WA2K Radio is now on the air

Now you jolly sailor lads,
Come listen to my tale,
I'm sure you will have cause to pity me,
I was a damned young fool
In the port of Liverpool,
When I called there on my first port home from sea.
Refrain:
Oh Maggie, Maggie May
They have taken her away
To slave upon Van Dieman's cruel shore.
Oh, you robbed so many whalers,
And dosed so many sailors
But you'll never cruise 'round Peter Street no more.

I was staying at the Home,
From a voyage to Sierre Leone,
And two-pound-ten a month was all my pay,
As I jingled with my tin,
I was easy taken in,
By a little girl up there called Maggie May.

Oh, I'll never forget the day
When I first met Maggie May,
She was standing on a corner at Canning Place,
In a full-sized crin-o-line,
Like a frigate of the line,
And as she saw I was a sailor I gave chase.

She gave me a saucy nod,
And I, like a farmer's clod,
Let her take me line abreast in tow,
And under all plain sail,
We ran before the gale
And to the Crow's Nest Tavern we did go

Next morning when I woke,
I found that I was broke,
No shoes or shirt or trousers could I find,
When I asked her where they were,
She answers "My dear sir,
They're down in Lewis' pawnshop number nine."

So to Lewis' I did go,
But no clothing could I find,
And the policeman took that wicked girl away,
And the judge he guilty found her,
Of robbing a homeward-bounder,
And now she's doing time in Botany Bay.

She was chained and sent away
From Liverpool one day,
The lads all cheered as she sailed down the bay,
And every sailor lad,
He only was too glad
They'd sent that old whore out to Botany Bay.

Walter, that was one fantastic song, Germany. Reminds me of my Mom's song, Darling Nellie Gray. Bet the melody is the same.

Glad to see that our Francis is all right and playing games on Walter's site.

I need to recall my Dad's moral story about Mr. Man, listeners. Share your oral tradition music with us here on WA2K radio.

Oh, was it Jesus?

Well, it's a nice picture anyway. I thought it was a little girl helping her dad.

Nice treatment of light and skin tones. The religious aspect had quite escaped me.

Philistine

- Question for the next five minutes: who sings "Are you sure love is the name of the game?"

Probably not Abba?

No prob, McTag. Now here's a song that goes along with your Philistine misconception.

If I Were A Carpenter

Words & Music: Tim Hardin


If I were a carpenter
and you were a lady,
Would you marry me anyway?
Would you have my baby?

If a tinker were my trade
would you still find me,
carrin' the pots I made,
followin' behind me.

Save my love through loneliness,
Save my love for sorrow,
I'm given you my onliness,
Come give your tomorrow.

If I worked my hands in wood,
Would you still love me?
Answer me babe, "Yes I would,
I'll put you above me."

If I were a miller
at a mill wheel grinding,
would you miss your color box,
and your soft shoe shining?

If I were a carpenter
and you were a lady,
Would you marry me anyway?
Would you have my baby?
Would you marry anyway?
Would you have my baby?

Don't you love it, listeners?

Francis, Welcome back to our studio, Paris. Is this the song?

(William "Smokey" Robinson)

I'll admit that you've been
Playing with my heart
Just like it was a toy
And I've been playing along
And letting you treat me wrong
Because it seems to give you joy

Are you sure love is the name of this game
Are you sure love is the name of this game

For days on end you just stay away
Waitin' for my heart to weaken
It's like we're playing hide and seek
And I'm the one who's always seeking

Are you sure love is the name of this game
I wanna know
Are you sure L-O-V-E love is the name of this game

Well if everything's right
And uptight
How come the heartaches keep repeating
With every beat my heart is beating
Now can it be that you've been cheating
Cheating on me

Now how come you keep on
Telling me lies
Filling my life with sorrow
Don't know what to expect
From your affection
It's here today and gone tomorrow

Are you sure love, love, love is the name of this game
I wanna know
Are you sure L-O-V-E love is the name of this game

Yes, Miss Letty, that's the song.

Well, thank goodness I got one right, Francis. We've missed you here.

That song may be Smokey's philosophy of love, but it ain't mine. <smile>

This is more me, I guess:

Michael Buble

I'll never smile again
Until I smile at you
I'll never laugh again
What good would it do

For tears would fill my eyes
My heart would realize
That our romance is through

I'll never love again
I'm so in love with you
I'll never thrill again
To somebody new

Within my heart
I know I will never start
To smile again
Until I smile at you

<smile>

Goodbye To Love
Carpenters

I'll say goodbye to love

No one ever cared if I should live or die

Time and time again the chance for love has passed me by

And all I know of love is how to live without it

I just can't seem to find it



So I've made my mind up

I must live my life alone

And though it's not the easy way

I guess I've always know



I'd say goodbye to love

There are no tomorrows for this heart of mine

Surely time will lose these bitter memories

And I'll find that there is someone to believe in

And to live for something I could live for



All the years of useless search

Have finally reached an end

Loneliness and empty days will be my only friend

From this day love is forgotten

I'll go on as best I can



What lies in the future is a mystery to us all

No one can predict the wheel of fortune as it falls

There may come a time when I will see that I've been wrong

But for now this is my song



And it's goodbye to love

I'll say goodbye to love

ah, dj. This sonds as though it's going to be one of those unrequited nights. <smile>



B J Thomas - Another Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song Lyrics










It's lonely out tonight
And the feelin' just got right for a brand new love song
Somebody done somebody wrong song

Hey, wontcha play another somebody done somebody wrong song
And make me feel at home while I miss my baby, while I miss my baby

So please play for me a sad melody
So sad that it makes everybody cry-y-y-y
A real hurtin' song about a love that's gone wrong
'cause I don't want to cry all alone

Hey, wontcha play another somebody done somebody wrong song
And make me feel at home while I miss my baby, while I miss my baby

So please play for me a sad melody
So sad that it makes everybody cry-y-y-y
A real hurtin' song about a love that's gone wrong
'cause I don't want to cry all alone

Hey, wontcha play another somebody done somebody wrong song
And make me feel at home while I miss my baby, while I miss my baby

(Hey) wontcha play (wontcha play) another somebody done somebody wrong song
And make me feel at home while I miss my baby, while I miss my baby

(Hey) wontcha play (wontcha play) another somebody done

FADE

some tunes from billy bragg

Take Down The Union JackTears Of My Tracks

I'm down but I'm not out, but Lord, I'm hurting
I'm down but I'm not out but I feel blue

I sold all my vinyl yesterday
At a boot sale out on the highway
And now my room is full of fresh air

I'm down but I'm not out, but Lord, I'm hurting
I'm down but I'm not out but I feel blue

Somebody owns all my albums now
They probably don't even wonder how
My name got written on the sleeves

So I'm down but I'm not out, but Lord, I'm hurting
I'm down but I'm not out but I feel blue

I opened the window, I let in the sun
My record collection has ended
For someone else it's just begun

So I'm down but I'm not out, but Lord, I'm hurting
I'm down but I'm not out but I feel blue


Levi Stubbs' Tears

With the money from her accident
She bought herself a mobile home
So at least she could get some enjoyment
Out of being alone
No one could say that she was left up on the shelf
It's you and me against the World kid she mumbled to herself

CHORUS:
When the world falls apart some things stay in place
Levi Stubbs' tears run down his face

She ran away from home in her mother's best coat
She was married before she was even entitled to vote
And her husband was one of those blokes
The sort that only laughs at his own jokes
The sort a war takes away
And when there wasn't a war he left anyway

Norman Whitfield and Barratt Strong
Are here to make everything right that's wrong
Holland and Holland and Lamont Dozier too
Are here to make it all okay with you

One dark night he came home from the sea
And put a hole in her body where no hole should be
It hurt her more to see him walking out the door
And though they stitched her back together they left her heart in pieces on the floor

When the world falls apart some things stay in place
She takes off the Four Tops tape and puts it back in its case
When the world falls apart some things stay in place
Levi Stubbs' tears...


A Lover Sings

You and I are victims of a love
That lost a lot in the translation
When I think of all the time that I spent
Sitting on the edge of your bed in anticipation
Of you giving in and us living in sin

A hot day, the smell of hairspray
And the sound of a shower running softly
It's things like this that remind me of how I felt
The first time you came back for coffee
The way you took it amazed me

Walking in the park, kissing in the dark
And my head against your pillow
Late at night a lover sings
Adam and Eve are finding out all about love
I say Adam and Eve are finding out all about love

There is no real substitute
For a ball struck squarely and firmly
And you're the kind of girl who wants to
open up the bottle of pop
Too early in the journey
Our love went flat just like that

It doesn't matter the colour of the car
But what goes on beneath the bonnet
Is there a flag that flies above your heart
And is my name writ there upon it
Wedding cake and toothache
Equals love and pain

Walking in the park, kissing on the carpet
And your tights around your ankles
Late at night a lover thinks of these things
Adam and Eve are finding out all about love
I say Adam and Eve are finding out all about love
Adam and Eve are finding out all about
Adam and Eve are finding out all about love
Teresa and Steve are finding out all about love


The Marriage

I understand you needing
And wanting is no crime
But I can't help feeling
That you and your mother are just wasting your time

Choosing Saturdays in Summer
I dare you to wear white
Love is just a moment of giving
And marriage is when we admit our parents were right

I just don't understand it
What makes our love a sin
How can it make that difference
If you and I are wearing that bloody, bloody ring

If I share my bed with you
Must I also share my life
Love is just a moment of giving
And marriage is when we admit our parents were right

You just don't understnd it
This tender trap we're in
Those glossy catalogues of couples
Are cashing in on happiness again and again

So drag me to the altar
And I'll make my sacrifice
Love is just a moment of giving
And marriage is when we admit our parents were right
And marriage is when we admit our parents were probably right

The Tears of my Tracks, dj? That is fabulous. Thanks, Canada for all those tears. <smile>

It's All In The Game


Written by Dawes and Sigman
Elton sings on backing vocals




Many a tear has to fall
But it's all in the game
All in the wonderful game
That we know has love

You have words with him
And your future's looking kind of dim
But these things
Your heart can rise above

Once in a while he won't call
Oh but it's all in the game
Soon he'll be there at your side
With a sweet "OK"

And he'll kiss your lips
And caress your waiting fingertips
And your heart will fly away

Come on sing it now
Do-do-do-do-do do doo, oh yeah

And he'll kiss your lips
And caress your waiting fingertips
And your heart will fly away

i love that title too, i figure given the subject matter it might be right up edgars alley too, what with his love of vinyl

some thoughts from utah phillips

What I do is I collect stories. I seek out the elders and garner stories and
songs and poems. Characterized critically as: "Oh, that's that Sixties stuff."
Like somebody doing old rock-and-roll would be doing "Fifties stuff." Or,
"This is the Nineties, you know."

I have a good friend in the East. A good singer, and a good folksinger, a good
song collector, who comes and listens to my shows and says, "You sing a lot
about the past. You always sing about the past; you can't live in the past,
you know." And I say to him, "I can go outside and pick up a rock that's older
than the oldest song you know and bring it back here and drop it on your foot."
Now, the past didn't go anywhere, did it? It's right here, right now - I
always thought that anybody who told me I couldn't live in the past was trying
to get me to forget something that if I remembered it would get 'em in serious
trouble.


I'm still in Nevada City, California, up there in the foodhills of the Sierra.
Call 'em foodhills cause it's spelled like that. Oh, the old gold mining town
- I've talked to some of you about that - twenty-seven hundred people there,
one of the forty-niners' towns. And I also told you about the only social life
in town being the, the Books of Harmony New Age Bookstore, where people go down
in the evening and channel dolphins, and Martians - it's a new-age
chronosynclastic infindibulum, or epicenter, as it were, Nevada City,
California.

Well, I was gone for a bit on one of the trips since I saw you last and I got
back, and my wife had bought the bookstore. Um, so I am now ostensibly part
proprietor of a new-age bookstore in Nevada City, California, hehehehe, can you
picture that? Whee! Well, and I'm open to all those things. If you live in
California, you've got to be open; if you're not they pry you open.

And I read as much as I can cause they got all the new men's literature in
there. Most of my men friends belong to men's - Robert Bly's - drumming
circles. Do they do that here? Healthy! They're out in the, in the
wilderness, caterwauling and flailing away at those things, and dragging their
scrotums through the underbrush. It's healthy, I suppose...

We got narps, you got narps around here? New-age rural professionals? Out
cruising the backroads in their old green carryalls with their car stereos,
blaring meditation music out into the wilderness. It's a conscience. Whole
place lightning-struck by the peripatetic ruminations of the Tibetan ruling
class in exile, ahh. Lot of Buddhists around there.

Meanwhile this very minute, old Jesse McVay the welldigger - no one knows how
old he is, lived in that county all of his life - is sitting at the bar of the
national hotel this very minute, looking at the freaks out in the street, and
muttering under his breath:

"Now matter how new-age you get, old age gonna kick your ass."


That's when [Fry Pan Jack] told me - you know, he'd been tramping since 1927 -
he said, "I told myself in '27, if I cannot dictate the conditions of my labor,
I will henceforth cease to work." Hah! You don't have to go to college to
figure these things out, no sir! He said, "I learned when I was young that the
only true life I had was the life of my brain. But if it's true the only real
life I have is the life of my brain, what sense does it make to hand that brain
to somebody for eight hours a day for their particular use on the presumption
that at the end of the day they will give it back in an unmutilated condition?"
Fat chance!

He was old enough to remember the sleigh rods under the boxcars, riding the
rods. Fry Pan Jack; the two bums.

the bum on the rods is hunted down as an enemy of mankind
the other is driven around to his club, is fatted, wined, and dined

and they who curse the bum on the rods as the essence of all that's bad
will greet the other with a winning smile and extend the hand so glad

the bum on the rods is a social flea who gets an occasional bite
the bum on the plush is a social leech, bloodsucking day and night

the bum on the rods is a load so light that his weight we scarcely feel
but it takes the labor of dozens of folks to furnish the other a meal

as long as we sanction the bum on the plush, the other will always be there
but rid ourselves of the bum on the plush, and the other will disappear

and make an intelligent, organized kick: get rid of the wasted crush
don't worry about the bum on the rods - get rid of the bum on the plush


I was invited to the State Young Writers' Conference out at Cheney, which was a
Eastern Washington university. And I didn't want to embarrass my son, you
know, and I was gonna behave myself cause I had to live there then - it was a
chore. But I got on the stage - it was an enormous auditorium; there were
twenty-seven hundred young faces out there, none of them with any prospects
anybody could detect - and off to the side of the stage was the suit-and-tie
crowd of people from the school district and the principals, and the, the main
speaker following me was from the Chamber of Commerce.

Well something inside of me snapped.

And I got to the microphone, and I looked out over that multitude of faces and
I said something to the effect of:

"You're about to be told one more time that you're America's most valuable
natural resource. Have you seen what they do to valuable natural resources?
Have you seen them strip mine? Have you seen a clear-cut in a forest? Have
you seen a polluted river? Don't ever let them call you a valuable natural
resource! They're gonna strip mine your soul! They're gonna clear-cut your
best thoughts for the sake of profit, unless you learn to resist, cause the
profit system follows the path of least resistance, and following the path of
least resistance is what makes the river crooked! Hmph!"

Well there was great gnashing of teeth and rending of garments - mine. I was
borne to the door, screaming epithets over my shoulder, something to the effect
of: "Make a break for it, kids!" "Flee to the wilderness!" The one within, if
you can find it.

Well, I wrote them a nice letter though, as I oozed out of the state, headed
for Nevada City. I sent it to their little literary magazine. I respect kids.
I love especially little kids. Little kids are assholes. But they're their
own assholes, see, it's when they, when you grow up and become somebody else's
asshole we're all in trouble, you know, like bankers or B-52 pilots and such.


I was traveling through Illinois when I was invited to stop and sing at a
memorial, there in the little town of Mount Olive. Now, who of note in
American history is buried in the cemetary at Mount Olive, Illinois? I'll give
you a hint: it was a woman, it was the Union Miners' Cemetary. D'you have it
yet? Mary Harris. Mary Harris Jones. Mother Jones.

It's hard for the mind to encompass a life that embraced the presidencies
between Andrew Jackson and Herbert Hoover; why, when Mother Jones was a little
girl there were people still alive who remembered the Revolutionary War. And
she died on the eve of the New Deal. Her millinery shop burned down in the
Chicago fire, and she had heard Abraham Lincoln speak - in person.

Mostly though, Mother Jones was the miners' friend. Down in Kentucky,
Tennessee, West Virginia. Well, the men'd be organizing the underground
workers, the miners; Mother Jones had already organized their wives and led
them over the snow-covered game trails down into the hollows, where, armed with
mops and brooms, they drove the scabs out of the coal pits.

Now, Mother Jones wasn't an organizer; she was an agitator. Which meant often
enough she was hated as much by the organizers as by the bosses. One time
Mother Jones was out in Colorado at the great Ludlow strike. Now that was a
strike to enforce the eight-hour day, which the state of Colorado had made a
law; but they couldn't enforce it, cause Rockefeller owned the militia. Now,
the governor promised not to send the militia into the coal fields, but he
lied, and he did. Mother Jones was in the union hall down there at Ludlow and
word came that the militia had entered the coal fields. Well, she leapt up and
she screamed, "Let's go get the sons of bitches!" and she stormed out. She
didn't look to see if anybody was following her.

Nobody was following her. She just flounced up the road alone and confronted
the militia. And that was the year that president Theodore Roosevelt called
Mother Jones "the most dangerous woman in America." And she was eighty-three
years old. That's some kind of dangerous.


Like old Campbell said, freedom is something you assume; then you wait for
somebody to try to take it away from you. The degree to which you resist is
the degree to which you are free.

Thanks, Letty, Dys, and Raggedy! I still got soaked, but it was nice to know that others were thinking about my plight.

Well, that's good to hear. It's a start! :wink:

dj, I need to re read your thoughts from Utah Phillips. I like collected stories from "...their hearts were young and gray...." <smile>

Reyn, you may have gotten soaked, but I'll bet you smiled.

I have a very important question letty where has fealola gone?

Don, Raggedy and I discussed fealola. Apparently she just left with no adieu, I'm afraid. I'm certain she is all right, but we are just left to wonder.

Now we only have the echoes of her mind.