WA2K Radio is now on the air

Well, I found it, listeners. My older sister remembers singing it in the Baptist church. All I remember is Be a Little Sunbeam. (there are others, of course)


There's a dark & a troubled side of life
But there's a bright and a sunny side, too
Tho' you meet with the darkness and strife
The sunny side you also may view

Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
Keep on the sunny side of life
It will help us ev'ry day, it will brighten all the way
If we'll keep on the sunny side of life

Tho' the storm and it's furies raged today,
Crushing hope that we cherish so dear;
The cloud & storm will, in time, pass away
And the sun again will shine bright & clear.

Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
Keep on the sunny side of life
It will help us ev'ry day, it will brighten all the way
If we'll keep on the sunny side of life

Let us greet with the song of hope each day
Tho' the moment be cloudy or fair
Let us trust in our Saviour always
Who keepeth everyone in His care

Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
Keep on the sunny side of life
It will help us ev'ry day, it will brighten all the way
If we'll keep on the sunny side of life

Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side,
Keep on the sunny side of life
It will help us ev'ry day, it will brighten all the way
If we'll keep on the sunny side of life
If we'll keep on the sunny side of life

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life (from Monty Python)

words and music by Eric Idle

Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

If life seems jolly rotten
There's something you've forgotten
And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dumps
Don't be silly chumps
Just purse your lips and whistle - that's the thing.

And...always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the light side of life...

For life is quite absurd
And death's the final word
You must always face the curtain with a bow.
Forget about your sin - give the audience a grin
Enjoy it - it's your last chance anyhow.

So always look on the bright side of death
Just before you draw your terminal breath

Life's a piece of ****
When you look at it
Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true.
You'll see it's all a show
Keep 'em laughing as you go
Just remember that the last laugh is on you.

And always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the right side of life...
(Come on guys, cheer up!)
Always look on the bright side of life...
Always look on the bright side of life...
(Worse things happen at sea, you know.)
Always look on the bright side of life...
(I mean - what have you got to lose?)
(You know, you come from nothing - you're going back to nothing.
What have you lost? Nothing!)
Always look on the right side of life...

Well, thanks, tin sword. Bright and right and sunny side up? Well, folks, that's sun and approval and eggs. What more could we want here on our little radio. <smile>

Harold Arlen's point of view:



"Take it Slow, Joe"

Take it slow, Joe,
Oh, take it slow.
Don't rush it in high,
Let's start it in low.
This whimsical game
Thrives on an easy flame,
Go smart, go slow,
Don't burn it up, Joe.
Make it last,
Play it cool, make it last.
If it's only a dream,
Don't dream it up too fast.
If it's love, don't let us blunder,
Just let this wonder grow,
Let it grow,
Sweet man, don't you know
That love's a long goodbye,
So go slow, Joe.

"Ain't It De Truth"

Life is short, short, brother,
(Ain't it the truth!)
And there is no other,
(Ain't it the truth!)
You got to rock that rainbow
While you still got your youth,
Ain't it the solid truth!

Was a guy called Adam,
(Ain't it the truth!)
He said: "Look here, madam..."
(Ain't it the truth!)
"You got to bite that apple
While you still got your tooth."
Ain't it the mellow truth!

Lord gave you wine and gin
To drown your troubles in,
What's all this talk of sin?
Rise and shine
And fall in line.

Get that new religion
(Ain't it the truth!)
'Fore you is dead pigeon
(Ain't it the truth!)
'Cause when you layin' horizontal
In that telephone booth,
There'll be no breathin' spell,
That's only naturell,
Ain't it the gos-a-pel truth!

Life is short, short, brother,
(Ain't it the truth!)
And there is no other,
(Ain't it the truth!)
So if you don't love livin'
Then you're slightly uncouth,
Ain't it the visible truth!

Said that gal DuBarry,
(Ain't it the truth!)
"Love is cash and carry."
(Ain't it the truth!)
"You got to shake it down
Or stir it up with vermouth."
Ain't it the dignified truth!

Life is a ripplin' brook,
Man is a fish to cook,
You got to bait your hook,
Rise and shine
And cast your line.

Got to get your possum
(Ain't it the truth!)
While you still in blossom
(Ain't it the truth!)
That went for Delilah,
Cleopatra and Ruth:
Them babes did mighty swell,
They rang that Jeze-bell,
Ain't it the gos-a-pel truth!
It's the truth,
The truth,
It's the solid mellow truth!

I just couldn't resist this when I found it.
The is the Hillbilly Hoedown from a classic Bugs Bunny cartoon.

Bugs is dressed as a female hillbilly and asks the guys for
jukebox money...

(Bugs is handed a nickel and he puts it into the jukebox.)

BUGS: (Girl voice.) Thanks just all to pieces. Sow Belly Trio comin' right
up...

(A trio appears in the jukebox -- a fiddle player, an accordionist and a
guitar player. The guitarist calls the square dance:)

CALLER: (Spoken.) Let's all square dance. Places all. (The scene cuts
to the boys and Bugs forming to start dancing. They follow the instructions
of the caller.)

CALLER: Bow to your corner, bow to your own.
(Singing.) Three hands up and 'round you go,
Break it up with a dosey-do.
Chicken in the bread pan kickin' out dough,
Skip to ma Lou my darling.
The old lady out you pretty little thing,
Promenade around the ring,
Big foot up and little foot down,
Make that big foot jar the ground.
Lady step back and two gents in,
Back you go and forward again.
Step right up with an elbow swing,
Skip to ma Lou my darling.

(Bugs nonchalantly dances away from the brothers towards the jukebox.)

CALLER: Allemande left with the old left hand
Follow through the right an' left grand.

(Bugs removes his disguise while still dancing, dons a floppy hat and grabs
a fiddle.)

CALLER: Meet your honey with a great big smile
Promenade Indian style.

(Bugs unplugs the jukebox with his foot and takes over as the fiddler and
caller, all without missing a beat. The brothers continue to do as the caller
says:)

BUGS: (Singing.) Promenade across the floor,
Sashay right on outa the door.
Out the door and in to the glade,
And everybody promenade.

(Bugs prances outside, fiddling for all he's worth.)

BUGS: (Singing.) Step right up, you're doin' fine,
I'll pull your beard, you pull mine.
Yank it again, like you did before,
Break it up with a tug o' war.

(The beard tug of war gets the brothers onto a wooden bridge. Bugs snips
their beards with scissors so they lose their grip and fall off of the bridge
into a stream.)

BUGS: (Singing.) Now into the brook and fish for the trout,
Dive right in and splash about.
Trout, trout, pretty little trout,
One more splash and come right out.

(The brothers promenade out of the stream onto dry land, dripping.)

BUGS: (Singing.) Shake like a hound dog, shake again,
Wallow 'round in the ol' pig pen.

(The brothers jump into a nearby hog waller.)

BUGS: (Singing.) Wallow some more, you all know how,
Roll around like an old fat sow.

(The boys stand up in the mud. They both have a pig dance partner now.)

BUGS: (Singing.) Allemande left with your left hand,
Follow through with a right-left grand.
Now lead your partner, the dirty ol' thing,
Follow through with an elbow swing.

(The brothers lose their new partners and return to dry land.)

BUGS: (Singing.) Grab a fence post, hold it tight,
Womp your partner with all your might.
Hit him in the shin, hit him in the head,
Hit him again, the critter ain't dead.
Wop him low and wop him high,
Stick your finger in his eye.
Pretty little rhythm, pretty little sound,
Bang your heads against the ground.

(Bugs continues to fiddle away.)

BUGS: (Singing.) Promenade all around the room,
Promenade like a bride and groom.

(Bugs leads the boys to a hay baler machine. He opens a door in the machine
for them to enter.)

BUGS: (Singing.) Open up the door and step right in,
Close the door and into a spin.
Whirl, whirl, twist and twirl,

(Bugs throws a switch, turning on the baler.)

BUGS: (Singing.) Jump all around like a flyin' squirrel.
Now don't you cuss and don't you swear,
Just come right out and form a square.

(The "output" of the baler is a large toaster. It "pops", and the boys are
ejected as part of two bales of straw. The scene cuts to a meadow. Bugs is
again leading the brothers (who are no longer "baled") with his calling.)

BUGS: (Singing.) Now right hand over and left hand under,
Both join hands and run like thunder.
Over the hill and over the dale,
Duck your head and lift your tail.

(The call, "duck your head" comes in time for the running brothers to avoid a
low-hanging tree branch. "Lift your tail" gets them safely over a rail
fence.)

BUGS: (Singing.) Don't you stray and don't you roam,
Turn it around and promenade home.

("Turn it around" prevents the boys from running off the edge of a cliff.
They both wipe their brows in relief.

BUGS: (Singing.) Corn in the crib pen, wheat in the sack,
Turn your partner, promenade back.

(Unfortunately for the brothers, "promenade back" takes them back over the
edge of the cliff. They "walk on air" for a bit before gravity takes over.
Bugs looks over the edge of the cliff at the brothers below. They've landed at
either side of a small stream. He talks to them almost gently:)

BUGS: And now you're home.
Bow to your partner
Bow to the gent across the hall.

(At the end of their bow, the brothers collapse back into the stream.)

BUGS: And 'dat is all.

(Bugs ends it with a final fiddle flourish. Iris to black...)

I hope you all enjoyed that as much as I did.

Bugs bunny was soooooo funny, Tin Sword.

Found this in our archives:

But if we know this song at all it's probably from the classic 1949 Warner Brothers cartoon "Long-Haired Hare". It begins with Bugs Bunny enthusiastically strumming a banjo and singing while his neighbor Giovanni Jones, a famous opera performer, is trying to practice. As Jones sings, Bugs' music drifts in the window and sidetracks him so he finds himself unintentionally switching in mid-verse to whatever Bugs is singing. Infuriated, he walks up to Bugs and smashes the banjo to pieces.


Bugs:
What do they do on a rainy night in Rio?
What do they do when there is no starry sky?
(Oh, a starry sky!)
Where do they go when they can't go for a walk?
Do they stay home and talk?
Or do they sit and sigh? ay ay.
Jones:
What do they do in Mississippi,
When skies are drippy...?


(abruptly realizes what he's singing and storms out)

Bugs:
And what do they do in Tee-ya-wanna,
When they wanna snuggle tight?
Well....

That's what they do in Rio on a rainy night.

Ah, the classics. I miss those old cartoons . . .
I'll keep searching for anything else that might catch my eye.

And while you're all looking for another nickel for the jukebox, I'll slip in two of today's birthdays celebrities:

Lovely pictures, Raggedy. Didn't Patty Duke marry John Astin? Thanks, PA. They will be added to our bulletin board collection.

Hey, all. Take a look at this handsome guy:



Who is he?

Thank you, Letty.
Yes, Patty Duke was married to John Astin for 13 years. She's been divorced three times.

Letty, I can't see the handsome guy. Just a little white square with a red "x".

Ah, I'm sorry, Raggedy. Let's see if anyone can guess without seeing. <smile>

He was called "The Profile" and our Hawkman gave us a little background on his amazing family. Do you remember when I got him confused with The Prince of Players?

Trying again, folks: (apologies to our Tryagain)

Edwin Boothe was the prince of players, I believe.

Here's another shot of the man:

Ah yes, I remember. Edwin Booth, brother of John Wilkes, was the Prince of Players.

But, the profile was:



Oops. I see you beat me to it Letty. You are just too darn fast with those pictures.

I just thought I would ask.

Do You Know The Way To San Jose
Burt Bacharach / Hal David

Do you know the way to San Jose?
I've been away so long. I may go wrong and lose my way.
Do you know the way to san Jose?
I'm going back to find some peace of mind in san Jose.

L.A. is a great big freeway.
Put a hundred down and buy a car.
In a week, maybe two, they'll make you a star
Weeks turn into years. how quick they pass
And all the stars that never were
Are parking cars and pumping gas

Do you know the way to san Jose?
They've got a lot of space. there'll be a place where I can stay
I was born and raised in san Jose
I'm going back to find some peace of mind in san Jose.

Fame and fortune is a magnet.
It can pull you far away from home
With a dream in your heart you're never alone.
Dreams turn into dust and blow away
And there you are without a friend
You pack your car and ride away

I've got lots of friends in san Jose
Do you know the way to san Jose
Can't wait to get back to san Jose.

John Barrymore, Raggedy. Ah, I love reading about the great family of actors. Perhaps they were a little melodramatic, and perhaps they were rogues, but that even adds to the appeal, no?

Try, I certainly do know the song, buddy, and really like Burt, but were I in California, I would need a guide dog.

How about a song for the amerinds in America:

Maiden's Prayer Lyrics


Hank Locklin

When the evening falls twilight shadows find
There beneath the stars an Indian maiden divine
The moon is on high and seems to see her there
In her eyes there's a light shining ever so bright as she whispers a silent prayer
[ trumpet - guitar ]
Every word reveals an empty broken heart
Broken by fate that's keeping them so far apart
Lonely there she kneels and tells the stars above
In her arms he belongs and her prayer is a song; her undying song of love

Erie Canal -- Bruce Springsteen

We were forty miles from Albany
Forget it I never shall.
What a terrible storm we had one night
On the E-ri-e - Canal.

[chorus:]
O the E-ri-e was a-rising
And the gin was a-getting low.
And I scarcely think we'll get a drink
Till we get to Buff-a-lo-o-o
Till we get to Buffalo.

We were loaded down with barley
We were chock-full up on rye.
The captain he looked down at me
With his gol-durned wicked eye.

Two days out from Syracuse
The vessel struck a shoal;
We like to all be foundered
On a chunk o' Lackawanna coal.

We hollered to the captain
On the towpath, treadin' dirt
He jumped on board and stopped the leak
With his old red flannel shirt.

The cook she was a grand old gal
Stood six foot in her socks.
Had a foot just like an elephant
And her breath would open locks.

The wind begins to whistle
The waves begin to roll
We had to reef our royals
On that ragin' canal.

The cook came to our rescue
She had a ragged dress;
We h'isted her upon the pole
As a signal of distress.

When we got to Syracuse
Off-mule, he was dead;
The nigh mule got blind staggers
We cracked him on the head.

The cook is in the Police Gazette
The captain went to jail;
And I'm the only son-of-a-gun
That's left to tell the tale.

Aha. I see our mayan man isn't the only one inspired by the where am I game, listeners.

Well, let's go along with him, shall we?

Round,
Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning
On an ever-spinning reel
Like a snowball down a mountain
Or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that's turning
Running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it's face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Like a tunnel that you follow
To a tunnel of it's own
Down a hollow to a cavern
Where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving
In a half-forgotten dream
Like the ripples from a pebble
Someone tosses in a stream
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping
Past the minutes on it's face
And the world is like an apple
Whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

Keys that jingle in your pocket
Words that jangle in your head
Why did summer go so quickly?
Was it something that I said?
Lovers walk along a shore
And leave their footprints in the sand
Was the sound of distant drumming
Just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway
Or the fragment of a song
Half-remembered names and faces
But to whom do they belong?
When you knew that it was over
Were you suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning
To the colour of her hair?

Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning
On an ever-spinning reel
As the images unwind
Like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind

My goodnight song, and I cannot believe that Hank Snow did this one as well:

Hank Snow Lyrics - My Little Grass Shack In Kealazkekue Hawaii Lyrics

I want to go back to the little grass shack in Kealakekua Hawaii

I want to be with all the kanes and wahines that I used to know long ago

I can hear the old guitars a playing on the beach at Honaunau

I can hear the old Hawaiians saying komo mai no kaua i ka hale welakahao



It won't be long till my ship will be sailing back to Kona

A grand old place that's always fair to see (yes siree)

Well I'm just a little Hawaiian a homesick island boy

I want to go back to my fish and poi

I want to go back to my little grass shack in Kealakekua Hawaii

Where the humuhumunukunukuapuaa go swimming by

Such a big word for such a tiny fish.

From Letty with love

i've posted this before, but since it name checks hank snow, here it goes again

He's An Old Nova Scotian
Bob Snider

He's an old Nova Scotian
far from the ocean
lost and alone on the street.

He looks like a lobster,
all boiled and red.
His coat is so greasy
his eyes are half-dead.

He doesn't remember
the last thing he said.
He's a derelict,
dead on his feet.

But that's no reason
to be sitting there teasing him,
laughing the way that you are.

You're a far sadder sight
in the deep of this night
in this cold, neon lit, coffee bar.

He comes to the counter
carrying his guitar
and he sits in the stool next to mine.

The boys at the tables
are yelling requests
but the old guy
doesn't pay them no mind.

Then he jumps up and shouts
"I come from the South Shore.
I left in the fifties 'cause
the living was poor

but I've spent all these years
walking up and down Bloor Street
living on handouts and wine."

Then he strums his guitar
and he starts in to sing
but the words don't make sense
and he gets caught in the strings.

But what was by far
the sorriest thing
was the audience howling for more.



And the manager doesn't know
what to do next
- he's been through this so many times.

He's asking him, please,
to put down the guitar
as the audience starts throwing dimes.

And the old man is standing there,
so out of place,
when he lays the guitar on the floor

and a beautiful smile
crosses his face
like he isn't there any more.

He pulls out a clipping
from a long time ago.
He says: "Here's my buddy,
his name is Hank Snow."

And some of the tables
yell back: "Yeah, we know."
As the manager
shows him the door.

But all that's no reason
to be sitting there teasing him,
laughing the way that you are.

You're a far sadder sight
in the deep of this night
in this cold, neon lit coffee bar.

You're a far sadder sight
and the losers tonight
in this cold, neon lit coffee bar.

Just A Few Things That I Ain't
The Beautiful South

When you called me a useless druggie
At least you got half of it right
When you called me a hopeless alcoholic
I'm only hopeless after nine at night
And when I said you came staggering home blind drunk
If I didn't you'd get terrible fright
And if this is the land of hope and glory
Where's the land of hope but not quite

I've been scruff bag, dirt bag, always someones binbag
But never been bono or sting
However I dressed never really impressed
So they never got to hear a damn thing
I've been bad man sad man certified mad
But never 007 or saint
Trendsetter go getter international jet setter
Are just a few things that I ain't

The time you told class I was a half wit
Was my very first 50 %
Previous best in any other test
Was either stolen copied or lent
And when you branded me and every single one of my mates
A waste of time and effort to teach
Why d'you give us sums if our only hope was bums
On someone else's deckchair and beach

I've been smart arse, mardy arse, on and off a lard arse
But never been a legend to god
New thing dumb thing even last year's thing
Headbang? - not even a nod!
I've been left-wing, secure-wing, lost stripes, gained winged
We've never caused a lady to faint
Wideboy, ladyboy, read it in the paper boy
A few things they said that I ain't

When popularity soared, hometown and abroad
I spent most of it trying to breathe in
Always ill at ease, too willing to please
An inferior life's bargain bin
When you come from a background of bargain bins
You're bound to fear it ends where it begins
So when nation adored we felt more of a fraud
And too phoney to celebrate wins

I've been scruffbag, dirtbag, always someones binbag
But never been Bono or Sting
However I dressed never really impressed
So they never got to hear a damn thing
I've been badman, sadman, certified mad
But never 007 or Saint
Trend-setter, go-getter, international jet-setter
Are just a few things that I ain't

Life Vs. The Lifeless
The Beautiful South

When was the last time you felt so happy
You had to give yourself a good pinch
When did you ever fail one of life's highs
Without using stepladder or winch
That's why the lifeless crave the past
'Cause when they're flogged, stoned, lynched
They can watch the living fizzle out to nought
Without even moving one inch

That's what keeps you alive
The thought of undeserved death
That's why cynics deep-sea dive
Just to watch someone healthy lose breath
That's what really makes you tick
When the fearless are stopped in their tracks
Optimism looks up counts the stars
Pessimism looks down and counts cracks

That Monday morning moaners club
That meet every week on park bench
At least they've earned their grumble stripes
When they fought tooth and nail in the trench
If you ever sat down in one place too long
They'd need a fork-lift truck and a wrench
Indecision drip feeds modesty
But apathy fails even to quench
That's what keeps you alive
The thought of undeserved death
That's why cynics deep-sea dive
Just to watch someone healthy lose breath
That's what really makes you tick
When the fearless are stopped in their tracks
Optimism looks up counts the stars
Pessimism looks down and counts cracks

And even when it's every man for himself
You still like to stick with the bunch
You'd rather tag along at the back of the crowd
To risk anything on a hunch

That's what keeps you alive
The thought of undeserved death
That's why cynics deep-sea dive
Just to watch someone healthy lose breath
That's what really makes you tick
When the fearless are stopped in their tracks
Optimism looks up counts the stars
Pessimism looks down and counts cracks