I'll Have to Say I love you in a Song

Viz, we serve only too please, next time a big muddy puddle lies in your path, I'll swirl a cloak for you to walk on

As a matter of fact, OAK...ahem...That statement used to apply literally/

We would open our dance act with this number:

Rockin' is our business,
rockin' is our business,
Rockin' is our business,
And we're gonna rock tonight,

We're the Bopadairs, and we'regonna' rock tonight,
We're the Bopadairs, and we're gonna' rock tonight,
Gonna' rock, gonna'rock,
Gonna' rock you out of sight,

Do you wanna' rock chillun'?...Yeah!
Do you wanna' rock chillun'?...Yeah!
Do you wanna' rock chillun?...Yeah!
Rock, rock, rock,...Let's ROCK!

Viz, OP means original people...hmmm. an Okie and you don't know that? Shame on you.

Boo, come again?

Well, OAK, I see that chivalry is not dead..but please don't lose your head over a little piece of tail. That's what the dawg did when the train ran over his tail and when he turned to inspect it...the train plowed right over his ears and what was in between them.

Dedicated to all the beautiful flirts on A2K:

You call everybody darlin'
And everybody calls you darlin', too.
You don't mean what you're sayin'
It's just a game you're playin'
and you'll find someone else can play the game as well as you.

If you call everybody darlin'
Then love won't come aknockin' at your door.
And as the years go by,
You'll sit and wonder why,
No body calls you darlin' anymore.

Hey, Boo. Wanna dance? We'll teach these whippersnappers a thing or two....

"Joe" (his user name) is originally from Connecticut, as he wrote here last week on another thread. His mother's family came from Ireland. Don't know about his father's family. Ask him.

By "OP," I infer that you mean Native American? That's a new one to me. But then, I'm a city kid, what do I know...

I'm 3rd generation Irish on my father's side, Irish/English/German on my mother's side. My Irish ancestors came in through Ellis Island and worked their way west with the railroad until stopping in Oklahoma for the land run (1890).

Viz, the reason that I surmised that Joe Nation was an OP(native american) was that I posted a thread on another site asking if there were any OP's aboard. That's the first time that I ever met him, so naturally I assumed........ Well, as I always told my students...Assume nothing.

As Robert Frost has observed, ".....begin in delight, end in wisdom."

Hey, Joe. There are several people here wanting you to respond to "An Indian Love Call"...

Later, my friends.

For the record, as Viz indicated, my mom's side is all Irish, Eileen (r.i.p.) was a second generation Kerry woman, my dad Ben, also gone now, was in the fourteenth generation of our English side here on these shores. My genealogy research goes back to near Jamestown time, but I have yet to find our "crossing ancestor''. If there wasn't one, then maybe I am a teeny bit OP. I hope I haven't misled anyone here about being one thing or another. I did have a thought or two about being thought of as someone other than what you are. I like it.
In my life I have been mistaken, or taken, for being Jewish, Southern Baptist, and Italian. On a thread over at Abuzz on reparations there were hints that I might be Black. Maybe Hispanic. And now, Amerind. Every time it happens I feel a sense of pride for whatever group I am being lumped into, and I always hope I'm doing that group proud. I have never been more proud than the time I was mistaken for a native Tulsan being the damn Connecticut Yankee that I am and with that in mind I give you, from the songbook of Uncle Earl Carter, I'm just a damned Yankee.

I'm just a damned Yankee
down in the South.
And I love to kiss Southern girls
right on the mouth,
And I having fun like I never had had
Cuz nobody knows I'm a damned Yankee lad.

(There's more but I can't remember now.)

(Also for the record it wasn't Viz who thought I was Tulsan. Her ability to spot horseshit is far too acute. )

Thanks, Joe.
And also for the record, he never kissed me on the mouth.

Thanks, Joe and Viz. I'm certain that it matters not where one is from, but somehow, I simply took for granted that Joe was an American Indian. It's o.k., Joe, if you're a damn Yankee. We forgive you.

Ooooohh!.....Sweet Letty of the Lyrics, said a naughty word. Is nothing sacred?

UhOh,Boo. Back to Ray Charles:

See the girl with the red dress on,
She can do the "dawg" all night long, oh yeah.
Baby wha'd I say....

Letty this is for you.

Words and Music by Roy Orbison

A candy-colored clown they call the sandman
Tiptoes to my room every night
Just to sprinkle star dust and to whisper
"Go to sleep, everything is all right"

I close my eyes then I drift away
Into the magic night, I softly say
A silent prayer like dreamers do
Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you

In dreams I walk with you
In dreams I talk to you
In dreams you're mine all the time
We're together in dreams, in dreams

But just before the dawn
I awake and find you gone
I can't help it, I can't help it if I cry
I remember that you said goodbye

Too bad it only seems
It only happens in my dreams
Only in dreams
In beautiful dreams.

Thank you, Bob. Not all historians are unromantic.

You should see and hear me sing karaoke. I'm amazed at the control the women at my little neighborhood bar have. Not one has passed out yet. Remarkable.

Bob, Something tells me that you would lay them out on the floor...

Ahem...BiPolar does that stuff..me? A piano bar is where I strut my stuff.

Live music...acoustic guitar...bass..drums and a taste of old wine ..Can't beat that beat...

Karaoke is really fun. The more beers I have the better I think I sing. Of course it may have nothing to do with reality but by that time who can tell. Not me.

You're right, Bob. but honestly some folks need to limit their singing to the shower.

Ther's a saying that karaoke came about to unite people who shouldn't drink with people who shouldn't sing.

I love Kareoke {did I spell that right?} ... I think it's more fun than a barrel of monkeys!

Heh! heh! Misti. How would you like to spend a night in a barrel with a bunch of monkeys?

For Misti:


There's a garden, what a garden,
Only happy faces bloom there,
And there's never any room there,
For a worry or a gloom there
Oh there's music and there's dancing,
And a lot of sweet romancing
When they play the polka
They all get in the swing

Every time they hear that oom-pa-pa,
Everybody feels so tra-la-la
They want to throw their cares away,
They all go lah-de-ah-de-ay
Then they hear a rumble on the floor,
It's the big surprise they're waiting for
And all the couples form a ring,
For miles around you'll hear them sing...

Roll out the barrel,
We'll have a barrel of fun
Roll out the barrel,
We've got the blues on the run
Zing boom tararrel,
Ring out a song of good cheer
Now's the time to roll the barrel,
For the gang's all here

I used to love to do the polka until I near got my foot broken by an inept saxophone jazz man.

Hey there, y'all sing along:

Way down in the congo land
sitting in a coconut tree,
there was a monkey and a chimp--
and lordy how she loved him.
Every night in the pale moonlight
sitting in the coconut tree,
these love words she always said to he.

Abba dabba dabba dabba dabba
dabba dabba
said the monkey to the chimp.
(your turn)
said the chimpee to the monk.
All night long they chattered away.
All day long they were happy and gay,
swinging and swaying in a honky, tonky way.
(Your turn)
Then the ol' baboon, one night in June,
married them and very soon,
they sailed away on an abba dabba honeymoon.

And here's one to that Sweet Music Man all the gals have known at one time or another.

I wouldn't listen, and I couldn't see
And all I have left now's a word you say to me.

Sing a song sweet music man
Cause I won't be there to hold your hand
Like I used to
I'm through with you
You're a hell of a singer and a powerful man
But you surround yourself with people who demand so little of you.

You touched my soul with your beautiful song
You even had me singin' along
Right with you
You said I need you
Then you changed the words and added harmony
Then you sang a song you had written for me to someone new.

Oh, but nobody sings a love song quite like you do
Oh and nobody else can make me sing along
Nobody else can make me feel
That things are right when I know they're wrong
Nobody sings a love song quite like you.

Sing your song sweet music man
You travel the world with a six-piece band
That does for you what you tell' em to
You try to stay young but the songs are sung
To so many people they've all begun to come back on you.

Sing your song sad music man
Makin' your livin' doin' one night stands
They're through with you ,they don't need you
You're still a hell of a singer but a broken man
But you'll keep on lookin' for one last fan to sing to.

Oh, but nobody sings a love song quite like you do.....
Sing your song sweet music man
I believe in you.
(Kenny Rogers)