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Stronger

Cast: Jake Gyllenhaal, Tatiana Maslany, Clancy Brown, Miranda Richardson, Frankie Shaw, Maggie Castle, Acei Martin, Olivia Filleti

trailer for Stronger, directed by David Gordon Green, screenplay by John Pollono (2017)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Frankie and Johnnie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous
Added by Poetry Lover
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Frankie and Johnnie

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Americas
Added by Poetry Lover
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Ain't Gonna Work On Your Farm No More

I ain’t gonna work on your farm no more
I ain’t gonna scrub all your floors,
I ain’t gonna take all your friends who ignore
what I do when they hide behind doors
where they pay no attention to stuff that I think,
and say, when they pay me a dime,
that I ain’t entitled to spend it on drink,
or ladies who show me good time.
I ain’t gonna work for your children or friends
who preach of the law and the Lord,
and hear all those messages God never sends
to people with who He is bored,
like I am. I ain’t gonna work on your farm,
instead I will write me a song,
and pray that its words will all sound the alarm,
for I expect to be back before long.

Mark Z. Barabak (“He’s Digging ‘Farm, ’” LA Times, June 26,2008) writes that Barack Obama’s favorite Bob Dylan song is “Maggie’s Farm, ” performed in 1995 at the Newport Festival, when he turned electric and never looked back:

I AIN’T GONNA WORK ON MAGGIE’S FARM NO MORE

I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I wake up every morning
hold my hands and pray for rain
I've got a head full of ideas
driving me insane
It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more

Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
He hands you a nickel
he hands you a dime
He asks you and your friends
if you're having a good time
He blames you every time you slam the door
Well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more

Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
He stubs his cigarette out in your face just for kicks
his bedroom window is made out of bricks
And the National Guard are standing at his door
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more

Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
She talks to all the servants about man and God and law

[...] Read more

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Frankie Lee

Writers: leo sayer & ray parker, jr.
On every corner of every avenue
The words been passed all around
Better watch out, lock up your daughters
cause that bad frankie lee is back in town
All the ladies fall for frankie
Sayin, frankie lee, how can it be
Of all the men here, youre the only one
Whos got the key, to set us free
Oh, frankie lee
Now theres a woman, in this neighborhood
Whos loving frankie in her mind
But in fear of bein discovered
She keeps her secret locked up inside
Just then a stones thrown up at the window
And she looks below, what does she see
Theres a man there, standing neath the streetlight
It looks to be
Like frankie lee
Youd best believe
Well, old frankie steals through the back door
While her old man is leavin by the hall
But before she hears his footsteps
Frankies standing at the bedroom door
So she holds him, then she begs him
Oh frankie lee, dont cha ever leave
And he tells her, shes the only one
Hes got the key
That frankie lee
To set her free
Then as the moon fades, into the night sky
Frankie leaves while shes asleep
Then hes up and out on the street again
Hes got the key thatll set you free
That frankie lee
Every kid in this ol gangtown
Theyd want to be like frankie lee
Please the ladies, like a vagabond
Hes got the key
That frankie lee
To set them free
Yeah, every kid in this ol gangtown
Yeah, theyd want to be like frankie lee
Cassanova and valentino
Theyd like to be as good as frankie lee
Every kid in this ol gangtown
Theyd like to be like frankie lee
Please the ladies, like a vagabond
Hes got the key
That frankie lee

[...] Read more

song performed by Leo Sayer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Clancy Of The Mounted Police

In the little Crimson Manual it's written plain and clear
That who would wear the scarlet coat shall say good-bye to fear;
Shall be a guardian of the right, a sleuth-hound of the trail--
In the little Crimson Manual there's no such word as "fail"--
Shall follow on though heavens fall, or hell's top-turrets freeze,
Half round the world, if need there be, on bleeding hands and knees.
It's duty, duty, first and last, the Crimson Manual saith;
The Scarlet Rider makes reply: "It's duty--to the death."
And so they sweep the solitudes, free men from all the earth;
And so they sentinel the woods, the wilds that know their worth;
And so they scour the startled plains and mock at hurt and pain,
And read their Crimson Manual, and find their duty plain.
Knights of the lists of unrenown, born of the frontier's need,
Disdainful of the spoken word, exultant in the deed;
Unconscious heroes of the waste, proud players of the game,
Props of the power behind the throne, upholders of the name:
For thus the Great White Chief hath said, "In all my lands be peace",
And to maintain his word he gave his West the Scarlet Police.

Livid-lipped was the valley, still as the grave of God;
Misty shadows of mountain thinned into mists of cloud;
Corpselike and stark was the land, with a quiet that crushed and awed,
And the stars of the weird sub-arctic glimmered over its shroud.

Deep in the trench of the valley two men stationed the Post,
Seymour and Clancy the reckless, fresh from the long patrol;
Seymour, the sergeant, and Clancy--Clancy who made his boast
He could cinch like a bronco the Northland, and cling to the prongs of the Pole.

Two lone men on detachment, standing for law on the trail;
Undismayed in the vastness, wise with the wisdom of old--
Out of the night hailed a half-breed telling a pitiful tale,
"White man starving and crazy on the banks of the Nordenscold."

Up sprang the red-haired Clancy, lean and eager of eye;
Loaded the long toboggan, strapped each dog at its post;
Whirled his lash at the leader; then, with a whoop and a cry,
Into the Great White Silence faded away like a ghost.

The clouds were a misty shadow, the hills were a shadowy mist;
Sunless, voiceless and pulseless, the day was a dream of woe;
Through the ice-rifts the river smoked and bubbled and hissed;
Behind was a trail fresh broken, in front the untrodden snow.

Ahead of the dogs ploughed Clancy, haloed by steaming breath;
Through peril of open water, through ache of insensate cold;
Up rivers wantonly winding in a land affianced to death,
Till he came to a cowering cabin on the banks of the Nordenscold.

Then Clancy loosed his revolver, and he strode through the open door;

[...] Read more

poem by Robert William Service
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Miranda

At the end of the day
The end of the light
She remains of all of her foes
Miranda is dying with all of her might
She never comes
She always goes
She sticks the camera right into her arm
Anything to forget what the troubles about
It causes her pain
Thats part of the charm
Shes down for the count
And finally out
Miranda is taking the stars down
A little something to call her own
By the light there still goes miranda
And miranda is always alone
She sees her face in another magazine
And the walls all close in
As the fancy takes flight
Cant stand to be loved
But she loves to be seen
She slips headlong into the night
Miranda is taking the stars down
A little something to call her own
By the light there still goes miranda
And miranda is always alone
And then all at once
The sun starts to rise
She sees her father holding her down
All the daylight is poison to her eyes
She slips down the shade
And lets herself drown
Miranda is taking the stars down
A little something to call her own
By the light there still goes miranda
And miranda is always alone
The lights shot down in the arena
All across the safety zone
Loneliness follows miranda
And miranda is always alone
Miranda is always alone
Miranda is always alone

song performed by Fleetwood Mac
Added by Lucian Velea
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You got the Tiger by the Tail

On Christmas, Feliz Navidad,
a cat named Tatiana was doing the usual big cats do,
Hanging out on chilly day,
after all she was a Siberian tiger,
minding her own business,
What happened later is terrible but true
She was startled to see a human leg over the fence.

The authorities starting piecing the actions that were brought forth,
Tatiana was killed, after attacking two men after she had killed another one.
Tatiana, some speculate, was taunted by the person that had his or her leg on the fence,
There were bloody footprints and shoe left by someone.

Paul Dhaliwal, as drunk and taunted Tatiana,
Tatiana attacked and paid with her life,
Kulber, Paul’s brother, was also injured but not so lucky was Carlos Sousa, Jr.
His demise was unforseen,
Paul did not see the New Year, -----He was dead at the scene.

The investigations went on trying to blame the zoo,
For the fencing on the cats exhibit was a few,
Feet short,
After all the cats didn’t escape for decades who knew?
Calls to 911 the brothers cry grim(m) ly,
The response was staggered from the inception of the call,
In the end Tatiana would pay for being a tiger,
she was shot.
Tatiana was not able to be free,
She was not able to be a predator,
A Siberian tiger is on the endangered species list,
But I say Tatiana will be surely missed,
For in the end, the three should be a lesson for all those that hear,
So there will not have to be another taunting, another mauling, --another killing,
Of a tiger.

(1-18-2008)

The brothers that survived are attempting to get rich,
By their physical and emotional damaged they have incurred,
There are suing city for negligence and defamation, ain’t life a bee-atch,
For the city sake, the brothers were drunk and high on Marijuana,
The blood test inferred,
And they taunted Tatiana.
The city should counter sue for the loss of a threatened species Siberian Tiger,
I will soon wait for the report,
That this case has no merit and will be tossed out of court.

(amended 3-29-2008)

poem by Joe Rosochacki
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad Of Frankie Lee And Judas Priest

by Bob Dylan
Well, Frankie Lee and Judas Priest,
They were the best of friends.
So when Frankie Lee needed money one day,
Judas quickly pulled out a roll of tens
And placed them on a footstool
Just above the plotted plain,
Sayin', "Take your pick, Frankie Boy,
My loss will be your gain."
Well, Frankie Lee, he sat right down
And put his fingers to his chin,
But with the cold eyes of Judas on him,
His head began to spin.
"Would ya please not stare at me like that," he said,
"It's just my foolish pride,
But sometimes a man must be alone
And this is no place to hide."
Well, Judas, he just winked and said,
"All right, I'll leave you here,
But you'd better hurry up and choose
Which of those bills you want,
Before they all disappear."
"I'm gonna start my pickin' right now,
Just tell me where you'll be."
Judas pointed down the road
And said, "Eternity!"
"Eternity?" said Frankie Lee,
With a voice as cold as ice.
"That's right," said Judas Priest, "Eternity,
Though you might call it 'Paradise.'"
"I don't call it anything,"
Said Frankie Lee with a smile.
"All right," said Judas Priest,
"I'll see you after a while."
Well, Frankie Lee, he sat back down,
Feelin' low and mean,
When just then a passing stranger
Burst upon the scene,
Saying, "Are you Frankie Lee, the gambler,
Whose father is deceased?
Well, if you are,
There's a fellow callin' you down the road
And they say his name is Priest."
"Oh, yes, he is my friend,"
Said Frankie Lee in fright,
"I do recall him very well,
In fact, he just left my sight."
"Yes, that's the one," said the stranger,
As quiet as a mouse,
"Well, my message is, he's down the road,

[...] Read more

song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Ballad Of Frankie Lee & Judas Priest

Well, frankie lee and judas priest,
They were the best of friends.
So when frankie lee needed money one day,
Judas quickly pulled out a roll of tens
And placed them on a footstool
Just above the plotted plain,
Sayin, take your pick, frankie boy,
My loss will be your gain.
Well, frankie lee, he sat right down
And put his fingers to his chin,
But with the cold eyes of judas on him,
His head began to spin.
Would ya please not stare at me like that, he said,
Its just my foolish pride,
But sometimes a man must be alone
And this is no place to hide.
Well, judas, he just winked and said,
All right, Ill leave you here,
But youd better hurry up and choose
Which of those bills you want,
Before they all disappear.
Im gonna start my pickin right now,
Just tell me where youll be.
Judas pointed down the road
And said, eternity!
Eternity? said frankie lee,
With a voice as cold as ice.
Thats right, said judas priest, eternity,
Though you might call it paradise.
I dont call it anything,
Said frankie lee with a smile.
All right, said judas priest,
Ill see you after a while.
Well, frankie lee, he sat back down,
Feelin low and mean,
When just then a passing stranger
Burst upon the scene,
Saying, are you frankie lee, the gambler,
Whose father is deceased?
Well, if you are,
Theres a fellow callin you down the road
And they say his name is priest.
Oh, yes, he is my friend,
Said frankie lee in fright,
I do recall him very well,
In fact, he just left my sight.
Yes, thats the one, said the stranger,
As quiet as a mouse,
Well, my message is, hes down the road,
Stranded in a house.

[...] Read more

song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Betrothed

"You must choose between me and your cigar."
-- BREACH OF PROMISE CASE, CIRCA 1885.

Open the old cigar-box, get me a Cuba stout,
For things are running crossways, and Maggie and I are out.

We quarrelled about Havanas -- we fought o'er a good cheroot,
And I knew she is exacting, and she says I am a brute.

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a space;
In the soft blue veil of the vapour musing on Maggie's face.

Maggie is pretty to look at -- Maggie's a loving lass,
But the prettiest cheeks must wrinkle, the truest of loves must pass.

There's peace in a Larranaga, there's calm in a Henry Clay;
But the best cigar in an hour is finished and thrown away --

Thrown away for another as perfect and ripe and brown --
But I could not throw away Maggie for fear o' the talk o' the town!

Maggie, my wife at fifty -- grey and dour and old --
With never another Maggie to purchase for love or gold!

And the light of Days that have Been the dark of the Days that Are,
And Love's torch stinking and stale, like the butt of a dead cigar --

The butt of a dead cigar you are bound to keep in your pocket --
With never a new one to light tho' it's charred and black to the socket!

Open the old cigar-box -- let me consider a while.
Here is a mild Manila -- there is a wifely smile.

Which is the better portion -- bondage bought with a ring,
Or a harem of dusky beauties, fifty tied in a string?

Counsellors cunning and silent -- comforters true and tried,
And never a one of the fifty to sneer at a rival bride?

Thought in the early morning, solace in time of woes,
Peace in the hush of the twilight, balm ere my eyelids close,

This will the fifty give me, asking nought in return,
With only a Suttee's passion -- to do their duty and burn.

This will the fifty give me. When they are spent and dead,
Five times other fifties shall be my servants instead.

The furrows of far-off Java, the isles of the Spanish Main,

[...] Read more

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Frankie Carroll

Frankie carroll
He got drunk last night
I tried my best to help him
But he wound up in a fight
And his missy got him
She said
Frankie, its alright
Frankie wont do you wrong
Frankie carroll
He beat his kids last night
I dont like you kids shouting
Shut up now, dont care whos wrong or right
And his missy got him
She said
Frankie, Ill keep the kids quiet
Frankie, frankie, whats wrong?
Frankie carroll
He fell to bed last night
And his head hung off the pillow
And his eyes were closed shut tight
And his missy
She got up and turned out the light
Frankie, frankie, whats wrong?
Frankie carroll was with a woman last night

song performed by Thin Lizzy
Added by Lucian Velea
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Frankie & Johnny

[l.d.] "we'll take it a bit slower"
"this is, this is the, huh, this is the first song i ever learned, actually"
Frankie and johnny were sweethearts
Lordy, how they could love
Swore to be true to each other
Yeah, true to the skies above
He was her man, wouldn't do her no wrong
And frankie and johnny went walkin'
And johnny had on a new suit
Yeah, frankie spent one-hundred dollar notes
Just to make her man look cute
He was her man, he wouldn't do her no wrong
Frankie went over to the barroom
Stopped for a bottle of beer
Said to the old bartender man
"has my lover johnny man been here?"
"he was my man, lord, but he'd been doin' me wrong, so wrong."
Yeah frankie looked over the transom door
And then to her great surprise
There sat her lover man johnny
Makin' love to nellie bly
He was her man, but he was doin' her wrong
Well frankie lifted up her kimono dress
And she drew (ladaladalala) out a little .44
She shot once, twice, three times (three times) she shot him
And through that hardwood (door) floor
Yeah she shot her man (yeah he was her man)
Well but he been doin' her wrong yeah
He said, "roll me over so careful ah
Roll me over so slow,
Oh roll me on to my left hand side,
Because your bullet hurt me so,
I was your man, but i been doin' you wrong."
Play it chris!
(instrumental)
Well they sent for frankie's mother
Come down to huddy's saloon
To see what's the matter with her boy
She come down, frankie looked up at her
Here what she said:
She said, "oh mrs. johnson, oh forgive me please
Well i killed your lovin' son, johnny
But i'm down on my bended knee
I shot your man, 'cause he was doin' me wrong." ah
She said, "i'll forgive you frankie,"
She said, "i'll forgive you not, not
For killin' my lovin' son johnny,
He's the only support that i've got,
'cause you shot my man and he was doin' you wrong."
Well the last time i seen frankie

[...] Read more

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Frankie And Johnny

(Traditional)
[L.D.] We'll take it a bit slower
This is, this is the, huh, this is the first song I ever learned, actually
Frankie and Johnny were sweethearts
Lordy, how they could love
Swore to be true to each other
Yeah, true to the skies above
He was her man, wouldn't do her no wrong
And Frankie and Johnny went walkin'
And Johnny had on a new suit
Yeah, Frankie spent one-hundred dollar notes
Just to make her man look cute
He was her man, he wouldn't do her no wrong
Frankie went over to the barroom
Stopped for a bottle of beer
Said to the old bartender man
Has my lover Johnny man been here?
He was my man, Lord, but he'd been doin' me wrong, so wrong.
Yeah Frankie looked over the transom door
And then to her great surprise
There sat her lover man Johnny
Makin' love to Nellie Bly
He was her man, but he was doin' her wrong
Well Frankie lifted up her kimono dress
And she drew (ladaladalala) out a little .44
She shot once, twice, three times (three times) she shot him
And through that hardwood (door) floor
Yeah she shot her man (yeah he was her man)
Well but he been doin' her wrong yeah
He said, roll me over so careful ah
Roll me over so slow,
Oh roll me on to my left hand side,
Because your bullet hurt me so,
I was your man, but I been doin' you wrong.
Play it Chris!
(Instrumental)
Well they sent for Frankie's mother
Come down to Huddy's saloon
To see what's the matter with her boy
She come down, Frankie looked up at her
Here what she said:
She said, Oh Mrs. Johnson, oh forgive me please
Well I killed your lovin' son, Johnny
But I'm down on my bended knee
I shot your man, 'cause he was doin' me wrong. ah
She said, I'll forgive you Frankie,
She said, I'll forgive you not, not
For killin' my lovin' son Johnny,
He's the only support that I've got,
'Cause you shot my man and he was doin' you wrong.

[...] Read more

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Frankie Johnny

[l.d.] well take it a bit slower
This is, this is the, huh, this is the first song I ever learned, actually
Frankie and johnny were sweethearts
Lordy, how they could love
Swore to be true to each other
Yeah, true to the skies above
He was her man, wouldnt do her no wrong
And frankie and johnny went walkin
And johnny had on a new suit
Yeah, frankie spent one-hundred dollar notes
Just to make her man look cute
He was her man, he wouldnt do her no wrong
Frankie went over to the barroom
Stopped for a bottle of beer
Said to the old bartender man
Has my lover johnny man been here?
He was my man, lord, but hed been doin me wrong, so wrong.
Yeah frankie looked over the transom door
And then to her great surprise
There sat her lover man johnny
Makin love to nellie bly
He was her man, but he was doin her wrong
Well frankie lifted up her kimono dress
And she drew (ladaladalala) out a little .44
She shot once, twice, three times (three times) she shot him
And through that hardwood (door) floor
Yeah she shot her man (yeah he was her man)
Well but he been doin her wrong yeah
He said, roll me over so careful ah
Roll me over so slow,
Oh roll me on to my left hand side,
Because your bullet hurt me so,
I was your man, but I been doin you wrong.
Play it chris!
(instrumental)
Well they sent for frankies mother
Come down to huddys saloon
To see whats the matter with her boy
She come down, frankie looked up at her
Here what she said:
She said, oh mrs. johnson, oh forgive me please
Well I killed your lovin son, johnny
But Im down on my bended knee
I shot your man, cause he was doin me wrong. ah
She said, Ill forgive you frankie,
She said, Ill forgive you not, not
For killin my lovin son johnny,
Hes the only support that Ive got,
cause you shot my man and he was doin you wrong.
Well the last time I seen frankie

[...] Read more

song performed by Van Morrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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Clancy of the Overflow

Clancy of the Overflow ...

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just "on spec", addressed as follows, "Clancy, of The Overflow".
And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
(And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)
Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
"Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are."

In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving "down the Cooper" where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.

And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
And at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars.

I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all

And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.

And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.

And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal --
But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of "The Overflow".

Banjo Paterson

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Maggie Mgill

Miss maggie mgill, she lived on a hill.
Her daddy got drunk and left her no will
So she went down, down to tangie town.
People down there really like to get it on.
Now if youre sad and youre feeling blue
Go out and buy a new pair of shoes
And you go down, down to tangie town
The people down there really like to get it on.
Illegitimate son of a rock and roll star
Illegitimate son of a rock and roll star
Mom met dad in the back of a rock and roll car.
Well Im an old blues man
And I think that you understand
Ive been singing the blues ever since the world began.
Maggie, maggie, maggie mgill
Roll on, roll on, maggie mgill
Maggie, maggie, maggie mgill
Roll on, roll on, maggie mgill

song performed by Doors
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Life Of Mary O’Henry & Simon Le Frankie

Is life chance, or pre-ordained
Is life chance, or pre-ordained

Mary O’Henry,
Was born in a time when the world was at war
Nobody saw
Grew up an orphan
Struggling through life never knowing there’s more
Than being wretchedly poor

Oh life can hold so much pain
You wonder why it should be so
There but for the grace of God, walks another
In sullen steps that could have been you

Is life chance, or pre-ordained
(The life of Mary O’Henry & Simon Le Frankie)
Is life chance, or pre-ordained
(The life of Mary O’Henry & Simon Le Frankie)

Simon Le Frankie,
was born with a headline in the Times
a paradigm
he grew up wealthy
living his life to the full, life can be so good, I guess as it should

Oh life can be endless champagne
You wonder why it should be so
There but for the grace of God walks another
In graceful steps that could have been you

Is life chance, or pre-ordained
(The life of Mary O’Henry & Simon Le Frankie)
Is life chance, or pre-ordained
(The life of Mary O’Henry & Simon Le Frankie)

Mary O’Henry - Grew into a woman, working wherever she could
In places no woman should, luckless in Hollywood
Simon Le Frankie – wondered the world on a wave that trebled in size
Until he died – they died the same time

Atlas in turmoil
Life is choices made in a game
Who moves the pieces
Is life chance or pre-ordained

Is life chance, or pre-ordained
(The life of Mary O’Henry & Simon Le Frankie)
Is life chance, or pre-ordained
(The life of Mary O’Henry & Simon Le Frankie)

poem by Colin Coplin
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The Ballad Of Go-go Brown

If thats why they call him go-go brown
Hed say (? )
If thats why some people put him down
Hed say it costs his name as go-go brown
All the girls in town
Used to follow him around
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
All the boys would sing
Were gonna make this go-go king
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
Go-go brown is the smartest guy by far
A brand new girlfriend and a brand new car
The girls all thought that he was heaven-sent
one day this boy will be a president
All the church bells ring
When that go-go used to sing
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
Here the people say
hes gonna be someone someday
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
Then one day some bad men came to call
And go-go knew its time to take a fall
Hes been smoking since the age of ten
He took some crack, he sold some smack
And now hes in the pen
All the girls in town
Used to follow him around
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
All the boys would sing
Were gonna make this go-go king
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
He raised them all
Yes he do
He faced the wall
Yes he did
He stood tall
Yes he do
Who did he let down
Just one man thats go-go brown (? )
All the church bells ring
When that go-go used to sing
Go-go brown
Go-go brown
Here the people say

[...] Read more

song performed by Heaven 17
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part III.

Much malice, mingled with a little wit,
Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ;
Because the muse has peopled Caledon
With panthers, bears, and wolves, and beasts unknown,
As if we were not stocked with monsters of our own.
Let Æsop answer, who has set to view
Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew;
And Mother Hubbard, in her homely dress,
Has sharply blamed a British lioness;
That queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep,
Exposed obscenely naked, and asleep.
Led by those great examples, may not I
The wonted organs of their words supply?
If men transact like brutes, 'tis equal then
For brutes to claim the privilege of men.
Others our Hind of folly will indite,
To entertain a dangerous guest by night.
Let those remember, that she cannot die,
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untamed,
Because the Lion's peace was now proclaimed;
The wary savage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her prince;
But watched the time her vengeance to complete,
When all her furry sons in frequent senate met;
Meanwhile she quenched her fury at the flood,
And with a lenten salad cooled her blood.
Their commons, though but coarse, were nothing scant,
Nor did their minds an equal banquet want.
For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove
To express her plain simplicity of love,
Did all the honours of her house so well,
No sharp debates disturbed the friendly meal.
She turned the talk, avoiding that extreme,
To common dangers past, a sadly-pleasing theme;
Remembering every storm which tossed the state,
When both were objects of the public hate,
And dropt a tear betwixt for her own children's fate.
Nor failed she then a full review to make
Of what the Panther suffered for her sake;
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,
Her faith unshaken to an exiled heir,
Her strength to endure, her courage to defy,
Her choice of honourable infamy.
On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarged;
Then with acknowledgments herself she charged;
For friendship, of itself an holy tie,
Is made more sacred by adversity.
Now should they part, malicious tongues would say,
They met like chance companions on the way,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
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The Gathering of the Brown-Eyed

The brown eyes came from Asia, where all mystery is true,
Ere the masters of Soul Secrets dreamed of hazel, grey, and blue;
And the Brown Eyes came to Egypt, which is called the gypsies’ home,
And the Brown Eyes went from Egypt and Jerusalem to Rome.

There was strife amongst the Brown Eyes for the false things and the true;
There was war amongst the Brown Eyes for the old gods and the new;
But the old gods live for ever, and their goddesses are bright
In the temples of Old Passions with the Brown Eyes of the White.

The Brown Eyes east, by Africa, they saw and conquered Spain,
And the Brown Eyes marched as Christians till a Brown Eye met a Dane,
The Dane had Brown-Eyed children who in blue eyes took delight—
And a son of blue-eyed sailors, brown-eyed, reads the stars to-night.

Oh, Knowledge from Old Deserts, where the great stars rocked the world!
Oh, courage from grim seaboards, where the Viking ships were hurled!
The clear skin of the Norseman, and the desert strength and sight,
The power to fathom mankind, and the glorious gift to write!

We can look in souls of women, aye! and let them know we do;
We can fix the false eyes earthward; we can meet and match the true;
We can startle Voice from Silence, and from Darkness flash the Light—
And the eyes to fathom Asia are the Brown Eyes of the White.

There’s a legend in the nations that all Brown Eyes once were true,
But were taught in love and warfare by the sinful shades of blue;
There’s a story amongst sinners that all Brown Eyes once were kind,
Till the Steel-Blue struck the Red-Fire in a hatred that was blind.

But the Brown Eyes are the saddest at the death of Love and Truth.
And the Brown Eyes are the grandest and the dreamiest of Youth.
They have risen in rebellion unto leadership sublime—
And the grey-eyed queens of women loved, and love them for all time!

Brown Eyes never married Brown Eyes but unhappiness held sway,
For the real mates of the Brown Eyes have for ever been the grey.
But though Brown Eyes quarrel hotly, though their very souls be wrenched,
Never Blue-Eye wronged a Brown-Eye but the Brown-Eye was avenged!

Through the breadth of wide Australia, waiting desert-like and vast,
We have sent our Brown-Eyed children, who are multiplying fast.
Patriots, picture-writers, sages, fill the Brown-Eyed rolls to-night—
’Tis the gathering from all ages of the Brown-Eyed of the White.

poem by Henry Lawson
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