Deliver Us

Hearing that Tom Petty was another victim of the opioid epidemic the country is struggling with inspired this lyric.

Oh, sweet Jesus
Oh, sweet Jesus
Oh, sweet Jesus
Deliver us
Deliver our children now

Doctor Death, he’s comin’ to town
Doctor Death, he’s walkin’ around
Doctor Death, can you hear his sound
Doctor Death, he’s taking us down

Oh, sweet Jesus
Oh, sweet Jesus
Oh, sweet Jesus
Deliver us
Deliver our children now

Doctor Death, he takes the prize
Doctor Death, he’s in disguise
Doctor Death, he’s talkin’ jive
Doctor Death, he’s telling lies

Oh, sweet Jesus
Oh, sweet Jesus
Oh, sweet Jesus
Deliver us
Deliver our children now

Doctor Death, he’s out for thrills
Doctor Death, he’s doing deals
Doctor Death, he’s giving out pills
Doctor Death, don’t we know they kill

Oh, sweet Jesus
Oh, sweet Jesus
Oh, sweet Jesus
Deliver us
Deliver our children now

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Laundrin’ Star

It’s been a bit of a while since I have posted one of my lyrics. So, what the hey. “Paint Your Wagon” is a fav of mine. So, what the hey. I was thinking it needed a parody of its own. Instead of two prospectors showing up in a gold mining town, “Wash Your Wagon” could have two guys who want to start laundromats in the town. They’re competing for business. So here’s the song, “Laundrin’ Star”. (See the lyric below Lee Marvin.)

To be sung to the tune of Wandrin’ Star from “Paint Your Wagon”.

I was born under a laundrin’ star
I was born under a laundrin’ star
Soap is made for washing, scrubbing is made to clean
I’ve never seen a sight that didn’t look better when it’s keen
I was born under a laundrin’ star

Mud can make you dirty, and the sun can bake you dry
Soap can burn your eyes, but only dirty makes you cry
Clothes are made for washing, for dreams of getting clean
Which with any luck you’ll get to bathe again
I was born under a laundrin’ star
I was born under a laundrin’ star

Do I know where hell is, hell is in the mud
Heaven’s goodbye to dirt, it’s time for a scrub
I was born under a laundrin’ star
A laundrin’ laundrin’ star

Mud can make you dirty and the sun can bake you dry
Soap can burn your eyes, but only dirty make you cry
Clothes are made for washing, for dreams of getting clean
Which with any luck you’ll get to bathe again
I was born under a laundrin’ star
I was born under a laundrin’ star

When I get to heaven, throw me in a tub
Or I’ll begin to roam, and soon you’ll know I’ll be in the mud
I was born under a laundrin’ star
A laundrin’ star

 

Uncle Bardie’s Spotlight Creator: Gordon Lightfoot

Once a week on Friday, Uncle Bardie celebrates the creativity in others by shining a Spotlight on a movie, a song or a creator. This week’s Spotlight Creator is Gordon Lightfoot:

It was late 1969 and I was at the Air Force Base Exchange. I found myself flipping through the records when I chanced upon an album called “Sunday Concert”. In those days, I had gotten into the habit of buying albums based on the cover art. The cover on the album was simple. It was a side view of Gordon Lightfoot on stage. It was a live album.

I liked the cover but I wasn’t sure who this Gordon Lightfoot was. Seems the name had come up before. Didn’t he write a Peter, Paul and Mary tune, “Early Morning Rain”? I checked out the songs. They had interesting titles and it looked like this Lightfoot guy was a folk singer.

This was in the days before Pandora and Spotify. If no one you knew had heard an artist, you took your chances. So I took my chances. Man, am I glad. I loved this Lightfoot and his “Sunday Concert”. Every song was a gem. Little did I realize that this was the last album he was to do for United Artist. His next album, “Sit Down, Young Stranger”, was on the Reprise label and it was a gem too. Had a big hit on it. “If you could read my mind”.

The Guess Who performing “Lightfoot”.

Gordon Lightfoot was something. He wrote great songs. He had a great voice. And he looked like what you would expect a troubadour to look. Over the years, I bought album after album of his as they were released. Twice I saw him in concert. And he’s still out there on the road, doing what a troubadour does.

In his honor, I wrote this lyric:

The ballading man
Spanish guitars play a South-of-the-Border song
On the stage the man sings out loud and clear
Of a land made great by sweat and by blood,
A rose in the wilderness of every man’s fear.

The songs the ways of the past almost forgotten:
Of love’s wisdom, of life, glory and death,
Of battles raging and courageous men,
Conquistadors, el dorado tales of fabulous wealth.

Children, gather ’round and hear a ballading man
Warm as a winter fire by a family hearth
Wild as mountain flowers in early spring,
A natural theology of every man’s worth.

Gordon Lightfoot, “I used to be a country singer”, written by Steve McEown.

And here is one of the my favorites. It’s “Don Quixote”, the title song from his second album on Reprise:

In this day and age, we need more Don Quixotes like this one.

She’s a mouser

Just another lyric to entertain all you folks at home.
For Princess, Buster, Peaches, Mr. Gray and Little Bear and all cats everywhere.

There’s a kitty in my house
She loves the taste of mouse
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She’s the master of her fate
She’s never one to wait
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She jumps on my lap
And she plays with my cap
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She does what she will
And she sleeps on the sill
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She once fit in the palm of my hand
Her green eyes tried to understand
Why there was no big parade
Or crowds to applaud her on her way

She dreams her kitty dreams
She runs the roofy beams
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

The sun is her friend
You’d think they were kin
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She loves to jump and play
Each and every day
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouse

When she gets to cavort
She’s never out of sorts
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She once fit in the palm of my hand
Her green eyes tried to understand
Why there was no big parade
Or crowds to applaud her on her way

She’s got long sharp teeth
And claws on her feet
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She keeps the moles away
And all the rats at bay
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

If you’re a rat in town
Don’t come around
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

There’s a kitty in my house
She loves the taste of mouse
She’s a mouser, she’s a mouser

She once fit in the palm of my hand
Her green eyes tried to understand
Why there was no big parade
Or crowds to applaud her on her way

She’s my mouser
She’s my mouser
She’s my mouser
Oh, yes, she is

 

C’mon down

A Rappin’zella

If you like to eat, and you like to eat good
C’mon down and get yourself a bite
Of the best darn food in the neighborhood
Open six of the seven both day and night.

A wisp of a smell, the aroma grows
As you drive your car to the way down there
Where the food is great, a delight for the nose.
A darn good odor, it fills the air.

Have a burger and fries, they’re the best
With onions and ‘maters and lettuce too.
So um um good, you’ll puff out your chest.
You’ll snap your fingers and tap your shoe.

Have a steak and have it rare
Right off the grill and on your plate.
It’s made just right, grilled with care.
The best darn steak you ever ate.

If you want your sushi sushitized,
If you want your venison venisonized,
If you want your fish without their eyes,
Come to the place with the blue ribbon prize.

So c’mon down and feed yourself,
All you gals and all you fellows,
‘Cause Sam’s the cook, Ella the chef
Of the diner they call the Sam ‘N’ Ella.