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Cowboy Troy
by Paul Harwitz


Cowboy Troy sometimes seems to be
The epitome of outlandish stupidity.
He's not a bad cowboy when he's doing his work,
But thinking things through is a duty he'll often shirk.

Cowboy Troy works all right in the saddle,
But common sense will often skidaddle
When he hatches one of his hare-brained schemes,
And people laugh so hard they near bust their seams.

Like the time he thought he'd invent a beauty-cream
And went to the General Store to see what ingredients he could glean
From the list of things on the jars of stuff there,
Then got a well-worn chemical recipe book out of who knows where.

He decided to use an old tool-shed quite a ways from the bunkhouse,
And said that's 'cause he didn't want us disturbing his inventing anyhows.
He figured he'd invent this new stuff without even a plan.
"Why, heck," he said, "they's mostly gliss-sireen and lan-o-lan."

He grinned. "I'll add in some rosewater and sagebrush,
And secret ingredients, and them cosmetic companies'll just rush
To buy my beauty-cream's formulary,
Or maybe I'll sell jars of it myself to every store and apothecary."

"Cowboy Troy," I said, "you don't know nothin' about chemistry,
Or about the women's beauty concoction industry.
They's got it down to a science, and there ain't no way,
They'll shell out a fortune to a hayseed cowpoke anyway."

"I'll show y'all, " he said to us other cowhands, "and then you'll repent
That you ever doubted my natural-born inventin' talent.
On the fairer sex's moisturizin', prettifyin' market I'll make quite a dent.
It'll keep gals' skin young and healthy, and also wrinkles prevent."

With that, he traipsed off to that lonesome tool-shed.
He's a stubborn cuss when he gets some lame idea in his head.
Now this was the exact same day we were expecting a whole load
Of new irrigation equipment and pipe to be brought in by the main road.

We heard the trucks coming even before we saw the convoy,
And you could tell they were turning from the highway
And would be directly coming over to the ranch's way.
From that distance, each gleaming truck looked like a toy.

The nearer they got to us, the more the ground seemed to shake,
Till something totally unexpected our attention did take.
The tool-shed blew up in a spectacular way
That all of us still talk about to this day.

All of us, that is, except Cowboy Troy.
He flew through the air with unwanted ease
And his arms and legs were windmilling and flailing
Like he was trying to get a hold of a non-existent railing.

Pieces of the tool-shed were still sailing away
And a compact object of some sort jetted my way.
I jumped back, and it landed almost at my feet.
It was a book. Of chemical formulas, it was replete.

Then I saw one page which was dog-eared and marked.
"This must be Cowboy Troy's," I casually remarked.
"Let's see where he landed, and if he's still livin'.
If he's not, on his saddle, my claim I'm givin'."

We ran over to where we'd allowed he must've alighted.
It was just a ways beyond the main stable.
Someone had done a right good job of mucking out that barn.
Troy had landed in a pile of horse manure and looked quite benighted.

"Git me out of here!" he yelled, so he was still alive.
And the boys were buzzin' like bees in a hive.
"We can't move you, Troy. You'll just have to lie there real nice and still,"
I said, "till the ambulance gets here, which I hope it shortly will."

"What!?" he shouted. "You want to leave me lying in this mess!?"
"Troy, it's a medical precaution. If your spine or neck is bollixed,
To move you without proper skill could cripple or kill. I confess
I'd like to help you, but we're all just range-hands, not trained medics."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" he shouted, and some nasty words I won't relate.
"That horse-doo saved your life," I countered. "Don't be such an ingrate.
That and the hay and all
Surely saved your life by cushioning your fall."

I looked at the page of that book, and my eyes grew wide.
"Cowboy Troy," I asked, "were you trying to commit suicide?"
"What do you mean?" he demanded in an angry tone.
"Do you have any idea what you were mixing out of this chemistry tome?"

"You know I was inventing a super beauty-cream."
"Troy, this page tells how to make nitroglycereen!"
"Well, yeah," he said, "but I only made a little bit.
It was just another secret ingredient."

"Don't you know nitro's a dangerous explosive?
The vibrations from the trucks must've set it off!
Don't you think at all? Or are you just a dummkopf?"
"I'm not stupid," he said. "Don't insult me with words corrosive!"

"Well, what were you thinking, to put nitro into lady's beauty-glop?"
"They also use it," he argued, "in those little pills so the heart won't stop.
I figured if it keeps the heart young, it'll work even better on skin."
We all laughed so hard, he got even madder lying in all that slop.

"You're lucky you weren't killed outright,"
I said, "or from the fall from your unscheduled morning flight.
Now, your sensibilities I don't mean to rattle,
But, Cowboy Troy, if you die, kin I have your saddle?"

Well, at that, he fussed and fumed and cussed
So much that it kept us in stitches till the ambulance got in sight.
The paramedics said it was a miracle, but that he'd be all right.
They strapped him into the stretcher real tight.

He was still cussin' a blue streak when they drove him away.
When the Admissions Nurse got told the reason for his hospital stay,
She laughed so hard that they still talk about it today.
Me and a couple of the other boys went to see him the next day.

"We brought you clean clothes 'cause they're cuttin' you loose,"
I said. "The doctor allows it's a good thing you landed on your caboose."
He got real sullen and wouldn't talk at all on the long drive home.
He was pickin' at his indignity like a cowdog pickin' at a bone.

He sat silent even all through the welcome-home supper.
The evening meal at the Raucous Ranch is usually a picker-upper.
Later on, he was still in quite a blue funk,
But even more so when he got ready to get into his bunk.

For under his pillow, some too-clever cowpoke
Had put something he thought was a real good joke.
A hand-made label graced a jar of something his ego to ream.
It read, "Famous Cowboy Troy's Nitro-Glyer-Cream."

Hey, edgar. Great song, buddy. I like the real Cowboy Troy and he is funny. Thanks, Texas for the origin of Troy's beauty cream, because now we know more about Helen.

How about a poem concerning a hybrid animal, listeners:


Sad Minotaur, raging steer, restrained by ambivalence
in the riddles' core. Pulled here, then there, until
those muscled loins weak from inertia go nowhere.
In the beast's bloodshot eye
another eye of pure spirit sees beyond spiraling walls,
beyond the white stones, an infinity, where the order
is not what it saw before the center seized it:
boundaries, measurable reaches, round leaves in sun
-daubed colors, weeping trees and grass hefting
rain in whose drops the sun sees itself. All
those contradictions neutralized
by logic, the mind's blinding light in whose intensity
distinctions disappear; lions metamorphose into crocodiles,
sycamores fuse with sumac, and the blare of a swan
grieving for a lost mate becomes the lisp of a lake
awakening to eternal sunrise, or the lone cry of a loon.

this is so obvious on Roy Rogers' birthday, but i happen to like the song, so...

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we're together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.
Happy trails to you, 'till we meet again.

Some trails are happy ones,
Others are blue.
It's the way you ride the trail that counts,
Here's a happy one for you.

Happy trails to you, until we meet again.
Happy trails to you, keep smilin' until then.
Who cares about the clouds when we're together?
Just sing a song and bring the sunny weather.

Happy trails to you, 'till we meet again.

Well, Mr. Turtle, we find that there are songs we like that we didn't realize that we liked until listening with new ears. <smile>The inverse is also true. There are things that we loved when we were small that no longer strike a chord.

I recall having read Dale's book, "Angels Unaware". That was in my searching period. Although the subject was very tender, I think back now and realize her writing style wasn't all that great.

Then, as our dj has observed, the music adds nothing to the lyrics. For instance, listeners, this is a song with a melody, and I could play it, but I want to read it for our listeners first:



(Words by Grian McGregor; tune by Jay Ungar)

The sun is sinking low in the sky above Ashokan,
The pines and the willows know soon we will part.
There's a whisper in the wind of promises unspoken,
And a love that will always remain in my heart.

My thoughts will return to the sound of your laughter,
The magic of moving as one.
And a time we'll remember long ever after
The moonlight and music and dancing are done.

Will we climb the hills once more?
Will we walk the woods together?
Will I feel you holding me close once again?
Will every song we've sung stay with us forever?
Will you dance in my dreams or my arms until then?

Under the moon the mountains lie sleeping,
Over the lake the stars shine.
They wonder if you and I will be keeping,
The magic and music, or leave them behind.

Letty, that is so beautiful.
I am so glad I went 'reading by' and saw it.

Isn't it though, Theo? I stumbled upon that in a search of the archives. Nice to see you back in out studio. Any requests?

Well, folks, as we wait for Theo to think, let's hear this one. It's one of those songs that we didn't think we liked. <smile>

I do wish all of you could have heard our friend Paul play this on piano. The chord changes were fantastic, and it's one of the few that made with cry with the beauty of it:

WHAT'LL I DO

Irving Berlin

Gone is the romance that was so divine
It's broken and cannot be mended
You will go your way and I will go mine
And now that our love dream has ended

What'll I do when you are far away
And I am blue
What'll I do

What'll I do when I am wondering who
Is kissing you
What'll I do

What'll I do with just a photograph
To tell my troubles to

When I'm alone with only dreams of you
That won't come true
What'll I do

What'll I do with just a photograph
To tell my troubles to

When I'm alone with only dreams of you
That won't come true
What'll I do
What'll I do
What'll I do
What'll I do

That is one of my all-time favorites, Letty. I think it's one of the most beautiful songs ever written.

Ah, Eva. Welcome back to our wee studio. One of those songs that touches the senses, no?

Here is one that I had forgotten existed, folks, and we shall dedicate it to our Eva and all who dream.

Feinstein, Michael Lyrics - I Can Dream Can't I

As we eye the blue Horizon's bend
Earth and sky appear to meet and end
But it's merely an illusion
Like your heart and mine there's no sweet conclusion

I can see, no matter how near you'll be
You'll never belong to me,
But I can dream can't I
Can't I pretend that I'm locked in the bend of your embrace
For dreams are just like wine, and I'm drunk with mine
I'm aware my heart is a sad affair
There's much disillusion there
But I can dream, can't I?
Can't I adore you, although we are oceans apart
I can't make you open your heart
But I can dream, can't I?

feeling a little depressed this afternoon - the weight of the world on my shoulders :wink: .
so i am trying to cheer myself up with the MARX BROTHER'S PHILOSOPHY - "laugh and the world will laugh with you " or somthing like it .
and i'm willing to share it with you
hbg
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Dr. Hackenbush" was written for "A Day at the Races" by
Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby, and therefore bears and unsurprising
resemblance in some spots to "Hooray for Captain Spaulding." It was never
included in the film, however, which almost everyone now feels is a mistake.
I'd always assumed this was an executive decision, but in "Life With Groucho"
Arthur Marx claims that Groucho was not eager to go through all the physical
effort of shooting a big production number (particularly, one presumes, with
Sam "twenty-takes-per-shot" Wood directing) and therefore, when the length of
the film began to be a concern, was only to happy to drop the number. This
seems curious in light of later events; Groucho was reputed to love the
song and sing it at the drop of a hat, at parties, live shows, etc.
Fortunately, he recorded the song for Decca in the 1950's, and it's
currently available on a couple of CD's, e.g. "Here's Groucho" from MCA,
and "Gratuitously Groucho" from Raven Records.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHORUS:
So this is Dr. Hackenbush, the famous medico,
You're welcome, Dr. Hackenbush...

HACKENBUSH:
If that's the case, I'll go

CHORUS:
Oh, no, you mustn't go...

HACKENBUSH
Who said I mustn't go?
The only reason that I came is so that I can go.

I'm Dr. Hackenbush,
My medical standing's very high,
Well, anyways, ladies and gentlemen, I
am Dr. Hackenbush

CHORUS
He's Dr. Hackenbush...

HACKENBUSH:
I'm Dr. Hackenbush,
As a matter of fact, to be exact,
I'm Dr. Hackenbush!

FEMALE SINGER (Judy?)
I'm sure that they'd all like to hear,
Some facts about your great career

HACKENBUSH
Although my horn I hate to blow,
There's one thing that you ought to know:

I'm Dr. Hackenbush
Which all my friends will verify
Well, anyways ladies and gentlemen, I
am Dr. Hackenbush

CHORUS:
He's Dr. Hackenbush

HACKENBUSH
I'm Dr. Hackenbush,
You never would guess, but nevertheless
I'm Dr. Hackenbush!

For ailments abdominal, my charges are nominal
Though I'm great for I've a rate for tonsillectomy,
Sick and healthy, poor and wealthy, come direct to me
"Oh, God bless you!" they yell
When I send them home well,
But they never, no they never, send a check to me.

I've won acclaim for curing ills, both in the north and south,
You'll find my name just like my pills in everybody's mouth;
I've never lost a case...

CHORUS:
He's never lost a case...

HACKENBUSH:
I've lost a lot of patients, but I've never lost a case!

My diagnosis never fails, I know just what to do,
Whenever anybody ails, I'm sympathetic too,
My heart within me melts...

CHORUS:
His heart within him melts...

HACKENBUSH:
No matter what I treat 'em for, they die from something else.

When your nerves start to rock, put your faith in your doc,
When you're sick he will stick to the end,
With the possible exception of your mother,
A doctor's a man's best friend!

CHORUS:
Yes, a doctor's a man's best friend!

HACKENBUSH:
A doctor's a man's best friend, whoa-oh,
A doctor's a man's best friend,

HACKENBUSH & CHORUS:
A doctor is a man's best friend!

HACKENBUSH:
Right or wrong, wrong or right,
Night and day, day and night,
On his call you can always depend;
With the possible exception of your mother and your father
And your uncles and your brothers and your nephews and your nieces
And your sisters and your cousins, whom you number by the dozens...

HACKENBUSH & CHORUS:
A doctor's a man's best friend!

hamburger, that is wonderful and reminds me of Dr. House. What a way to climb out of the doldrums, Canada.

Hey, buddy, and all. It's all right to be a little down in the dumps once in a while, right folks?

Nothing gives me greater pleasure than for others to cheer themselves up. Love it.

Here's one that my husband truly appreciated, because he said the lyrics were absolutely fantastic:

Oh, How I Hate To Get Up In The Morning Lyrics
The other day I chanced to meet a soldier friend of mine,
He'd been in camp for sev'ral weeks and he was looking fine;
His muscles had developed and his cheeks were rosy red,
I asked him how he liked the life, and this is what he said:

CHORUS 1:

"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!
Some day I'm going to murder the bugler,
Some day they're going to find him dead;
I'll amputate his reveille, and step upon it heavily,
And spend the rest of my life in bed."

CHORUS 2:

"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."

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'ry thing goes well with me I'll be a bugler soon.

(CHORUS 1)
(CHORUS 2)

Irving Berlin, of course.

can't remember the name of the movie ... but i can still visualize the bugler blowing his horn !
how wonderful it is when you wake up with a hangover and somone is blowing a bugle - well , as long as the bugler is happy !
hbg

Thank you Letty, just any good ballad will do...

I loved hearing Bing Crosby, Perry Como, and Dean Martin; later-
Andy Williams, Englebert Humperdink.

That sort of 'dates' me huh??
In more recent years I have enjoyed reospeedwagon, Don and Marie Osmond, the Supremes. Lionel Ritchie and "Still"
I am mostly into instrumentals, [classics and gospel] now, as I paint and whatever.
I enjoy a lot of what you "play" here. love it.

Hey, Theo. We love Bach and Mozart, but that doesn't date us, right?

My mom was a lover of ragtime, so let's hear a follow up on the bugle bit, and then we'll play a song for dating Theo.

LYRICS:

VERSE: You're bound to fall, for the bugle call.
You're gonna brag, 'bout the Bugle Call Rag.
Thin or fat, young or old, shake their shoulders bold.
You're bound to fall, for the bugle call.
You're gonna brag, 'bout the Bugle Call Rag.

CHORUS: Hold me baby, let's syncopate to the blue melody.
Just hesitate, while a break they take,
Shh! While we're dancing please hold me tight, step lively, don't lag.
Swing along to that Bugle Call Rag.

Artist: Dean Martin
Song: Volare
Album: Best Of Dean Martin
[" Best Of Dean Martin " CD]

Volare, oh oh
Cantare, oh oh oh oh
Let's fly way up to the clouds
Away from the maddening crowds
We can sing in the glow of a star that I know of
Where lovers enjoy peace of mind
Let us leave the confusion and all disillusion behind
Just like birds of a feather, a rainbow together we'll find

Volare, oh oh
E cantare, oh oh oh oh
No wonder my happy heart sings
Your love has given me wings
Penso che un sogno cosi non ritorni mai piu
Mi dipingevo le mani e la faccia di blu
Poi d'improvviso venivo dal vento rapido
E incominciavo a volare nel cielo infinito

Volare, oh oh
E cantare, oh oh oh oh
Nel blu, dipinto di blu
Felice di stare lassu
E volavo, volavo felice piu in alto del sole ed ancora piu su
Mentre il mondo pian piano spariva lontano laggiu
Una musica dolce suonava soltanto per me

Volare, oh oh
E cantare, oh oh oh oh
No wonder my happy heart sings
Your love has given me wings
Nel blu, dipinto di blu
Felice di stare lassu

Superbly done, hambgr. (clap clap clap clap clap)
One of his best, in that marvelous Italian voice.

Hey, hbg and Theo. You want Italian. Here is REAL Italian.

Enrico Caruso:

Original Italian

Recitar! Mentre preso dal delirio,
non so più quel che dico,
e quel che faccio!
Eppur è d'uopo, sforzati!
Bah! sei tu forse un uom?
Tu se' Pagliaccio!
Vesti la giubba,
e la faccia in farina.
La gente paga, e rider vuole qua.
E se Arlecchin t'invola Colombina,
ridi, Pagliaccio, e ognun applaudirà!
Tramuta in lazzi lo spasmo ed il pianto;
in una smorfia il singhiozzo il dolor, Ah!
Ridi, Pagliaccio,
sul tuo amore infranto!
Ridi del duol, che t'avvelena il cor!

Hey, Theo. Does that date all of us? I will tell you one thing, folks, that man could turn me on at the drop of a song.

So let's all wish Sam a Happy Birthday .

Raggedy, dear. You are just the one we wanted to see, PA. Marvelous picture of Sam, and a very shy fellow he is, honestly.


Here's one from Olivia for Sam

Olivia Newton John
» Sam

I heard that you're on your own, now
So am I
I'm living alone now
I was wrong
So were you
What will you do?
Are you glad
To be free?
Are you feeling lost,
Just like me?
Longing for
Company
Oh Sam, Sam,
You know where I am
Come around and talk awhile
I need your smile
You need a shoulder
Oh Sam, Sam,
You know where I am
And the door is open wide
Come on inside
Longing to see you
Oh Sam, Sam
You know where I am
I find the days hard to face, now
Empty rooms
There's much too much space now
And the nights
Go so slow
I'm sure you know
Wish I knew
What to do
It would be so nice seeing you
And it might
Help you, too
Oh Sam, Sam
You know where I am
Come around and talk awhile
I need your smile
You need a shoulder
Oh Sam, Sam
You know where I am
And the door is open wide
Come on inside
Longing to see you
Oh Sam, Sam
You know where I am
Oh Sam
You know where I am
Oh Sam, Ooh Sam
You know
You know
You know where I am.

Goodnight to Sam and all of you wonderful folks.

From Letty with love.

Good morning, WA2K listeners and contributors. Wow! it is muggy and close here in my little studio. Another Monday, so let's hear a song concerning it:



Monday Morning Lyrics


Long before my stomping grounds got trampled on,
I sat and felt the greatest song,
That every painter, every poet, couldn't create,
And the words they open doors,
From what my parents had wished for,
When they had a child and raised a kid that came to this,

And how good does life feel in times like this?
And how good is my shot before I close my eyes and miss?
These feelings exist,

Let it rain on Monday morning,
Right before the world's awake,
I will lie there and just think about the weather,
Let my blood beat from my chest,
And put my veins up to it's test,
I will breathe in and know what it feels to feel alive,
I'm alive,

About the time the treehouse built fell on the lawn,
We sat and heard the first of songs,
That every rocking chair and shoebox would create,
It's a world that's grown to be,
So careless with it's memories,
Only benevolence can capture what I mean,

But how good's this picture when the backgrounds gone?
And I still feel great about standing tall when everything went wrong,
And I am all alone,

Let it rain on Monday morning,
Right before the world's awake,
I will lie there and just think about the weather,
Let my blood beat from my chest,
And put my veins up to it's test,
I will breathe in and know what it feels to feel alive,
I'm alive,
Yeah, I'm alive,
Well I'm so alive, yeah, yeah,

Let it rain on my rooftop,
So I can hear the sounds,
Of passing winds through blowing trees,
Says I'll see you around,
When the seasons can say things,
That I never can,
When words describe nothing,
When I come home again,
Well I guess I must of lost it,
In line of my luck,
That says this is your life now,
And you're done with growing up,
Well I missed my mark,
And I miss the trees,
And I miss lying in bed today,
To picture these things,