Singin' the Blues or any other durn thing ya want.

[Lucky Irish Tom]

Which might accidentally lead you into this one.

"Breaker, Breaker One Nine"
"This is the Rubber Duck"
"You got a copy on me Pig Pen, Come on."

It was the dark of the moon on the sixth of June
And a Kenworth pullin' logs
Cab-over Pete with a reefer on
And a Jimmy haulin' hogs
We's headin' for bear on Eye-one-oh
'bout a mile outta Shakeytown
I says "Pigpen, this here's Rubber Duck"
"And I'm about to put the hammer down"

('cause we got a little ole convoy rockin' thru the night)
(Yeah, we got a little ole convoy, ain't she a beautiful sight?)
(Come on and join our convoy, ain't nothin' gonna get in our way)
(We gonna roll this truckin' convoy 'cross the USA)
(Convoy)

By the time we got into Tulsa-town we had 85 trucks in all
But they's a roadblock up on the cloverleaf
And them bears 's wall-to-wall
Yeah, them smokeys 's thick as bugs on a bumper
They even had a bear in the air
I says "Callin' all trucks, this here's the Duck"
"We about to go a-huntin' bear"

('cause we got a great big convoy rockin' thru the night)
(Yeah, we got a great big convoy, ain't she a beautiful sight?)
(Come on and join our convoy, ain't nothin' gonna get in our way)
(We gonna roll this truckin' convoy 'cross the USA)
(Convoy)

Well, we rolled up Interstate Forty-Four
Like a rocket-sled on rails
We tore up all of our swindle sheets
And left 'em settin' on the scales
By the time we hit that "Chi-town"
Them bears was a-gettin smart
They brought up some reinforcements 
From the "Illinoise" National Guard

There's armored cars and tanks and jeeps
'n' rigs of ev'ry size
Yeah, them chicken coops was full of bears
And choppers filled the skies
Well, we shot the line, we went for broke
With a thousand screamin' trucks
And eleven long-haired friends of Jesus
In a chartreuse microbus

Well, we laid a strip for the Jersey Shore
Prepared to cross the line
I could see the bridge was lined with bears
But I didn't have a doggone dime
I says "Pigpen, this here's the Rubber Duck"
"We just ain't a-gonna pay no toll"
So we crashed the gate doin' ninety-eight
I says "let them truckers roll, ten-four"

('cause we got a mighty convoy rockin' thru the night)
(Yeah, we got a mighty convoy, ain't she a beautiful sight?)
(Come on and join our convoy, ain't nothin' gonna get in our way)
(We gonna roll this truckin' convoy 'cross the USA)
(Convoy)

[Texas Lawdog]

I sorta like "Wolfcreek Pass" by Mr. McCall.

[Leo Tanner]

Thanks fer the sar-o-nade Arcey   Lil an me got a huge kick outta that one.  She won't stop humming it now...

     My favorite CW McCall song...
Now arnold jones an' marybeth jensen's in a 'vette down by the deep rock
Had john denver on the 8-track, gettin' high
Marybeth's wig was on the floor
An' arnold's feet was out the door
When we shined our flashlight in arnold's startled eyes
I says "what chew doin' boy?
Don't chew know that's against the law?
We just gonna hafta get this situation under control
Now my name is fairweather lewis an' this here's willard clark
We the pottawattamie county love patrol."

Then two hippies in a chevy's puffin' grass an' sippin' wine
'bout fourteen mile south-east a' council bluffs
They's passin' 'round the peace-pipe
When we caught 'em with our flashlight
An' willard's hairy hands applied the cuffs.
I says, "boys you got some trouble
You committin' herb-i-cide.
We just gonna hafta get this situation under control
'cause i'm fairweather lewis, an' this here's willard clark
We the pottawattamie county weed patrol."

Then we spied ol' marvin kline a-headin' south on twenty-nine
Like a midnight auto ac-cessory store on wheels
His trunk was full a' hub caps
An' his back seat full a' tires
When we picked him up and made him spread his heels
I says, "hands up-on the wall, boy
You allowed t' make one call
We just gonna hafta get this situation under control
Cause, see, i'm fairweather lewis, an' this here's willard clark
We the pottawattamie county rip-off patrol."

Then orval hinkle left the go-go club on his brand-new motor-sickle
Runnin' stop-lights, raisin' hell an' causin' accidents
His brain was doin' wheelies
An' his blood was three-two beer
When we nailed him in his driveway at his residence
I says, "orval, you're in trouble boy
But if you'll blow this here balloon up
We gonna get your situation under control
Now i'm captain fairweather lewis an' this here's willard clark
We the pottawattamie county juice patrol."

Then we's passin' by the dew drop inn when he heard this woman scream
So we pulled on in an' parked an' got the guns out
Well we bashed on through the lobby into unit seventeen
There's twenty-eight folks in there without no clothes on.
I says "everbody up against the wall; show us yer identification.
We just gonna definitely get this situation under control
'cause my name is fairweather lewis, an' this here's willard clark
We the pottawattamie county sin patrol."

C'mon, willard, let's go sneakin' 'round in the dark some more, never know what yer gonna find.

[Delmonico]

I 'member before he was on national radio, seein' the Old Home Bread ads on TV.   Couple of local boys, the singer was a truckdriver and the producer and the guy in charge of the band is named Chip Davis, course he's inta Fresh Aire and some kinda German Steam Roller that makes Christmas music now.

[Leo Tanner]

Ya mean the Manheim one?
     Is there any music you ain't heard?


Leo

[Delmonico]

Ya mean the Manheim one?
     Is there any music you ain't heard?


Leo

Yep that one, don't think Chip wants to admit he got his start producing CW, he was a adman in Omaha at the time.

[Steel Horse Bailey]

Ya mean the Manheim one?
     Is there any music you ain't heard?

Leo

Del's heard a LOT!

But he'd never heard of Zazu !!!



I like them Mannheim-ers.

[Lucky Irish Tom]

Yep they got some good music, especially around the Holiday season.

[Texas Lawdog]

Christmas just wouldn't be Christmas with out Mannheim Steamroller.

[Leo Tanner]

OK,
     This is gonna take up some space.  It's one of the few other whole album songs I know of.  If ya have a minute (or 20) it's worth a run through.  If ya have alot more time and strum the cue-stick geetar it's worth learnin ta play   With that said...

Really don't mind if you sit this one out.

My words but a whisper -- your deafness a SHOUT.
I may make you feel but I can't make you think.
Your sperm's in the gutter -- your love's in the sink.
So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.
And the sand-castle virtues are all swept away in
the tidal destruction
the moral melee.
The elastic retreat rings the close of play as the last wave uncovers
the newfangled way.
But your new shoes are worn at the heels and
your suntan does rapidly peel and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.

And the love that I feel is so far away:
I'm a bad dream that I just had today -- and you
shake your head and
say it's a shame.

Spin me back down the years and the days of my youth.
Draw the lace and black curtains and shut out the whole truth.
Spin me down the long ages: let them sing the song.

See there!  A son is born -- and we pronounce him fit to fight.
There are black-heads on his shoulders, and he pees himself in the night.
We'll
make a man of him
put him to trade
teach him
to play Monopoly and
to sing in the rain.

The Poet and the painter casting shadows on the water --
as the sun plays on the infantry returning from the sea.
The do-er and the thinker: no allowance for the other --
as the failing light illuminates the mercenary's creed.
The home fire burning: the kettle almost boiling --
but the master of the house is far away.
The horses stamping -- their warm breath clouding
in the sharp and frosty morning of the day.
And the poet lifts his pen while the soldier sheaths his sword.

And the youngest of the family is moving with authority.
Building castles by the sea, he dares the tardy tide to wash them all aside.

The cattle quietly grazing at the grass down by the river
where the swelling mountain water moves onward to the sea:
the builder of the castles renews the age-old purpose
and contemplates the milking girl whose offer is his need.
The young men of the household have
all gone into service and
are not to be expected for a year.
The innocent young master -- thoughts moving ever faster --
has formed the plan to change the man he seems.
And the poet sheaths his pen while the soldier lifts his sword.

And the oldest of the family is moving with authority.
Coming from across the sea, he challenges the son who puts him to the run.

What do you do when
the old man's gone -- do you want to be him?  And
your real self sings the song.
Do you want to free him?
No one to help you get up steam --
and the whirlpool turns you `way off-beam.

LATER.
I've come down from the upper class to mend your rotten ways.
My father was a man-of-power whom everyone obeyed.
So come on all you criminals!
I've got to put you straight just like I did with my old man --
twenty years too late.
Your bread and water's going cold.
Your hair is too short and neat.
I'll judge you all and make damn sure that no-one judges me.

You curl your toes in fun as you smile at everyone -- you meet the stares.
You're unaware that your doings aren't done.
And you laugh most ruthlessly as you tell us what not to be.
But how are we supposed to see where we should run?
I see you shuffle in the courtroom with
your rings upon your fingers and
your downy little sidies and
your silver-buckle shoes.
Playing at the hard case, you follow the example of the comic-paper idol
who lets you bend the rules.

So!
Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't you rise up from the pages of your comic-books
your super crooks
and show us all the way.
Well!  Make your will and testament. Won't you?
Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.

You put your bet on number one and it comes up every time.
The other kids have all backed down and they put you first in line.
And so you finally ask yourself just how big you are --
and take your place in a wiser world of bigger motor cars.
And you wonder who to call on.

So!  Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you though?
They're all resting down in Cornwall --
writing up their memoirs for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.

LATER.
See there!  A man born -- and we pronounce him fit for peace.
There's a load lifted from his shoulders with the discovery of his disease.
We'll
take the child from him
put it to the test
teach it
to be a wise man
how to fool the rest.

QUOTE
We will be geared to the average rather than the exceptional
God is an overwhelming responsibility
we walked through the maternity ward and saw 218 babies wearing nylons
cats are on the upgrade
upgrade?  Hipgrave.  Oh, Mac.

LATER
In the clear white circles of morning wonder,
I take my place with the lord of the hills.
And the blue-eyed soldiers stand slightly discoloured (in neat little rows)
sporting canvas frills.
With their jock-straps pinching, they slouch to attention,
while queueing for sarnies at the office canteen.
Saying -- how's your granny and
good old Ernie: he coughed up a tenner on a premium bond win.

The legends (worded in the ancient tribal hymn) lie cradled
in the seagull's call.
And all the promises they made are ground beneath the sadist's fall.
The poet and the wise man stand behind the gun,
and signal for the crack of dawn.
Light the sun.

Do you believe in the day?  Do you?
Believe in the day!  The Dawn Creation of the Kings has begun.
Soft Venus (lonely maiden) brings the ageless one.
Do you believe in the day?
The fading hero has returned to the night -- and fully pregnant with the day,
wise men endorse the poet's sight.
Do you believe in the day?  Do you?  Believe in the day!

Let me tell you the tales of your life of
your love and the cut of the knife
the tireless oppression
the wisdom instilled
the desire to kill or be killed.
Let me sing of the losers who lie in the street as the last bus goes by.
The pavements ar empty: the gutters run red -- while the fool
toasts his god in the sky.

So come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
Let me help you pick up your dead as the sins of the father are fed
with
the blood of the fools and
the thoughts of the wise and
from the pan under your bed.
Let me make you a present of song as
the wise man breaks wind and is gone while
the fool with the hour-glass is cooking his goose and
the nursery rhyme winds along.

So!  Come all ye young men who are building castles!
Kindly state the time of the year and join your voices in a hellish chorus.
Mark the precise nature of your fear.
See!  The summer lightning casts its bolts upon you
and the hour of judgement draweth near.
Would you be
the fool stood in his suit of armour or
the wiser man who rushes clear.
So!  Come on ye childhood heroes!
Won't your rise up from the pages of your comic-books
your super-crooks and
show us all the way.
Well!  Make your will and testament.
Won't you?  Join your local government.
We'll have Superman for president
let Robin save the day.
So!  Where the hell was Biggles when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen who always pulled you through?
They're all resting down in Cornwall -- writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition of the Boy Scout Manual.

OF COURSE
So you ride yourselves over the fields and
you make all your animal deals and
your wise men don't know how it feels to be thick as a brick.

[Trinity]

I studied and worked at a bar in Mannheim.

[litl rooster]

did you take the BAR exam?

I got my PhD in heartaches and misery

And a BSM in barstool philosophy

You're my inspiration for higher education

Now the final test is right in front of me.


I'm taking the bar exam

Under a neon sign

I'm gonna graduate

When you're off my mind

In this honky tonk school

We got a hell of a band

Drink by drink I'm taking the bar exam.


I know beer, wine whiskey and gin

I studied every glass and bottle they come in

I pass with flying colors, so high above the others

So set 'em up I'm ready to begin


Cuz I'm taking the bar exam

Under a neon sign

I'm gonna graduate

When you're off my mind

In this honky tonk school

We got a hell of a band

Drink by drink I'm taking the bar exam."

[Trinity]

 

Well, I hadn't thought of it that way, but I guess I did.

[Texas Lawdog]

I think that was a large part of my college experience and my years in the military and being a rookie cop in the early 70's.

[Lucky Irish Tom]

Hmmmm, that might explain why the early seventies is sort of a fuzzy memory in my mind.  Only thing that seems to be clear from that period is that mass quantities of various types of alcohol products had severe bodily consequences the next day! 

[Texas Lawdog]

What he said!

[Leo Tanner]

Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

[Texas Lawdog]

Tomorrow morning is Monday and Man I'm feelin low,  Please Mr. Bartender I need a six-pack to go.

[Trinity]

Sundays always get me down like that too.

[Delmonico]

For Steel Horse, from a telly-phone conversation earlier today.

DAC again.

He came from Kentucky least ways that's what I've been told
Me and fate had left that state before his corpse got cold
He'd been killed for gold when California could be sold
To any fool who had been told about the Punkin Center Barn Dance
Mama had the fever and my daddy sold his soul
To someone called the devil that he'd met along life's road
Dad would stop to drink a toast and mom was looking like a ghost
Was gonna beat us to the coast and the Punkin Center Barn Dance
At the Punkin Center Barn Dance that's where everyone would be
Dancing to Virginia's reel and the waltz of Tennessee
When the roll is called up yonder you can hear the angels sing
At the Punkin Center Barn Dance God is gold the grass is green
[ fiddle ]
Yeah I left California just before the Grateful Dead
Told the truth about the gold I'd searched for in my head
Like my Dad I'd roamed the land and Mom could never understand
How Lucifer could bring a man to the Punkin Center Barn Dance
Well times are changin' poets say since mom and dad both passed away
But some things in this life will never change
The poets write of things to come the earth will melt into the sun
And you and I will be the ones at the Punkin Center Barn Dance
At the Punkin Center Barn Dance...
At the Punkin Center Barn Dance...