Quotes about disarm, page 10
We Got The
Who got the chance to make things right?
Why the politicians always want to fight?
The Christian coalition and the right wing ooooh!
Let me tell you what you can do
Step outside the cone of silence
Too much hatred and violence
It's time to rewind
We need a military decline
Got the power of the mind focused
Government like a locust
Are we gone or just going?
Time to act on what we be knowinh y'all
Who got the power to make a difference?
Who got the power to make a change?
Who got the power to make a difference?
We got the
We got the
We got the
Eyes on the prize and never wane
Take the bull by the reins
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song performed by Beastie Boys
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Move Somethin
[Verse 1]
Push it out girl, arch your back
Them 17s is fittin like bubblewrap
Uhh, plus they low on your hips
You there. let me grab
That thing you do keep me brick
50 told you bout the "Magic Stick'
Cmon, lean on me
Im in love with this scenery
Poke it out
Pon de river, pon de bank baby stroke it out
Sweat for your man
Both hands on your hips for your man
Me and the boys is your biggest fans
Everytime we see you we be like DAAAAAAAMN!
Work it girl
Move somethin, hurt me girl - oh!
[Chorus 2x]
Cmon, cmon, move somethin
Cmon, cmon, move somethin
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song performed by LL Cool J
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Ocean: An Ode. Concluding with A wish.
I.
Sweet rural scene!
Of flocks and green!
At careless ease my limbs are spread;
All nature still
But yonder rill;
And listening pines not o'er my head:
II
In prospect wide,
The boundless tide!
Waves cease to foam, and winds to roar;
Without a breeze,
The curling seas
Dance on, in measure, to the shore.
III
Who sings the source
Of wealth and force?
Vast field of commerce and big war:
Where wonders dwell!
Where terrors swell!
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poem by Edward Young
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Poem At The Centennial Anniversary Dinner Of The Massachusetts Medical Society
JUNE 8, 1881
THREE paths there be where Learning's favored sons,
Trained in the schools which hold her favored ones,
Follow their several stars with separate aim;
Each has its honors, each its special claim.
Bred in the fruitful cradle of the East,
First, as of oldest lineage, comes the Priest;
The Lawyer next, in wordy conflict strong,
Full armed to battle for the right,--or wrong;
Last, he whose calling finds its voice in deeds,
Frail Nature's helper in her sharpest needs.
Each has his gifts, his losses and his gains,
Each his own share of pleasures and of pains;
No life-long aim with steadfast eye pursued
Finds a smooth pathway all with roses strewed;
Trouble belongs to man of woman born,--
Tread where he may, his foot will find its thorn.
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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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No Time To Think
In death, you face life with a child and a wife
Who sleep-walks through your dreams into walls.
Youre a soldier of mercy, youre cold and you curse,
He who cannot be trusted must fall.
Loneliness, tenderness, high society, notoriety.
You fight for the throne and you travel alone
Unknown as you slowly sink
And theres no time to think.
In the federal city you been blown and shown pity,
In secret, for pieces of change.
The empress attracts you but oppression distracts you
And it makes you feel violent and strange.
Memory, ecstasy, tyranny, hypocrisy
Betrayed by a kiss on a cool night of bliss
In the valley of the missing link
And you have no time to think.
Judges will haunt you, the country priestess will want you
Her worst is better than best.
Ive seen all these decoys through a set of deep turquoise eyes
And I feel so depressed.
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song performed by Bob Dylan
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You'll Rock
[LL Cool J]
The momentum of this party can only increase
The design of this rhyme is a masterpiece
You'll wanna kick steps to the musical feast
And witness the force I'm about to release
You'll rock!!
[LL Cool J]
I'm a professional producer of hip-hop songs
In case you're unaware my beats are always strong
I'll exterminate your crew if I don't like you
with one rhyme I subdue my adversaries are through
I'm the best, fascinatin' my names' Cool J
I'm the royalty of rap, what else can I say
Experienced, rhyme skilled, plus my voice isn't waxed
Funky fresh party rocker, so let's face facts
I'll dust a rapper off if I require practice
Vocal cords so rough that I can eat cactus
Choreographer of rhymes, best of all times
Composition technican with the b-boy's mind
Terrorizin' emcee's instructions in my path
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song performed by LL Cool J
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The Widow Of Crescentius : Part II.
Hast thou a scene that is not spread
With records of thy glory fled?
A monument that doth not tell
The tale of liberty's farewell?
Italia! thou art but a grave
Where flowers luxuriate o'er the brave,
And nature gives her treasures birth
O'er all that hath been great on earth.
Yet smile thy heavens as once they smiled,
When thou wert freedom's favoured child:
Though fane and tomb alike are low,
Time hath not dimmed thy sunbeam's glow;
Oh, yet, though by thy sorrows bent,
In nature's pomp magnificent;
What marvel if, when all was lost,
Still on thy bright, enchanted coast,
Though many an omen warned him thence,
Lingered the lord of eloquence?
Still gazing on the lovely sky,
Whose radiance wooed him - but to die:
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poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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The Borough. Letter I
'DESCRIBE the Borough'--though our idle tribe
May love description, can we so describe,
That you shall fairly streets and buildings trace,
And all that gives distinction to a place?
This cannot be; yet moved by your request
A part I paint--let Fancy form the rest.
Cities and towns, the various haunts of men,
Require the pencil; they defy the pen:
Could he who sang so well the Grecian fleet,
So well have sung of alley, lane, or street?
Can measured lines these various buildings show,
The Town-Hall Turning, or the Prospect Row?
Can I the seats of wealth and want explore,
And lengthen out my lays from door to door?
Then let thy Fancy aid me--I repair
From this tall mansion of our last year's Mayor,
Till we the outskirts of the Borough reach,
And these half-buried buildings next the beach,
Where hang at open doors the net and cork,
While squalid sea-dames mend the meshy work;
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poem by George Crabbe
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Hudibras - The Lady's Answer to The Knight
That you're a beast, and turn'd to grass,
Is no strange news, nor ever was;
At least to me, who once you know,
Did from the pound replevin you,
When both your sword and spurs were won
In combat by an Amazon.
That sword, that did (like Fate) determine
Th' inevitable death of vermine,
And never dealt its furious blows,
But cut the throats of pigs and cows,
By TRULLA was, in single fight,
Disarm'd and wrested from its knight;
Your heels degraded of your spurs,
And in the stocks close prisoners;
Where still they'd lain, in base restraint,
If I, in pity of your complaint,
Had not on honourable conditions,
Releast 'em from the worst of prisons
And what return that favour met
You cannot (though you wou'd) forget;
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poem by Samuel Butler
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The Convocation: A Poem
When Vertue's Standard Ecclesiasticks bear,
Their sacred Robe the noblest Minds revere.
All to its Guidance do their Thoughts submit,
But such who triumph in licentious Wit;
And nauseous Mirth as high Desert esteem,
When rais'd by Scorn upon Religion's Theme
As Kings by Right Divine o'er Nations sway,
As the most worthy, their high Pow'rs obey;
Homage by all is to the Priesthood born,
And none but Fools their Heav'nly Pastors scorn.
Yet censure not the Muse's Freedom here:
If urg'd by Errors, she must seem severe!
Tho' keen her Satyr, she no Envy bears;
Tho' Priests she lashes, she their Function spares.
Nor for ill Members such the Clergy calls,
But on their Shame, and not their Glory, falls.
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poem by Richard Savage
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