1. |
Arthur McBride
05:37
|
|||
Oh, me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride
As we went a-walking down by the seaside
Now mark what followed and what did betide
For it being on Christmas morning
Out for recreation we went on a tramp
And we met Sergeant Napper and Corporal Vamp
And a little wee drummer intending to camp
For the day being pleasant and charming
"Good morning, good morning!" the Sergeant did cry
"And the same to you gentlemen!" we did reply,
Intending no harm, but meant to pass by,
For it being on Christmas morning
But says he, "My fine fellows, if you would enlist
It's ten guineas in gold I will slip in your fist
And a crown in the bargain for to kick up the dust
And drink the king's health in the morning."
"For a soldier he leads a very fine life
And he always is blessed with a charming young wife
And he pays all his debts without sorrow and strife
And always lives pleasant and charming
And a soldier he always is decent and clean
In the finest of clothing he's constantly seen
While other poor fellows go dirty and mean
And sup on thin gruel in the morning."
But says Arthur, "I wouldn't be proud of your clothes
For you've only the lend of them, as I suppose
And you dare not change them one night, for you know
If you do you'll be flogged in the morning
And although that we are single and free
We take great delight in our own company
And we have no desires strange faces to see
Although that your offers are charming.
And we have no desire to take your advance
All hazards and dangers we barter on chance
For you would have no scruples for to send us to France
Where we would get shot without warning."
"Oh now!" says the sergeant, "I'll have no such chat
And I neither will take it from spalpeen or brat
For if you insult me with one other word
I'll cut off your heads in the morning."
And then Arthur and I we soon drew our hods
And we scarce gave them time for to draw their own blades
When a trusty shillelagh came over their heads
And bade them take that as fair warning
And their own rusty rapiers that hung by their side
We flung them as far as we could in the tide
"Now take them up, devils!" cried Arthur McBride,
"And temper their edge in the morning."
And the little wee drummer we flattened his bow
And we made a football of his rowdy-dow-dow
Threw it in the tide for to rock and to roll
And bade it a tedious returning
And we having no money paid them off in cracks
And we paid no respect to their two bloody backs
For we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks
And left them for dead in the morning
And so to conclude and to finish disputes
We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits
For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts
And bid them look sharp in the morning
Oh, me and my cousin one Arthur McBride
As we went a-walking down by the seaside
Now mark what followed and what did betide
For it being on Christmas morning
|
||||
2. |
Death Cap Reel
03:42
|
|||
Well—
If you ever go out walking
Into the forest alone,
You might find yourself
In the cleft of an old oak tree
Hungry, bereft, and fancy free.
Well, Pilgrim—
Aunt Anita's planted
'neath your feet she calls to you.
Don't listen––
Don't heed the song
her flaunted chant from the haunted ramparts of the firmament...
|
||||
3. |
Yellow House Canyon
04:30
|
|||
When last I walked through your doorway
I walked alone
When last I tried for to leave you
My feet were of stone
But the river was running
Why not I?
When the moon it was high
When last I spoke of a true thing
The woods were aflame
The sky was solid with blue smoke
My mind was the same
Down in Yellow House Canyon
Wet with tears
The illusion appears
When first we came to this country
We came in peace
But the land it is dry
And the winds never cease
On the banks of the North Fork Double Mountain Fork Brazos River
We count ourselves blessed
Yes, on the banks of the North Fork Double Mountain Fork Brazos River
We count ourselves blessed
As we drift off to rest
|
||||
4. |
Organ Song
04:25
|
|||
Slide me a femur and carve me a hole
We'll finger the notes as we go
Toss me a kettle and spin it around the fire
And we'll hammer until it plays Do
Or sit and listen to wind rushing o'er
The river cane reeds when they're broke
Tell me you'll listen for whistlin' of the wood thrush
That warbles in forests below, it'll go––
Call the name of a tune that you learned from your second cousin
And we'll figure it out while we're strummin'
Call me a fool for just listening through
Never knowing how it was done
Makin' it up as we go––
|
||||
5. |
||||
Four and Seven Crows
Where do they go, where do they go?
Down where the thistle bush always grows
and the wind blows.
Where the Northwind ever blows
that's where they go.
Oh, those four and seven crows.
The winter in my darkest marrow,
Hardened purple walls,
Bolted wood-torn shutters
Frost-borne Nubian eclipse
The scattered plasma on the walls, itching.
My grave is a hardened bone.
The highlands in my plaqued aorta,
Ruffled at the sleeve,
And a limp grown stronger
The crest of seas which once boiled over
Now marbled over with lipid spills.
The gilded gate is a tattered vein.
Four and Seven Crows,
Which of you knows which way she goes?
She tied a ribbon 'round one of your toes,
A winter's rose,
And she whispered soft and slow whither she'd go
To but one of you black crows.
The willow in my wheezing bellows,
Sulphuric greys of a turning steak,
Sink-holed battleground like Swiss,
The scattered scars of a woolly lung.
My grave is a yellow sponge.
Oh you twenty-nine crows,
Only you know now I suppose,
Before she quietly froze,
A winter's rose,
That she wed me in the cold and the deep snow
And only you know.
|
Grant Wallace Band Chicago, Illinois
surrealist folk • outsider jazz
Streaming and Download help
If you like Grant Wallace Band, you may also like:
Bandcamp Daily your guide to the world of Bandcamp