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[l/m 1/22/2008] Song Distilled Wisdom (23/28) XYZ

( Part1 - Part2 - Part3 - Part4 - Part5 - Part6 - Part7 - Part8 - Part9 - Part10 - Part11 - Part12 - Part13 - Part14 - Part15 - Part16 - Part17 - Part18 - Part19 - Part20 - Part21 - Part22 - Part23 - Part24 - Part25 - Part26 - Part27 - Part28 )
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Panel 23

See reader questions & answers on this topic! - Help others by sharing your knowledge
...
They took all the trees and put them in a tree museum
Then they charged all the people a dollar and a half just to see them.

Don't it always seem to go
That you don't know what you got till its gone.
They paved paradise and put down a parking lot.

--Joni Mitchell


Schnell (To the tune of the Marine Corps hymn):

From the ants in our petunia bed
To the crab grass in our lawn.
We will fight them off with chemicals
Till the bugs and weeds are gone.
We will use quarts and quarts of poison sprays
And we won't stop till we're thru.
The bugs and weeds are dying now,
But the plants and trees are, too.

--MAD


Nature Trail to Hell (In 3-D)

Coming this Christmas to a theater near you.
The most horrifying film to hit the screen!
There's a homicidal maniac who finds a Cub scout troop!
And he hacks up two or three in every scene.
Please don't reveal the secret ending to your friends.
Don't spoil the the big surprise.  You won't believe your eyes
When you see Nature Trail to Hell
Nature Trail to Hell, Nature Trail to Hell
In 3-D
Nature Trail to Hell, Nature Trail to Hell
Nature Trail to Hell
In 3-D

See severed heads that almost fall right in your lap.
See that bloody hatchet coming right at you.
No, you'll never see hideous effects like these again
Till we bring you Nature Trail to Hell, Part II
So bring the kids along, it's good clean family fun.
What have you got to lose? If you like the Six O'clock News,
Then you'll like Nature Trail to Hell
Nature Trail to Hell, Nature Trail to Hell
In 3-D
Nature Trail to Hell, Nature Trail to Hell
Nature Trail to Hell
In 3-D

--A.Y.


If everybody had an ocean, across the U.S.A.
Then everybody be surfing, like Californi-a.....
--BW


	Waltzing Matilda

Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong,
Under the shade of a coolibah tree,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled
You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

   Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
   You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me,
   And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled,
   You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong,
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tuckerbag
You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

   Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
   You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me,
   And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tuckerbag,
   You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

Up rode the squatter mounted on his thoroughbred,
Down came the troopers - one, two, three,
Whose that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tuckerbag?
You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

   Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
   You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me,
   Whose that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tuckerbag?
   You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

Up jumped the swagman, and sprang into the billabong,
You'll never catch me alive said he,
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong
You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

   Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
   You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me,
   And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong,
   You'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.

Traditional Australian - almost became the official national anthem a few 
years ago.  Pity it didn't!  The chosen song is full of pomp and ceremony, 
fancy words and downright rubbish.

I can explain some of the Australianisms if you wish.
David Morrison, Manager, Networks and Comms, Uni of Newcastle, Australia


A river, a mountain to be crossed.
The sun shines in mountains some times lost....
--JA


We come on the sloop John B.
My grandfather and me.
Around Nassau town we did roam.
Drinkin' all nite,
got into a fight
I feel so broke up
I want to go home.

So hoist up the John B.'s sails
See how the mainsail sets
Topple the Captain a shore
I want to go home.
Let me go home, I want'a go home.
This is the worst trip I've ever been on.
--trad.


On top of spagettehi, all covered with cheese
I lost my poor meatballs when somebody sneezed.
They rolled off of the table and onto the floor.
I last saw my poor meatballs rolling out of the door.
--trad.


How many roads must a man walk down
before you call him a man?
How many seas must the white dove sail
before she can sleep in the sand?
And how many times must the cannonballs fly
before they are forever banned?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind.
The answer is blowin' in the wind.
--B.D.


To the tune of "Streets of Laredo" (Cowboy's Lament?)
I see by his outfit that he is a hiker (biker, climber, paddler,...)
You see by my outfit that I'm a hiker too.
You see by our outfits that we are all hikers.
If you get an outfit you can be a hiker too!
--S.B.


As I went walking, that ribbon of highway
I saw above me that endless skyway
I saw below that golden valley.
This land was made for you and me.

This land is your land, this land is my land.
From California to the New York Island
From the Redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters.
This was made for your and me.

I saw a sign that said "No Trespassing."
And on the other side, that sign said nothing.
And all around me a voice was calling
"That sign was made for you and me."
or
"That side was made for you and me."

This land is your land, this land is my land.
From California to the New York Island
From the Redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters.
This was made for your and me.
--W.G.


This land is my land,
This land is my land
I've got a shotgun,
And you ain't got one.

You better get off,
'fore I blow your head off.
This land was made for only me!
--Scouting

This land is your land, it once was my land.
From California to Manhattan Island
You placed our nations on the Reservations
This was stole by you from me.
--B.St.M.


Let's do the time warp again!
Let's do the time warp again!
It's just a jump to the left.
Then a step to the right.
...
--TRHPS

from The Call of the Wild

 Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on,
   Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore,
 Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,
   Black canyons where the rapids rip and roar?
 Have you swept the visioned valley with the green stream streaking through it,
   Searched the Vastness for a something you have lost?
 Have you strung your soul to silence?  Then for God's sake go and do it;
   Hear the challenge, learn the lesson, pay the cost.


from The Ballad of the Ice-Worm Cocktail

 Said Deacon White:  "It is not strange that you should fail to know,
 Since ice-worms are peculiar to the Mountain of Blue Snow.
 Within the Polar rim it rears, a solitary peak,
 And in the smoke of early Spring (a spectacle unique)
 Like flame it leaps upon the sight and thrills you through and through,
 For though its cone is piercing white, its base is blazing blue.
 Yet all is clear as you draw near---for coyly peering out
 Are hosts and hosts of tiny worms, each indigo of snout.


from The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill

 Oh, the awful hush that seemed to crush me down on every hand,
 As I blundered blind with a trail to find through that blank and bitter land;
 Half dazed, half crazed in the winter wild, with its grim heartbreaking woes,
 And the ruthless strife for a grip on life that only the sourdough knows!
 North by the compass, North I pressed; river and peak and plain
 Passed like a dream I slept to lose and I waked to dream again.

 River and plain and mighty peak---and who could stand unawed?
 As their summits blazed, he could stand undazed at the foot of the throne of
  God.
 North, aye, North, through a land accurst, shunned by the scouring brutes,
 And all I heard was my own harsh word and the whine of the malamutes,
 Till I came at last to a cabin squat, built in the side of a hill,
 And I burst in the door, and there on the floor, frozen to death, lay Bill.

Here a bit of nonsense, sing it as a round

one bottle o' pop, two bottle o' pop 
three bottle o' pop, four bottle o' pop
five bottle o' pop, six bottle o' pop
seven bottle o' pop, pop

Don't throw your junk in my back yard
my back yard, my back yard
Don't throw your junk in my back yard 
by back yard's full

Fish and chips with vinegar
vinegar, vinegar
Fish and chips with vinegar
pepper pepper pepper pop

---

We are marching to pretoria, pretoria, pretoria
we are marching to pretoria, pretoria hura
You sing with me, i'll sing with you
and so we will sing together
so we will sing together
so we will sing together
You sing with me, i'll sing with you
and so we will sing together
as we march along

Freude, schoner Gotterfunken,
Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuertrunken,
Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!
Deine Zauber binder wieder,
Was die Mode streng geteilt;
Alle Menschen werden Bruder.
Wo dein sanfter Flugel weilt.
Wem der grosse Wurf gelungen,
Eines Freundes Freund zu sein,
Wer ein holdes Weib errungen.
Mische seinen Jubel ein!
...

La Marseillaise
Allons, enfants de la Patrie!
Le jour de glorie est arrive!
Contre nous de la tyrannie,
L'etendard sanglant est leve!
L'etendard sanglant est leve!
Entendez-vous dans les campanges
Mugir ces feroces soldats?
Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras;
Egorger nos fils, nos compagnes
Aux armes, citoyens!
Formez cos bataillons!
Marchons! Marchons! Qu'un sang impur
Abreuve nos sillions!

  "And I believe
   These are the days of lasers in the jungle
   Lasers in the jungle somewhere
   Staccato signals of constant information
   A loose affiliation of millionaires 
   And billionaires and baby 
   These are the days of miracle and wonder
   This is the long distance call
   The way the camera follows us in slo-mo
   The way we look to us all
   The way we look to a distant constellation
   That's dying in a corner of the sky
   These are the days of miracle and wonder
   And don't cry baby, don't cry
   Don't cry"
	--Paul Simon

You left out an all time favorite, a song of pure rejoicing in
nature. I'm not certain of the composer, but it was written for
a travel show of the same name (Critic's note: for best sound, 
sing at over 10,000 ft...):

    The Happy Wanderer
Tempo: Brisk (fast walking pace)

I love to go a-wandering
Along the mountain track.
And as I go, I love to sing
My knapsack on my back.

(chorus)
 Valdereee, 
 Valderaaa,
 Valdereee,
 Valderaaa-ha-ha-ha-ha,
 (repeat last line of verse)

I love to wander by the stream
That dances in the sun.
So joyously it calls to me,
"Come, join my happy song."

(chorus)

"I wave my hat to all I meet
 And they wave back to me,
 And blackbirds call so loud
     and sweet,
 From every greenwood tree."

(chorus)

"High overhead the skylarks wing,
 They never rest at home,
 But just like me they love to sing
 As o'er the world we roam."

(chorus)

Oh, may I go a-wandering
Until the day I die.
And may I always laugh and sing
Beneath the clear blue sky.


	No Boots at All

Way down in the land of the Antipodes
Where the lights of the camp-fires shine bright on the trees,
Bushmen will tell you as night shadows fall
There's a ghost roams the ranges with no boots at all.

Chorus:
    No boots, no boots at all,
    Roaming the ranges with no boots at all!

Way down in the city so sinful and bad,
There lived a young fellow, a promising lad,
He wanted to be a big bold mountaineer,
But his mother replied as she tossed down her beer:

Our hero, he murmured "Regardless press on",
When she woke in the morning, she found he was gone 
And off to the hills went her agonised shout:
"You've got no boots at all if you want to bail out!" 

He found a big mountain and climbed to the top
And stood on the edge of that horrible drop,
He thought of his mother all over again,
He could still hear her shouting that mournful refrain:

The god of the mountain looked down from his throne
And saw the young climber astanding alone.
He said to his angel "Go down with a swoosh
And give that young fellow a helluva push".

The Angel of Destiny swept through the pass,
And planted a foot fair and square on his pants.
As over and over and over fell he
The angels were singing this sweet melody:

St Peter, he stood at the heavenly gate,
Checking in drunks coming early and late.
The Orderly Angel just dropped in to say,
"There's a dirty big climber a-coming this way."

St Peter came down with a bucket of beer,
Saying, "Sorry, young fellow, you can't come in here,
With thousands of angels to answer your call,
You'd be no good in heaven with no boots at all".

The night it was stormy, the hour it was late,
When our hero arrived at the Satanic Gate,
The little black devils, they spat in his face
To show you, they said, it's a helluva place!

The devil said "Sorry, I can't let you in
Unless you've been leading a lifetime of sin.
But how could you wallow, and how could you fall?
You can't be a sinner with no boots at all!"

Now all you young fellows who some day may roam,
Be careful to stay with your mother at home.
With no one to love him or answer his call,
His ghost roams the ranges with no boots at all.

>               http://folksong.org.nz/tramp/index.html
>I have found two quite different versions of No Boots at All, one in a
>book published in NZ and this.



It's Sunday night and it's half past nine,
We're leavin' one more town behind.
The mirrors are showing the day's last glow
As we spin out into the jigsaw flow of life.
Up ahead where there should be the thickness of night,
Stars are pinned on a shimmering curtain of light.
The sky's full of rippling cliffs and chasms
That shine like a sign on the road to heaven.

I've been cut by the beauty of jagged mountains
And cut by the love that flows like a fountain from God.
So I carry these scars precious and rare
And tonight I feel like I'm made of air.

"Northern Lights" from "Dancing in the Dragon's Jaws"
Bruce Cockburn

From the album 'Hemispheres' by Rush
The Trees
--- -----
There is unrest in the forest,
There is trouble with the trees,
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas.

The trouble with the maples,
(And they're quite convinced the're right)
They say the oaks are just too lofty
And they grab up all the light.
But the oaks can't help their feelings
If they like the way they're made.
And they wonder why the maples
Can't be happy in their shade.

There is trouble in the forest,
And the creatures all have fled,
As the maples scream `Oppression`
And the oaks, just shake their heads

So the maples formed a union
And demanded equal rights.
"These oaks are just too greedy;
We will make them give us light."
Now there's no more oak oppression,
For they passed a noble law,
And the trees are all kept equal
By hatchet, axe, and saw.

George Carlin version of America the Beautiful

Oh beautiful for smoggy skies - insecticided grain
For stripminined mountains magesties, above the _asphalt_ plains.
America, America!  Man sheds his waste on thee,
and hides the pines with billboard signs from sea to oily sea!

        At dawn with staff in hand I climbed the crags,
        At dusk I made my camp among the mountains.
        Only a few peaks rise as high as this house,
        Facing crags, it overlooks winding streams.
        In front of its gates a vast forest stretches,
        While boulders lie around its very steps.
        Hemmed in by mountains, there seems no way out,
        The track gets lost among the thick bamboos.
        My visitors can never find their way,
        And when they leave, forget the path they took.
        The raging torrents rush on through the dusk,
        The monkeys clamour shrilly in the night.
        Deep in meditation, how can I part from the Truth?
        I cherish the Way and never will swerve from it.
        My heart is one with the trees of late autumn,
        My eyes delight in the buds of early spring.
        I dwell with my constant companions and wait for my end,
        Content to find peace through accepting the flux of things.
        I only regret that there is no kindred soul,
        To climb with me this ladder to the clouds in the blue


			Hsieh Ling-yun

			(early fifth century)

        The Cremation of Sam McGee
          by Robert W. Service

There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun
by the men who moil for gold.
The arctic trails have their secret tales
that would make your blood run cold.
The northern lights have seen queer sights
but the queerest they ever did see,
was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge
when I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tenessee
where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the south to roam
'round the poles, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold
seemed to hold him like a spell,
though he'd often say in his homely way
that he'd sooner live in Hell.

On a Christmas day we were mushing our way
over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold, through the parka's fold
it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze
'til sometimes we couldn't see.
It wasn't much fun, but the only one 
to whimper was Sam McGee.

And that very night while we lay packed tight
in our robes beneath the snow,
and the dogs were fed, and the stars o'er head
were dancing heel and toe,
he turns to me, and "Cap" says he
"I'll cash in this trip, I guess.
And if I do, I'm asking that you
won't refuse my last request."

Well, he looked so low that I couldn't say no,
then he says with a sort of a moan,
"It's the cursed cold, it's got right hold
'til I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet tain't being dead, it's my awful dread
of an icy grave that pains.  
So I want you to swear that foul or fair,
you'll cremate my last remains."

Well, a friend's last need is a thing to heed,
so I swore I would not fail.
We started on at the streak of dawn,
but, God, he looked ghastly pale!
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day
of his home in Tenessee,
and before nightfall, a corpse was all
that was left of Sam McGee.

There wasn't a breath in that land of death,
and I hurried on, horror stricken.
With a corpse half hid, that I couldn't get rid,
because of a promise I'd given.
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say,
"You may tax your brawn and your brains,
but you promised true, and it's up to you
to cremate these last remains."

And every day that quiet clay 
seemed to heavy and heavier grow.
But on I went, though the dogs were spent
and the grub was getting low.
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad,
but I swore I would not give in.
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing
and it harkened with a grin!

Then I came to the marge of Lake LeBarge
and a derelict there lay.
It was choked with ice, but I say in a thrice
it was named the "Alice May".
I looked at it, and I thought a bit,
then I turned to my frozen chum,
and "This" said I with a sudden cry
"is my crematorium!"

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor
and lit the boiler fire.
Some coal I found that was lying around
and heaped the fuel higher.
The furnace roared and the flames they soared,
such a blaze you seldom see.
Then I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal
and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

Then I made a hike, for I didn't like
to hear him sizzle so.
And the heavens scowled and the huskies howled
and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled
down my cheeks, I don't know why.
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak
went streaking down the sky.

I do not know how long in the snow
I wrestled with grisly fear.
But the stars were out and they danced about
'ere again I ventured near.
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said
"I'll just take a peek inside. 
He's probably cooked, it's time I looked."
Then the door I opened wide.

And there sat Sam, looking cold and calm
in the heart of the furnace roar.
He wore a smile you could see a mile,
and he said "Please shut that door!
It's warm in here, but I greatly fear
you'll let in the cold and storm.
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tenessee,
it's the first time I've been warm."

There are strange things done 'neath the midnight sun
by the men who moil for gold.
The arctic trails have their secret tales
that would make your blood run cold.
The northern lights have seen strange sights,
but the queerest they ever did see
was that night on the marge of Lake LeBarge
when I cremated Sam McGee.


Show me the way to go home.
I'm tired and I want to go to bed.
I had a little drink about an hour ago
It's gone right to my head.
Where ever I may roam
By land or sea or foam
You can always hear me singing this song
Show me the way to go home.

Show me the way to go home.
I'm tired and I want to go to bed.
Show me the way to go home.
It's gone right to my head.
Where ever I may roam
By land or sea or foam
You can always hear me singing this song
Show me the way to go home.


        A grizzly in old Yellowstone
        Said, while munching a bone:
                The pepperspray was a blast,
                Though it did give me gas;
        But I can't work this cellular phone.


I hate to go a-wandering
along the mtn. track
for every step I take I know
my pack will break my back (cho. same but manic)

I shake my fist at all I meet
and they curse back at me
I hope those city slickers break
their ankles on the scree

My sleeping bag is icy cold
the rocks they pierce right thru
I hope some kindly providence
will wish it all on you

I love to paddle in the stream   
it sparlkes bright and sweet
I hope those tourons down below
can taste my sweaty feet

I cut my finger chopping wood
my hair the fir has singed
I hope some ranger rescues me
ere i become unhinged.



I went to see Walter in the middle of the night
I tiptoed in and turned on the light
And to my surprise he was no where in sight
I'm afraid Uncle Walter has gone waltzing tonight.
 
Chorus:
He goes wa wa wa waltzing with bears
Raggy bears, baggy bears, shaggy bears, too!
There's nothing on earth Uncle Walter won't do
So he can waltzing, wa wa wa waltzing
So he can waltzing, waltzing with bears.
 
We got Uncle Walter a new coat to wear.
But when he got back, it was covered with hair.
And lately, I've notices several new tears.
I'm afraid Uncle Walter has been waltzing with bears.
 
Chorus
 
We begged and we pleaded, "Oh please won't you stay
And give it a rest at least for one day."
But the bears all came in and they took him away.
Now he's dancing with pandas and he can't understand us.
And the bears all demand at least one dance a day.
 
Chorus
 
 
My Uncle Terwilliger waltzes with bears.
 
It's a terrible, terrible state of affairs.
Every Saturday night, he creeps down our back stairs,
sneaks out of our house to go waltzing with bears.
 
#
Wa-wa-wa waltzing, waltzing with bears,
Polar bears, honey bears, grizzly bears too!
And there's nothing that any our family can do,
To stop Uncle Terwilliger  from waltzing with bears.
 
Uncle says it's more fun than just sitting in chairs,
And I'm not going to stop it, my uncle delcares.
It keeps my mind off of my worries and cares.
 
#
Wa-wa-wa waltzing with bears,
Shaggy bears, waggy bears, baggy bears too!
And there's nothing at all that our family can do,
To stop Uncle Terwilliger from waltzing with bears.


Subject: Camp stove poem:

The bacon's in a tree.
There's a fire on my knee.
There's an egg in my sock.
The hash browns are rolling down the dock.
Breakfast is far more exciting.
When the stove explodes when igniting.

From: lindell@unirsvl.rsvl.unisys.com (Steve Lindell )
apologies and credits to the "Red Green Show"
sing it to the theme from the tv show rawhide.........
 

 
 
shreddin', shreddin', shreddin',
 
through the fluff we're headin'
keep those skiers shreddin'
 
ski vail
 
don't try to understand 'em
just join 'em, stay, and ski 'em
soon you'll be skiin' the light and dry
 
all the things you're missin'
good bowls, great trees, and shushin'
are waitin' at the end of your ride.....
 
ski it up. bump it out.
ski it up. bump it out.
 
ski vail
 
ski it up. bump it out.
ski it up. bump it out.
 
SKIIIIIIIIIII VAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIL!
 
SKI VAIL!
 
 
we no return you to our regularily scheduled news group already in progress.
 
 
dave
 
"what more can you say?"


paying, paying, paying,
ouch our wallets are saying,
for deals we are praying,
ski vail
 
Ducking hordes of bunnies
got no room for running
Texans sure ain't funny
 
ski vail
 
style it up trash it out
style it up trash it out
ski vail
 
Pay for parking first
hike a mile, gets worse
Vail sucks, I curse,
'
ski anywhwere but vail


: Trolling.....Trolling.......Trolling
 
: Keep that stupidity flowing
 
: A horse's ass is showing.....Raw hide!!!!!
: -- 
 
 
 
They post to get you going.
 
The thread just keeps on growing.
 
It seems that it will never ever diiiiiiieeeeee.....
 
 
Round em up! Flood em out!


This is the way we troll our 'group,
Troll our 'group, troll our 'group.
This is the way we troll our 'group
so early in the morning.

YES, YOU'LL GET THESE AND MANY OTHER GREAT TROLLING HITS WHEN YOU
ORDER "THE BEST TROLLING SONGS OF ALL TIME

REMEMBER THIS GOLDEN OLDIE?

"Papa was a Trollin' Stone"

AND THE TRADITIONAL CAMPFIRE SINGALONG

Troll, troll, troll your boat.

PLUS THE THEME FROM RAWHIDE.

Trollin'  trollin'  trollin'

AND THIS ONE:

Oh I've been trolling in the newsgroup
All the live-long day.
I've been trolling in the newsgroup
Just to pass the time away.



AND THIS ONE:
To be sung to "Modern Major General" by Gilbert & Sullivan

I am the very model of a Newsgroup personality.
I intersperse obscenity with tedious banality.
Addresses I have plenty of, both genuine and ghosted, too,
On all the countless newsgroups that my drivel is cross-posted to.
Your bandwidth I will fritter with my whining and my snivelling,
And you're the one who pays the bill, downloading all my drivelling.
My enemies are numerous, and no-one would be blaming you
For cracking my head open after I've been rudely flaming you.
I hate to lose an argument (by now I should be used to it).
I wouldn't know a valid point if I was introduced to it.
My learning is extensive but consists of mindless trivia,
Designed to fan my ego, which is larger than Bolivia.
The comments that I vomit forth, disguised as jest and drollery,
Are really just an exercise in unremitting trollery.
I say I'm frank and forthright, but that's merely lies and vanity,
The gibberings of one who's at the limits of his sanity.
If only I could get a life, as many people tell me to;
If only Mom could find a circus freak-show she could sell me to;
If I go off to Zanzibar to paint the local scenery;
If I lose all my fingers in a mishap with machinery;
If I survive to twenty, which is somewhat problematical;
If what I post was more mature, or slightly more grammatical;
If I could learn to spell a bit, and maybe even punctuate;
Would I still be the loathsome and objectionable punk you hate?
But while I have this tiresome urge to prance around and show myface,
It simply isn't safe for normal people here in cyberspace.
To stick me in Old Sparky and turn on the electricity,
Would be a fitting punishment for my egocentricity.
I always have the last word; so, with uttermost finality,
That's all from me, the model of a Newsgroup personality.



YES, YOU'LL GET HOURS OF MUSICAL ENJOYMENT FROM "THE GREATEST TROLLING
SONGS OF ALL TIME.
************************************************************************
A man with all the charm of a Komodo dragon coupled with the mental
agility of a soapdish.



         YOSEMITE
 
         By Jim Bearden
         Copyright (c) 1990
"Permission granted for private, non-commercial use or duplication;
commercial use prohibited without permission."
 
VERSE 1: See the shining waterfall three thousand feet high;
         See the mighty El Capitan rise up to meet the sky;
         Hear the voice of Happy Isles as it bubbles laughingly,
         While the giant face of Half Dome gazes out on eternity.
         Take the time to look around you, listen to the sounds,
         Walk an hour among the trees, and notice what you've found.
 
CHORUS:  Hail to thee, Yosemite, crown jewel of the earth!
         Let us learn from you how life can mean much more than death and birth.         Help us learn to see our world, learn to feel, learn to hear,
         Because if we can't make it here, we can't make it anywhere.
 
VERSE 2: See the crowded shopping mall Yosemite's become;
         They say, "Let's bring in lots more tourists, sell the ads, beat the drum."
         "Sit in our bar, watch TV, have a drink, have a meal --
         And you'll never have to go outside, or see a thing that's real."
         But if you leave your car, leave the crowds, leave the noise and fuss,
         There's a whole world that you'll never see from inside a tourist bus.
 
CHORUS
 
VERSE 3: See poor, raped Hetch Hetchy as she lies there, gagged and drowned,
         And think of what it could be like if the spirit could be found
         To release her from her captors' power- and money-hungry hands,
         From the kind who see just profits, when they look out on our lands.
         Imagine that green valley, and those shining waterfalls,
         If we had the courage to take back what was stolen from us all.
 
CHORUS
 
VERSE 4: Once a foolish tourist asked a ranger passing by
         How to see the park in just an hour, he really had to fly.
         The ranger'd been there fifty years, he still hadn't seen it all;
         He just said, "I'd go right down to that river, and I'd bawl."
         Some things you can hurry, some you want to rush right through;
         But on some you can spend a lifetime, and they still can seem brand new.
 
CHORUS
 
VERSE 5: Look up to Yosemite, to the great and glorious view;
         Then look down to the smaller things, and see your world anew.
         Five billion years of evolution in every living tree;
         And a world-wide web of life that's tied to everything you see.
         You don't have to leave Yosemite when you get into your car --
         There's a spirit you can take with you, no matter where you are.
 
CHORUS


Empty beer cans
by the road
are ugly, many say.
But at night,
reflecting bright,
they safely guide the way.
Burma Shave!
                - Mad Magazine, circa 1970



So daddy won't you take me back to Muhlenberg county
Down by the Green River where Paradise lay.
Well, I'm sorry my son, but your too late in askin'
Mr. Peabody's coal train has hauled it away.....
 


So daddy won't you take me back to dirt ride in Utah
Down by the Escalante where the Kiaparowits lay.
Well, I'm sorry my son, but your too late in askin'
SUWA's eco movement has locked it away.....


>"Beyond Electric Dreams" by Bad Religion:
>
>http://www.actionext.com/names_b/bad_religion_lyrics/beyond_electric_dreams.htm
l


The MEN That Don't Fit in

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
	A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
	And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
	And they climb the mountain's crest;
Their is the curse of the gypsy blood,
	And they don't know how to rest.

If the just went straight they might go farl
	They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
	And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
	What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
	Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
	With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet plodding ones
	Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands on day, with a hope that's dead,
	In the glare of the truth at last.

He has failed, he has failed, he has missed his chance;
	He has just done things by half.
Life's been a joly good joke on him.
	And now is the time to laugh.
Ha, ha!  He is one of the Legion Lost;
	He was never meant to win;
He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
	He's a man who wont fit in.

Robert Service




TABLE OF CONTENTS of this chain:

23/ A bit of song (like camp songs)			<* THIS PANEL *>
24/ What is natural?
25/ A romantic notion of high-tech employment
26/ Other news groups of related interest, networking
27/ Films/cinema references
28/ References (written)
1/ DISCLAIMER
2/ Ethics
3/ Learning I
4/ learning II (lists, "Ten Essentials," Chouinard comments)
5/ Summary of past topics
6/ Non-wisdom: fire-arms topic circular discussion
7/ Phone / address lists
8/ Fletcher's Law of Inverse Appreciation / Rachel Carson / Foreman and Hayduke
9/ Water Filter wisdom
10/ Volunteer Work
11/ Snake bite
12/ Netiquette
13/ Questions on conditions and travel
14/ Dedication to Aldo Leopold
15/ Leopold's lot.
16/ Morbid backcountry
17/ Information about bears
18/ Poison ivy, frequently ask, under question
19/ Lyme disease, frequently ask, under question
20/ "Telling questions" backcountry Turing test
21/ AMS
22/ Babies and Kids

-- 

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Last Update March 27 2014 @ 02:11 PM