. . .
|
|
words and music by Arlo Guthrie
Warm me from the wind and take my haand
A song is sounding, softly singing
My song is cast upon the rainbow waves
Forever splashing in the sunlight
Prove to me there's a love still left
In all of this emptiness around me
Take me from the chilling of the evening
Though you know my love that I must go
A-following the winds that blow inside me
I've nowhere left to run or hide
Except if you will come and run beside me
And even if you do there'll be a lot for us to do
To keep believing
Take me from the chilling of the evening
And now my time has come down many streets
I'm coming from a night decaying
The song that itself sings is all alone
I cannot even hear it playing
Now to leave before I understand
Just what it is I'm leaving
Take me from the chilling of the evening
. . .
|
|
Words and Music by Woody Guthrie and Jack Guthrie
Many a month has come and gone
Since I've wandered from my home
In those Oklahoma hills
Where I was born
Many a page of my life has turned
Many lessons I have learned
And I feel like in those hills
Where I belong
CHORUS:
Way down yonder in the Indian nation
Ridin' my pony on the reservation
In the Oklahoma hills where I was born
Way down yonder in the Indian nation
A cowboy's life is my occupation
In the Oklahoma Hills where I was born
But as I sit here today
Many mile's I am away
From the place I rode my pony
Through the draw
Where the oak and black-jack trees
Kiss the playful prairie breeze
And I feel back in those hills
Where I belong
CHORUS
Now as I turn life a page
To the land of the great Osage
In those Oklahoma hills
Where I was born
Where the black oil rolls and flows
And the snow white cotton grows
And I feel like in those hills
Where I belong
CHORUS
. . .
|
Intro to St. James Infirmary |
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
by Bob Dylan
Oh the time will come up
When the winds will stop
And the breeze will cease to be a'breathin'
Like the stillness in the wind
Before the hurricane begins
The hour when the ship comes in
And the sea will split
And the ship will hit
And the shoreline sands will be a'shakin'
And the tide will sound
And the waves will pound
And the morning will be breakin'
Oh the fishes will laugh
As they swim out of the path
And the seagulls will be a'smilin'
And the rocks on the sand
Will proudly stand
The hour that the ship comes in
And the words that are used
For to get the ship confused
Will not be understood as they're spoken
For the chains of the sea
Will have busted in the night
And be buried at the bottom of the ocean
A song will lift,
As the mainsail shifts
And the boat drifts out to the shoreline
And the sun will respect
Every face on the deck
The hour that the ship comes in
And the sands will roll
Out a carpet of gold
For your weary toes to be a'touchin'
And the ship's wise men
Will remind you once again
That the whole wide world is watchin'
Oh the foe will rise
With the sleep still in their eyes
And they'll jerk from their beds and think they're dreamin'
And they'll pinch themselves and squeal
And they'll know that it's for real
The hour when the ship comes in
And they'll raise their hands
Sayin' "We'll meet all your demands"
And we'll shout from the bow "Your days are numbered"
And like the pharoah's triumph
They'll be drownded in the tide
Like Goliath they'll be conquered
. . .
|
The Motorcycle Song - an Education |
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
Haleiwa Farewell (Haleiwa Blues) |
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
Coming in from London from over the pole
Flying in a big airliner
Chicken flying everywhere around the plane
Could we ever feel much finer
Coming into Los Angeles
Bringing in a couple of ki's
Don't touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, yeah
There's a guy with a ticket to Mexico
No, he couldn't look much stranger
Walking in the hall with his things and all
Smiling, said he was the Lone Ranger
Coming into Los Angeles
Bringing in a couple of ki's
Don't touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man
Hip woman walking on the moving floor
Tripping on the escalator
There's a man in the line and she's blowing his mind
Thinking that he's already made her
Coming into Los Angeles
Bringing in a couple of ki's
Don't touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man
Coming in from London from over the pole
Flying in a big airliner
Chicken flying everywhere around the plane
Could we ever feel much finer
Coming into Los Angeles
Bringing in a couple of ki's
Don't touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, yeah, all right
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
Riding on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail
15 cars and 15 restless riders
3 conductors, 25 sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along past houses, farms, and fields
Passing trains that have no name
And freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles
Good morning, America, how are you?
Said don't you know me, I'm your native son
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
Dealing card games with the old men in the club car
Penny a point, ain't no one keeping score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumbling 'neath the floor
And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers' magic carpets made of steel
And mothers with their babes asleep
Are rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Good morning, America, how are you?
Said don't you know me, I'm your native son
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
Nighttime on the City of New Orleans
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we'll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness, rolling down to the sea
But all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rail still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again
The passengers will please refrain
This train got the disappearing railroad blues
Good night, America, how are you?
Said don't you know me, I'm your native son
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone 500 miles when the day is done
. . .
|
A Poster With Janis Joplin |
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
words and music by Woody Guthrie
Chorus:
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 land was made for you and me
As I was walking a ribbon of highway
I saw above me an endless skyway
I saw below me a golden valley
This land was made for you and me
Chorus
I've roamed and rambled and I've followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts
And all around me a voice was sounding
This land was made for you and me
Chorus
The sun comes shining as I was strolling
The wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling
The fog was lifting a voice come chanting
This land was made for you and me
Chorus
As I was walkin' - I saw a sign there
And that sign said - no tress passin'
But on the other side .... it didn't say nothin!
Now that side was made for you and me!
Chorus
In the squares of the city - In the shadow of the steeple
Near the relief office - I see my people
And some are grumblin' and some are wonderin'
If this land's still made for you and me.
Chorus (2x)
. . .
|
|
|
. . .
|
|
words and music by Arlo Guthrie
Sail with me into the unknown void
That has no end
Swept along the open road
That don't seem to begin
Come with me a love me, Babe
I may be back again
Meantime I'll keep sailing down
This highway in the wind
Evenings just begin the days
And follows with the night
To love you and to be with you
And say that it's all right
Love me while you have me, Babe
I may be back again
Meantime I'll keep sailing down
This highway in the wind
There's times I feel like going
And there's times I want to stay
Times that I ain't feeling well
And times I feel ok
Now you have time to love me, Babe
And I may have time agian
Meantime I'll keep sailing down
This highway in the wind
The fortune teller tells me
I have somewhere to go
I look and try to understand
And wonder how she knows
So I must be going now
I'm losing time my friend
Looking for a rainbow
Down this highway in the wind
. . .
|
Switch to Russian 
