Howdy folks! Welcome to my music thread! I will post music and we sing along! Gather 'round the campfire everyone! *Pulls Out Guitar*
Here is a little song I wrote You might want to sing it note for note Don't worry be happy In every life we have some trouble When you worry you make it double Don't worry, be happy... Ain't got no place to lay your head Somebody came and took your bed Don't worry, be happy The land lord say your rent is late He may have to litigate Don't worry, be happy Look at me I am happy Don't worry, be happy Here I give you my phone number When you worry, call me I make you happy Don't worry, be happy Ain't got no cash, ain't got no style Ain't got no girl to make you smile But don't worry be happy Cause when you worry Your face will frown And that will bring everybody down So don't worry, be happy (now)... There is this little song I wrote I hope you learn it note for note Like good little children Don't worry, be happy Listen to what I say In your life expect some trouble But when you worry You make it double Don't worry, be happy... Don't worry don't do it, be happy Put a smile on your face Don't bring everybody down like this Don't worry, it will soon pass Whatever it is Don't worry, be happy
The player formerly known as +medic+Goa.Johnson(nl)
1st February 2004
hehe nice thread great idea!!!! now for some songs: hmmmmm maybe this is nice for WW (haven't got a cleu what the name of the song is, just liked the WW text :p):
Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day Home, home on the range Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day How often at night where the heavens are bright With the light of the glittering stars Have I stood there amazed and asked as I gazed If their glory exceeds that of ours Home, home on the range Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day Then give me a land where the bright diamond sand Flows leisurely down to the stream Where the graceful white swan goes gliding along Like a maid in a heavenly dream Oh I would not exchange my old home on the range Where the deer and the antelop play Where the seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day
Here is a rare goodie!!! Cambo will enjoy this one.....
Perfect Sense, Part I The monkey sat on a pile of stone And stared at the broken bone in his hand Strains of a Viennese quartet rang out across the land And the monkey looked up at the stars And he thought to himself Memory is a stranger History is for fools And he cleaned his hands in a pool of holy writing Turned his back on the garden and set out for the nearest town Hold on hold on soldier
When you add it all up The tears and the marrowbone There's an ounce of gold And an ounce of pride in each ledger And the Germans killed the Jews And the Jews killed the Arabs And the Arabs killed the hostages And that is the news And is it any wonder that the monkey's confused He said Mama, the President's a fool Why do I have to keep reading these technical manuals And the joint chiefs of staff And the brokers on Wall Street said Don't make us laugh, you're a smart kid Time is linear Memory is a stranger History is for fools Man is a tool in the hands Of the great God Almighty And they gave him command of a nuclear submarine And sent him back in search of the Garden of Eden
I like big butts an' I cannot lie. You otha brothas can't deny. That when a girl walks in wit' a itty bitty waist an' A round thing in yo' face. You get SPRUNG. Wanna pull up tough, cuz you notice that butt was STUFFED. Deep in the jeans she's wearin'. I'm hooked an' I can't stop starin'. Oh baby, I wanna get wit' ya, An' take yo' picta. My homeboys tried to warn me. But that butt you got makes me so horny. Ooh, rumpled smooth skin. You say you wanna Get in ma Benz? Well, use me, use me, Cuz you ain't that average groupy. I seen her dancin', To Hell wit' romancin'. She's sweat. Wet. Got it goin' like a Turbo 'Vette. I'm tired o' magazines Sayin' flat butts are the thing. Take the average black man and ask him that. She gotta pack much back. So fella's (YEAH), fella's (YEAH), Does your girlfrien' got the butt? (HELL, YEAH) So tell 'em to shake it (SHAKE IT), Shake it (SHAKE IT) Shake that healthy butt. Baby got back. (L.A. back with a Oakland booty.) Baby got back. (L.A. back with a Oakland booty.) (L.A. back with a Oakland booty.)
hey gang, lets try to give credit to the artist when we quote them :D
Dogs - Pink floyd You gotta be crazy, you gotta have a real need You gotta sleep on your toes, and when you're on the street You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat with your eyes closed And then moving in silently, down wind and out of sight You gotta strike when the moment is right without thinking. And after a while, you can work on points for style Like the club tie, and the firm handshake A certain look in the eye, and an easy smile You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to So that when they turn their backs on you You'll get the chance to put the knife in. You gotta keep one eye looking over your shoulder You know it's going to get harder, and harder, and harder as you get older And in the end you'll pack up, fly down south Hide your head in the sand Just another sad old man All alone and dying of cancer. And when you loose control, you'll reap the harvest that you've sown And as the fear grows, the bad blood slows and turns to stone And it's too late to loose the weight you used to need to throw around So have a good drown, as you go down, alone Dragged down by the stone. I gotta admit that I'm a little bit confused Sometimes it seems to me as if I'm just being used Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off this creeping malaise If I don't stand my own ground, how can I find my way out of this maze? Deaf, dumb, and blind, you just keep on pretending That everyone's expendable and no-one has a real friend And it seems to you the thing to do would be to isolate the winner And everythings done under the sun And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer. Who was born in a house full of pain Who was trained not to spit in the fan Who was told what to do by the man Who was broken by trained personnel Who was fitted with collar and chain Who was given a pat on the back Who was breaking away from the pack Who was only a stranger at home Who was ground down in the end Who was found dead on the phone Who was dragged down by the stone.
yep, it's been one of those days.
She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes She'll be coming round the mountain, she'll be coming round the mountain, She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes She'll be driving six white horses when she comes She'll be driving six white horses when she comes She'll be driving six white horses, she'll be driving six white horses, She'll be driving six white horses when she comes Oh, we'll all go out to meet her when she comes Oh, we'll all go out to meet her when she comes Oh, we'll all go out to meet her, we'll all go out to meet her, We'll all go out to meet her when she comes She'll be wearing red pajamas when she comes She'll be wearing red pajamas when she comes She'll be wearing red pajamas, she'll be wearing red pajamas, She'll be wearing red pajamas when she comes She will have to sleep with Grandma when she comes She will have to sleep with Grandma when she comes She will have to sleep with Grandma, she will have to sleep with Grandma, She will have to sleep with Grandma when she comes
:drink: :Popcorn: :drink:
BITE_ME!!Here is a rare goodie!!! Cambo will enjoy this one.....King BeeWell, I'm a King BeeBuzzing around your hiveYes, I'm a King Bee, childBuzzing around your hiveI can make good honeyLet me come insideI'm young and ableTo buzz all night longYou know I'm young and ableTo buzz all night longWhen you hear me buzz, little girlYou know some stinging's going on(Well, buzz some) I'll sting (yeah)Well, I'm a King BeeCan buzz all night longYes I'm a King BeeCan buzz all night longWell, I buzz better baby,When your man is gone.
Pink Floyd - Take up thy stethoscope and walk Doctor doctor! I'm in bed Achin' head Gold is lead Choke on bread Underfed Gold is lead Jesus bled Pain is red Are goon Grow go Greasy spoon You swoon June bloom
Music seems to help the pain Seems to cultivate the brain. Doctor kindly tell your wife that I'm alive - flowers thrive - realize - realize Realize.
australian bush ballad about northan terrotory tie me kangaroo down, sport tie me kangaroo down watch me wallaby waltz mate watch mi walaby waltz rolf harris writter :beer: rofl Deadeye [indent]Brumby's Run
The aboriginal term for a wild horse is a "brumby". At a trial in the Supreme Court in Sydney around the time this poem was written, the judge, hearing the term "brumby horses" asked "Who is Brumby and where is his run?"
It lies beyond the Western Pines Towards the sinking sun, And not a survey mark defines The bounds of "Brumby's Run".
On odds and ends of mountain land, On tracks of range and rock Where no one else can make a stand, Old Brumby rears his stock.
A wild, unhandled lot they are Of every shape and breed. They venture out 'neath moon and star Along the flats to feed;
But when the dawn makes pink the sky And steals along the plain, The Brumby horses turn and fly Towards the hills again.
The traveller by the mountain-track May hear their hoof-beats pass, And catch a glimpse of brown and black Dim shadows on the grass.
The eager stockhorse pricks his ears And lifts his head on high In wild excitement when he hears The Brumby mob go by.
Old Brumby asks no price or fee O'er all his wide domains: The man who yards his stock is free To keep them for his pains.
So, off to scour the mountain-side With eager eyes aglow, To strongholds where the wild mobs hide The gully-rakers go.
A rush of horses through the trees, A red shirt making play; A sound of stockwhips on the breeze, They vanish far away!
Ah, me! before our day is done We long with bitter pain To ride once more on Brumby's Run And yard his mob again.
A.B. Banjo Paterson
[/indent]writter A.B. Banjo Paterson http://www.users.bigpond.com/bushie55/paterson/paterverse.htm more ozzie ballads by banjo:beer: