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Joan Baez
Joan Baez





Music World  →  Lyrics  →  J  →  Joan Baez  →  Albums  →  Joan Baez In Concert

Joan Baez Album


Joan Baez In Concert (1962)
1962
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. . .


Babe, i'm gonna leave you
Tell you when i'm gonna leave you
leave you when ol'summer time,
summer comes a-rolling
leave you when ol'summer comes along
Babe, the highway is a-callin'
the old highway's a-callin'
callin'me to travel on, travel on out the Westward
callin'me to travel on alone
Babe,I'd like to stay here
you know I'd really like to stay here
my feet start goin'down,goin'down the highway
my feet start goin'down, goin'down alone
Babe,I got to ramble
You know I got to ramble
My feet start goin'down and I got to follow
my feet start goin'down, and I got to go

. . .


As I walked out over London bridge
One misty morning early,
I overheard a fair pretty maid
Was lamenting for her Geordie.

Ah, my Geordie will be hanged in a golden chain,
'Tis not the chain of many
He was born of king's royal breed
And lost to a virtuous lady.

Go bridle me my milk white steed,
Go bridle me my pony,
I will ride to London court
To plead for the life of my Geordie.

Ah, my Geordie never stole nor cow nor calf,
He never hurted any,
Stole sixteen of the king's royal deer,
And he sold them in Bohenny.

Two pretty babies have I born,
The third lies in my body,
I'd freely part with them every one
If you'd spare the life of Geordie.

The judge looked over his left shoulder,
He said fair maid I'm sorry
He said fair maid you must be gone
For I cannot pardon Geordie.

Ah, my Geordie will be hanged in a golden chain,
'Tis not the chain of many,
Stole sixteen of the king's royal deer
And he sold them in Bohenny

. . .


Get you a copper kettle
And get you a copper coil
Cover with new cut corn mash
And never more you'll toil

Chorus:

You just lay there by the juniper
While the moon is high
And watch them jugs a-fillin
In the pale moonlight


Build your fires of hickory
Hickory or ash or oak
Don't use no green or rotten wood
They'll catch you by the smoke

(Chorus)

My daddy he made whiskey
My granddaddy did too
We ain't paid no whiskey tax
Since Seventeen Ninety Two

(Chorus)

. . .


Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya,
Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya,
Kumbaya, my Lord, Kumbaya, oh, Lord, Kumbaya.
Someone's singing, Lord, Kumbaya,
someone's singing, Lord, Kumbaja.
Someone's singing, Lord, Kumbaya, oh Lord, Kumbaya.
Someone's praying, Lord, Kumbaya,
Someone's praying, Lord, Kumbaya.
Someone's praying, Lord, Kumbaya, oh Lord, Kumbaya.
Someone's crying, Lord, Kumbaya,
someone's crying, Lord, Kumbaya.
Someone's crying, Lord, Kumbaya, oh, Lord, Kumbaya.
Someone's sleeping Lord, Kumbaya,
someone's sleeping, Lord, Kumbaya.
Someone's sleeping, Lord, Kumbaya, oh, Lord, Kumbaya.


(Joan Baez)

. . .


Just a little rain falling all around
The grass lifts its head to the heavenly sound
Just a little rain, just a little rain
What have they done to the rain

Just a little boy standing in the rain
The gentle rain that falls for years
And the grass is gone, the boy disappears
And rain keeps falling like helpless tears
And what have they done to the rain

Just a little breeze out of the sky
The leaves nod their head as the breeze blows by
Just a little breeze with some smoke in its eye
What have they done to the rain

Just a little boy standing in the rain
The gentle rain that falls for years
And the grass is gone, the boy disappears
And rain keeps falling like helpless tears
And what have they done to the rain
What have they done to the rain

. . .


Black, black, black
is the color of my true love's hair
Her lips are like a rose so fair
And the prettiest face and the neatest hands.
I love the grass whereon she stands
She with the wondrous hair.

Black, black, black
is the color of my true love's hair
Her face is something truly rare.
Oh I do love my love and so well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes.
She with the wondrous hair.

Black, black, black
is the color of my true love's hair
Alone, my life would be so bare.
I would sigh, I would weep,
I would never fall asleep
My love is 'way beyond compare
She with the wondrous hair.
Black, black, black
is the color of my true love's hair.

. . .


And I holler why,
and I holler why
And I holler why,
the tortoise boy no mon ami!

And I holler why,
and I holler why
And I holler why,
the tortoise boy no mon ami!

First he give me one,
then he give me two
And he give me three and I holler
"Lord have mercy"

And I holler why,
and I holler why
And I holler why,
the tortoise boy no mon ami!

First we go in a room,
make me mama no know
Make me lie on a sofa,
make me have-a me labor

And I holler why,
and I holler why
And I holler why,
the tortoise boy no mon ami!

Give me back me shillin',
give me back me shillin'
You can stand on your own feet now,
give me back me shillin'

And I holler why,
and I holler why
And I holler why,
the tortoise boy no mon ami!

Hold me tight, hold me tight,
danger waters coming baby
hold me tight
hold me tight, hold me tight,
danger water coming, baby,
hold me

And I holler why,
and I holler why
And I holler why,
the tortoise boy no mon ami!

And I holler why,
and I holler why
And I holler why,
the tortoise boy no mon ami!

. . .


I have the news to bring
And that is why I sing
All my joy with you I'll share
I'm gonna take a trip on that old Gospel Ship
And go sailin' through the air

I'm gonna take a trip on that old Gospel Ship
Goin' far beyond the sky
I'm gonna shout and sing until the bells gonna ring
When I bid this world goodbye

I can hardly wait
I know I won't be late
I'll spend my time in prayer
And when the ship comes in, I'll leave this world of sin
And go sailin' through the air

I'm gonna take a trip on that old Gospel Ship
Goin' far beyond the sky
I'm gonna shout and sing until the bells gonna ring
When I bid this world goodbye

If you are ashamed of me
You ought not to be
And you'd better have a care
If too much fault you find you'll sure be left behind
When I'm sailin' through the air

I'm gonna take a trip on that old Gospel Ship
Goin' far beyond the sky
I'm gonna shout and sing until the bells gonna ring
When I bid this world goodbye

. . .


The House Carpenter

"Well met, well met, my own true love,
well met, well met," cried he.
"I've just returned from the salt, salt sea
all for the love of thee."

"I could have married the King's daughter dear,
she would have married me.
But I have forsaken her crowns of gold
all for the love of thee."

"Well, if you could have married the King's daughter dear, I'm sure you are to blame,
For I am married to a house carpenter,
and find him a nice young man."

"Oh, will you forsake your house carpenter
and go along with me?
I'll take you to where the grass grows green,
to the banks of the salt, salt sea."

"Well, if I should forsake my house carpenter
and go along with thee,
What have you got to maintain me on
and keep me from poverty?"

"Six ships, six ships all out on the sea,
seven more upon dry land,
One hundred and ten all brave sailor men
will be at your command."

She picked up her own wee babe,
kisses gave him three,
Said "Stay right here with my house carpenter
and keep him good company.

Then she putted on her rich attire,
so glorious to behold.
And as she trod along her way,
she shown like the glittering gold.

Well, they'd not been gone but about two weeks,
I know it was not three.
When this fair lady began to weep,
she wept most bitterly.

"Ah, why do you weep, my fair young maid,
weep it for your golden store?
Or do you weep for your house carpenter
who never you shall see anymore?"

"I do not weep for my house carpenter
or for any golden store.
I do weep for my own wee babe,
who never I shall see anymore."

Well, they'd not been gone but about three weeks,
I'm sure it was not four.
Our gallant ship sprang a leak and sank,
never to rise anymore.

One time around spun our gallant ship,
two times around spun she,
Three times around spun our gallant ship
and sank to the bottom of the sea.

"What hills, what hills are those, my love,
that rise so fair and high?"
"Those are the hills of heaven, my love,
but not for you and I."

"And what hills, what hills are those, my love,
those hills so dark and low?"
"Those are the hills of hell, my love,
where you and I must go."

. . .


Well gather round children, a story i will tell
About pretty boy floyd the outlaw, oklahoma knew him well

Was in the town of shawnee on a saturday afternoon
His wife beside him in a wagon as into town they rode

And along come a deputy sheriff in a manner rather rude
Using vulgar words of language and his wife she overheard

And pretty boy floyd grabbed a long chain, and the deputy grabbed a gun
And in the fight that followed, he laid that deputy down

Then he ran through the trees and bushes and lived a life of shame
Every crime in oklahoma was added to his name

He ran through trees and bushes on the canadian river shore
And many a starving farmer opened up his door

It was in oklahoma city, it was on a christmas day
A whole carload of groceries and a letter that did say

Well you say that i'm an outlaw, you say that i'm a thief
Well, here's a christmas dinner for the families on relief

As through this life you travel, you meet some funny men
Some rob you with a six-gun, some with a fountain pen

As through this life you ramble, as through this life you roam
You'll never see an outlaw take a family from their home

. . .


He came from his palace grand
He came to my cottage door
His words were few but his looks
Will linger for evermore
The look in his sad dark eyes
More tender than words could be
But I was nothing to him
And he was the world to me.

There in her garden she stands
All dressed in fine satin and lace
Lady Mary so cold and so strange
In her heart she could find no place.
He knew I would be his bride
With a kiss for a lifetime fee
But I was nothing to him
And he was the world to me.

Now in his palace grand
On a flower strewn bed he lies
His beautiful lids are closed
On his sad dark beautiful eyes
And among the mourners who mourn
Why should I a mourner be
For I was nothing to him
And he was the world to me.

For I was nothing to him
And he was the world to me.

. . .


Até amanhã

Até amanhã ou depois meu amor.
Sinto muito, não posso ficar.
O remédio melhor para nós dois,
Eu partir e você esperar

. . .


A holiday, a holiday, and the first one of the year
Lord Arlen's wife came into the church,
the gospel for to hear.

And when the meeting it was done, she cast her eyes about
And there she saw little Matty Groves, walking in the crowd
"Come home with me, little Matty Groves, come home with me tonight
Come home with me, little Matty Groves, and sleep with me till light"
"Oh, I can't come home, I won't come home and sleep with you tonight
By the rings on your fingers I can tell you are my master's wife"
"But if I am Lord Arlen 's wife, Lord Arlen's not at home
He is out in the far cornfields bringing the yearlings home"

And a servant who was standing by and hearing what was said
He swore Lord Arlen he would know before the sun would set
And in his hurry to carry the news, he bent his breast and ran
And when he came to the broad millstream, he took off his shoes and he swam

Little Matty Groves, he lay down and took a little sleep
When he awoke, Lord Arlen was standing at his feet
Saying "How do you like my feather bed and how do you like my sheets
How do you like my lady who lies in your arms asleep?"
"Oh, well I like your feather bed and well I like your sheets
But better I like your lady gay who lies in my arms asleep"
"Well, get up, get up," Lord Arlen cried, "get up as quick as you can
It'll never be said in fair England that I slew a naked man"
"Oh, I can't get up, I won't get up, I can't get up for my life
For you have two long beaten swords and I not a pocket knife"
"Well it's true I have two beaten swords and they cost me deep in the purse
But you will have the better of them and I will have the worse
And you will strike the very first blow and strike it like a man
I will strike the very next blow and I'll kill you if I can"

So Matty struck the very first blow and he hurt Lord Arlen sore
Lord Arlen struck the very next blow and Matty struck no more
And then Lord Arlen took his wife and he sat her on his knee
Saying "Who do you like the best of us, Matty Groves or me?"
And then up spoke his own dear wife, never heard to speak so free
"I'd rather a kiss from dead Matty's lips than you or your finery"

Lord Arlen he jumped up and loudly he did bawl
He struck his wife right through the heart and pinned her against the wall
"A grave, a grave," Lord Arlen cried, "to put these lovers in
But bury my lady at the top for she was of noble kin"

. . .


As I walked out on the streets of Laredo.
As I walked out on Laredo one day,
I spied a poor cowboy wrapped in white linen,
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.

"I can see by your outfit that you are a cowboy."
These words he did say as I boldly walked by.
"Come an' sit down beside me an' hear my sad story.
"I'm shot in the breast an' I know I must die."

"It was once in the saddle, I used to go dashing.
"Once in the saddle, I used to go gay.
"First to the card-house and then down to Rose's.
"But I'm shot in the breast and I'm dying today."

"Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin.
"Six dance-hall maidens to bear up my pall.
"Throw bunches of roses all over my coffin.
"Roses to deaden the clods as they fall."

"Then beat the drum slowly, play the Fife lowly.
"Play the dead march as you carry me along.
"Take me to the green valley, lay the sod o'er me,
"I'm a young cowboy and I know I've done wrong."

"Then go write a letter to my grey-haired mother,
"An' tell her the cowboy that she loved has gone.
"But please not one word of the man who had killed me.
"Don't mention his name and his name will pass on."

When thus he had spoken, the hot sun was setting.
The streets of Laredo grew cold as the clay.
We took the young cowboy down to the green valley,
And there stands his marker, we made, to this day.

We beat the drum slowly and played the Fife lowly,
Played the dead march as we carried him along.
Down in the green valley, laid the sod o'er him.
He was a young cowboy and he said he'd done wrong

. . .


Where are you going, my good old man?
Where are you going, my honey, lovey dove?
Where are you going, my good old man?
Best old man in the world

Spoken: Well, I'm going hunting.
What do you want for breakfast, my good old man? (as above)
Eggs
How many do you want, my good old man
A bushel
A bushel will kill you, my good old man
I don't care
Where do you want to be buried, my good old man
Over there in the chimney corner
The ashes will fall on you, my good old man
I don't care
What'll you do then, my good old man?
I will haunt you
A haunt can't haunt a haunt, my good old man
Recorded by Dildine family

. . .


Black Spiritual, United States, 18th or 19th Century

My Lord, what a morning!
My Lord, what a morning!
Oh, my Lord, what a morning
when the stars begin to fall.

Oh, you will hear the trumpet sound
to wake the nations underground,
Looking to my Lord's right hand
when the stars begin to fall.

Oh, you will see my Jesus come,
His glory shining like the sun,
Looking to my Lord's right hand
When the stars begin to fall.

Oh, you will hear all Christians shout,
'Cause there's a new day come about,
Looking to my Lord's right hand
When the stars begin to fall

My Lord, what a morning!
My Lord, what a morning!
Oh, my Lord, what a morning
when the stars begin to fall.

. . .


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