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Artist: Eagles
Song: Hotel California Lyrics

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself,
'this could be heaven or this could be hell'
Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say...

Welcome to the hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the hotel California
Any time of year, you can find it here

Her mind is tiffany-twisted, she got the mercedes bends
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys, that she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard, sweet summer sweat.
Some dance to remember, some dance to forget

So I called up the captain,
'please bring me my wine'
He said, 'we haven't had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine'
And still those voices are calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say...

Welcome to the hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
They livin' it up at the hotel California
What a nice surprise, bring your alibis

Mirrors on the ceiling,
The pink champagne on ice
And she said 'we are all just prisoners here, of our own device'
And in the master's chambers,
They gathered for the feast
The stab it with their steely knives,
But they just can't kill the beast

Last thing I remember, I was
Running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
'relax,' said the night man,
We are programmed to receive.
You can checkout any time you like,
But you can never leave!

That's a really odd poem by Shapiro, but it reminded me of something, listeners:



Well, I think P.T. Barum staged a coup with that one.

Here's to you, P.T.

music by Harold Arlen.
lyrics by E.Y. (Yip) Harburg

I never feel a thing is real
When I'm away from you
Out of your embrace
The world's a temporary parking place

Mmm, mm, mm, mm
A bubble for a minute
Mmm, mm, mm, mm
You smile, the bubble has a rainbow in it

Say, its only a paper moon
Sailing over a cardboard sea
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me

Yes, it's only a canvas sky
Hanging over a muslin tree
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me

Without your love
It's a honky-tonk parade
Without your love
It's a melody played in a penny arcade

It's a Barnum and Bailey world
Just as phony as it can be
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believed in me

About 30 years ago, my first wife's niece came for a prolonged visit. It was at the time Hotel California was popular. She wrote the lyrics on every scrap of paper she could find, then scrawled her name at the end, as if to suggest she composed it. She got into all of my writing papers for that purpose, every day. It did no good to write notes saying, "Private. Hands Off." I finally had to lock them away. To this day, I suffer unpleasant flashbacks when I encounter Hotel California.

Hey, edgar. I missed our Try's hotel. <smile> That song reminds me of NickFun. Where is he, anyway?

As for that personal anecdote, Texas. I have a million of those things. So, I understand how you feel. Don't get me started on my daughter bringing a dead squirrel into our recreation room in Virginia.

Well, folks, Europe is asleep, and our Calamity Jane has pictured out, so that just leaves us round-abouts.

Let's listen to that song, folks.

- Yes Lyrics - Roundabout Lyrics

I'll be the round about
The words will make you out 'n' out
You change the day your way
Call it morning driving thru the sound and in and out the valley

The music dance and sing
They make the children really ring
I spend the day your way
Call it morning driving thru the sound and in and out the valley

In and around the lake
Mountains come out of the sky and they stand there
One mile over we'll be there and we'll see you
Ten true summers we'll be there and laughing too
Twenty four before my love you'll see I'll be there with you

I will remember you
Your silhouette will charge the view
Of distance atmosphere
Call it morning driving thru the sound and even in the valley

In and around the lake
Mountains come out of the sky and they stand there
One mile over we'll be there and we'll see you
Ten true summers we'll be there and laughing too
Twenty four before my love you'll see I'll be there with you

Along the drifting cloud the eagle searching down on the land
Catching the swirling wind the sailor sees the rim of the land
The eagles dancing wings create as weather spins out of hand
Go closer hold the land feel partly no more than grains of sand
We stand to lose all time a thousand answers by in our hand
Next to your deeper fears we stand
Surrounded by a millions years
I'll be the round about
The words will make you out 'n' out
I'll be the round about
The words will make you out 'n' out

In and around the lake
Mountains come out of the sky and they stand there
Twenty four before my love and I'll be there

I'll be the round about
The words will make you out n out
You change the day your way
Call it morning driving thru the sound and in and out the valley

In and around the lake
Mountains come out of the sky and they stand there
One mile over we'll be there and we'll see you
Ten true summers we'll be there and laughing too
Twenty four before my love you'll see I'll be there with you

Goober Peas
Words: A Pindar
Tune: P Nutt
Date: 1866 (officially)

Sittin' by the roadside on a summer's day,
Chattin' with my messmates, passing time away,
Lying in the shadows, underneath the trees
-- Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!

CHORUS:
Peas! Peas! Peas! Peas! Eating goober peas! Goodness, how delicious, eating goober peas!

When a horseman passes, the soldiers have a rule
To cry out at their loudest "Hey, Mister, here's your mule!"
But still another pleasure enchantinger than these
Is wearing out your grinders, eating goober peas!

CHORUS

Just before the battle, the General hears a row;
He says "The Yanks are coming, I hear their rifles now!"
He turns around in wonder, and what do you think he sees?
The Georgia Militia, eating goober peas!

CHORUS

I think my song has lasted almost long enough!
The subject's interesting, but rhymes are mighty rough!
I wish this war was over, when free from rags and fleas,
We'd kiss our wives and sweethearts and gobble goober peas!

CHORUS

Most Southerners recognize the terms goober and goober pea as other names for the peanut. Goober is related to Kongo or Kimbundu n-guba, "peanut." The word is especially interesting as one of a small stock of African language borrowings brought over by slaves. Most of these words have to do with the food items imported from Africa for the slaves to eat. In this category are gumbo, "okra," which is of Bantu origin, and yam, which is of West African origin. The noun cooter is related to the Mandingo word kuta and the Tshiluba word nkudu, both meaning "turtle." Cooter is still used in South Carolina, Georgia, and the Gulf states to denote the edible freshwater turtle of the genus Chrysemys and, by extension, other turtles and tortoises.

Aha! listeners. There's our resident palindrome eating peanuts. Love it, dys.

Sooooo. WWI songs is it?

Well, I'll have to do one for msolga and Walter.

Back in a few, folks

civil war.

Oh! How I Hate to Get Up In The Morning
Irving Berlin

"Oh! How I Hate To Get Up In The Morning,
Oh! How I'd love to remain in bed
For the hardest blow of all is to hear the bugler call:
'You've got to get up, you've got to get up,
You've got to get up this morning!'"

Someday I'm going to murder the bugler
Someday they're going to find him dead
I'll amputate his reveille and stomp upon it heavily
And spend the rest of my life in bed!

A bugler in the army is the luckiest of men
He wakes the boys at five and then goes back to bed again
He doesn't have to blow again until the afternoon
If ev'rything goes well with me I'll be a bugler soon!

"Oh! How I Hate To Get Up In The Morning,
Oh! How I'd love to remain in bed
For the hardest blow of all is to hear the bugler call:
'You've got to get up, you've got to get up,
You've got to get up this morning!'"

Oh, boy! The minute the battle is over
Oh, boy! The minute the foe is dead
I'll put my uniform away and move to Philadelphia
And spend the rest of my life in bed!

now there's an oxymoron

Well, dys, I just saw your history behind the pea pod. What a surprise, and Letty didn't even know that it was a Civil War song.

Guess I will have to rethink my songs. I do know a few from the War Between the States. <smile>

Hey, there Canada playing Irving Berlin. Sorry I mislead everyone.

If you'll notice, dj. I corrected dys. It's the war between the states.

When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
We'll give him a hearty welcome then
Hurrah! Hurrah!
The men will cheer and the boys will shout
The ladies they will all turn out
And we'll all feel gay,
When Johnny comes marching home.
2. The old church bell will peal with joy
Hurrah! Hurrah!
To welcome home our darling boy
Hurrah! Hurrah!
The village lads and lassies say
With roses they will strew the way,
And we'll all feel gay
When Johnny comes marching home.

3. Get ready for the Jubilee,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
We'll give the hero three times three,
Hurrah! Hurrah!
The laurel wreath is ready now
To place upon his loyal brow
And we'll all feel gay
When Johnny comes marching home.

some thoughts on war

Southampton Dock
Pink Floyd

They disembarked in 45
And no-one spoke and no-one smiled
There were to many spaces in the line.
Gathered at the cenotaph
All agreed with hand on heart
To sheath the sacrificial Knifes.

But now

She stands upon Southampton dock
With her handkerchief
And her summer frock clings
To her wet body in the rain.
In quiet desperation knuckles
White upon the slippery reins
She bravely waves the boys Goodbye again.

And still the dark stain spreads between
Their shoulder blades.
A mute reminder of the poppy fields and graves.
And when the fight was over
We spent what they had made.
But in the bottom of our hearts
We felt the final cut.


Soldier's Things
Tom Waits

Davenports and kettle drums
and swallow tail coats
table cloths and patent leather shoes
bathing suits and bowling balls
and clarinets and rings
and all this radio really
needs is a fuse
a tinker, a tailor
a soldier's things
his rifle, his boots full of rocks
and this one is for bravery
and this one is for me
and everything's a dollar
in this box

Cuff links and hub caps
trophies and paperbacks
it's good transportation
but the brakes aren't so hot
neck tie and boxing gloves
this jackknife is rusted
you can pound that dent out
on the hood
a tinker, a tailor
a soldier's things
his rifle, his boots full of rocks
oh and this one is for bravery
and this one is for me
and everything's a dollar
in this box


Think Again
Billy Bragg

Do you think that the Russians want war?
These are the parents of children who died in the last one
Do you think that it's possible, knowing their past
That they'd ever consider repeating the last
When 20 million were slaughtered by Nazi invasion?
They died fighting on our side, you know,
In a fight to defend humankind
Against Nazi terror and hatred

In the name of humanity, bitterly torn
In the name of our children as yet to be born
Before we do that which can never be undone I beg of you
Think, think again, and again and again and again and again

Do you think that the Russians want war?
They're the sons and the daughters of parents who died in the last one
Do you think that they'd want to go through that again
The destruction, the bloodshed, the suffering and pain?
In the second world war out of every 3 dead one was Russian
If we try with all of our power
Can we not find a way
To peacefully settle our difference?

Do you think that the Russians want war?
Will the voice of insanity lead you to total destruction?
Will you stumble to death as though you were blind?
Will you cause the destruction of all humankind?
Will you die because you don't like their political system?
There will be no survivors you know
No one left to scream in the night
And condemn our stupidity


And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda
Pogues

When I was a young man I carried my pack
And I lived the free life of a rover
From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback
I waltzed my Matilda all over
Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son
It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be
done
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we sailed away from the quay
And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the
cheers
We sailed off to Gallipoli

How well I remember that terrible day
When the blood stained the sand and the water
And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well
He showered us with bullets, he rained us with
shells
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell
Nearly blew us right back to Australia
But the band played Waltzing Matilda
As we stopped to bury our slain
And we buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Then it started all over again

Now those who were living did their best to survive
In that mad world of blood, death and fire
And for seven long weeks I kept myself alive
While the corpses around me piled higher
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit
And when I woke up in my hospital bed
And saw what it had done, Christ I wished I was
dead
Never knew there were worse things than dying
And no more I'll go waltzing Matilda
To the green bushes so far and near
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs
No more waltzing Matilda for me

So they collected the cripples, the wounded and
maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia
The legless, the armless, the blind and insane
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay
I looked at the place where me legs used to be
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
To grieve and to mourn and to pity
And the band played Waltzing Matilda
As they carried us down the gangway
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared
And they turned all their faces away

And now every April I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me
I see my old comrades, how proudly they march
Reliving the or their dreams of past glory
I see the old men, all twisted and torn
The forgotten heroes of a forgotten war
And the young people ask me, "What are they
marching for?"
And I ask myself the same question
And the band plays Waltzing Matilda
And the old men still answer to the call
But year after year their numbers get fewer
Some day no one will march there at all

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
Who'll go a-waltzing Matilda with me?

Yours are the better songs, dj. I think I got something in my eye again.



Tenting Tonight on the Old Camp-Ground
(Walter Kittredge)

We're tenting tonight on the old camp-ground
Give us a song to cheer
Our weary hearts, a song of home
And friends we love so dear.

cho: Many are the hearts that are weary tonight
Wishing for the war to cease,
Many are the hearts looking for the right
To see the dawn of peace.
Tenting tonight, tenting tonight
Tenting on the old camp-ground.

We've been tenting tonight on the old camp-ground,
Thinking of days gone by
Of the loved ones at home that gave us the hand,
And the tear that said, "Good-by !"
cho:

We are tired of war on the old camp-ground;
Many are the dead and gone
Of the brave and true who've left their homes;
Others been wounded long.

cho:

We've been fighting today on the old camp-ground, .
Many are lying near ;
Some are dead, and some are dying,
Many are in tears.

final cho: Many are the hearts that are weary tonight,
Wishing for the war to cease;
Many are the hearts looking for the light,
To see the dawn of peace.
Dying tonight, dying tonight,
Dying on the old camp-ground.

there are no better songs, only different songs

i really liked the tenting song, was aware of it but had never really heard it before

The Patriot Game
Dominic Behan

Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing,
For the love of one's country is a terrible thing.
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame,
And it makes us all part of the patriot game.

My name is O'Hanlon, and I've just turned sixteen.
My home is in Monaghan, and where I was weaned
I learned all my life cruel England's to blame,
So now I am part of the patriot game.

This Ireland of ours has too long been half free.
Six counties lie under John Bull's tyranny.
But still De Valera is greatly to blame
For shirking his part in the Patriot game.

They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair,
His wounds from the fighting all bloody and bare.
His fine body twisted, all battered and lame
They soon made me part of the patriot game.

It's nearly two years since I wandered away
With the local battalion of the bold IRA,
For I read of our heroes, and wanted the same
To play out my part in the patriot game.

[extra verse I found]
I don't mind a bit if I shoot down police
They are lackeys for war never guardians of peace
And yet at deserters I'm never let aim
The rebels who sold out the patriot game

And now as I lie here, my body all holes
I think of those traitors who bargained in souls
And I wish that my rifle had given the same
To those Quislings who sold out the patriot game.

When I say "better", Canada, I mean the message is more poignant.

Strange, listeners. I just put a place on the Where Am I forum and the two have once again meshed. I'm beginning to feel that I do have a hidden sense.

Yes, with your song about the Patriot games, we know there are two sides to every war, dj. The losing side, and the winning side.

This is in my head, folks, and the hymn is so lovely, that I must play it:

All in the April evening,
April airs were abroad.
I saw the sheep with their lambs,
Pass me by on the road.

I saw the sheep with their lambs,
Pass me by on the road.
All in the April evening
I thought on the lamb of God.

The lambs were weary and crying,
With a weak human cry.
I thought on the lamb of God,
Going meekly to die

Up in the blue, blue mountains,
Dewy pastures are sweet
Rest for their little bodies,
Rest for their little feet.

But for the lamb,
The lamb of God,
Up on the hillside steep
Only a cross, a cross of shame.
Two stark crosses between.

All in the April evening,
April airs were abroad.
I saw the sheep with their lambs,
And thought on the lamb of God.

Wow! I didn't think that I would get through that one, listeners, folks.

From rote, it was.

Goodnight.

From Letty with love

Goodnight, Letty (and 'Good morning' from here)