the jungle here
And if i happen to let you slide
Don't just stand here
Run and hide
You just caught my better side
I'm a mean ole lion
Look,
You better beware
This is the king of the jungle here
And if i happen to let you slide
Don't stand here
Run and hide
You just caught my better side
I'm a mean ole lion
I'm a mean ole lion

song performed by Diana Ross
Added by Lucian Velea
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