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My name is Joe Roberts, I work for the state
I'm a sergeant out on Perenville barracks number 8 I've always done an honest job, honest as I could Got a brother named Frankie, Frankie ain't no good Ever since we were young kids, it's been the same come down I'd get a call on the short wave, Frankie's in trouble downtown Well, if it was any other man, I'd put him straight away But sometimes when it's your brother, you look the other way Yeah, me and Frankie laughin' and drinkin', nothin' feels better than blood on blood Takin' turns dancin' with Maria while the band played "The Night of the Johnstown Flood" I catch him when he's strayin', like any brother should Man turns his back on his family, he ain't no good Well, Frankie went into the army back in 1965 I got a farm deferment, settled down, took Maria for my wife But them wheat prices kept on droppin', 'til it was like we's gettin' robbed Frankie came home in '68, and me, I took this job Yeah, me and Frankie laughin' and drinkin', nothin' feels better than blood on blood Takin' turns dancin' with Maria while the band played "The Night of the Johnstown Flood" I catch him when he's strayin', teach him how to walk that line Man turns his back on his family ain't no friend of mine The night was like any other, I got a call 'bout a quarter to nine There was trouble at a roadhouse out on the Michigan line There was a kid on the floor, lookin' bad, bleedin' hard from his head There was a girl cryin' at a table, it was Frankie, she said I ran out and I jumped in my car, then I hit the lights I must have done about a hundred and ten to Michigan County that night It was down by the crossroads, out by willow bank Seen the Buick with Ohio plates, behind the wheel was Frank Well, I chased him through them county roads, 'til the sign said Canadian border five miles from here Pulled over to the side out the highway, watched the taillights disappear Yeah, me and Frankie laughin' and drinkin', nothin' feels better than blood on blood Takin' turns dancin' with Maria while the band played "The Night of the Johnstown Flood" I catch him when he's strayin', like any brother should Man turns his back on his family, he ain't no good |
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The Baron
by: Johnny Cash [CHORUS] Wish I had a-known ya When you were a little younger Around me you might have learned a thing or two If I had known you longer You might be a little stronger And maybe you'd shoot straighter than you do Maybe you'd shoot straighter than you do As he walked into the poolroom, you could tell he didn't fit In his handmade boots, custom suits, and pearl handled shooting stick Tonight there'd be a showdown, then everyone would know Who shoots the meanest game around - The Baron or Billy Joe Billy Joe looked edgy, about to lose his cool But the Baron's hands were steady, as the two began to duel Yeah, he was like a general on a battlefield of slate And he'd say to Billy Joe each time he sunk the eight He'd say... [CHORUS] Now Billy Joe was busted, but he hadn't felt the sting And from the far end of the table, he threw his mother's wedding ring And he said "you won my money, but it ain't gonna do the trick I'll bet this ring on one more game against your fancy stick" The Baron's eyes got foggy as the ring rolled on the felt And he almost doubled over like he had been hit below the belt Twenty years ago, it was the ring his wife had worn And he didn't know before he left that a son would soon be born It sounded just like thunder when the Baron shot the break But it grew thickly quiet as he lined up the eight Then a warm hand touched his shoulder and it chilled him to the bone When he turned and saw the woman who had loved him for so long The game was never finished; the eight ball never fell The Baron calmly picked it up and put it on the shelf Then he placed the ring in the hands that held him long ago And he tossed that fancy shooting stick to his son Billy Joe and he said... [CHORUS] |
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Well, my daddy left home when I was three
And he didn't leave much to Ma and me Just this ole guitar and an empty bottle of booze Now, I don't blame him 'cause he run and hid But the meanest thing that he ever did Was before he left he went and named me Sue. Well, he musta thought that it was quite a joke, An' it got a lot of laughs from lots a folks Seems I had to fight my whole life through Some gal would giggle and I'd get red And some guy'd laugh and I'd bust his head I'll tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue Well, I grew up quick and I grew up mean My fist got hard and my wits got keen I roamed from town to town to hide my shame But I made me a vow to the Moon and stars I'd search the honky-tonks and bars And kill that man that gave me that awful name Well, it was Gatlinburg in mid-July And I'd just hit town and my throat was dry I thought I'd stop and have myself a brew In an old saloon on a street of mud There at a table dealin' stud Sat the dirty, mangy dog that named me Sue Well I knew that snake was my own sweet dad From a worn out picture that my mother had And I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye He was big and bent and grey and old And I looked at him and my blood ran cold, and I said "My name is Sue! How do you do? Now you gonna die!" Yeah! That's what I told him Well, I hit him hard right between the eyes And he went down but to my surprise Came up with a knife an' cut off a piece o' my ear I busted a chair right across his teeth And we crashed through the wall and into the street Kickin' and a gougin' in the mud and the blood and the beer I tell ya, I've fought tougher men But I really can't remember when He kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile Well, I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss He went for his gun but I pulled mine first He stood there lookin' at me and I saw him smile And he said, "Son, this world is rough And if a man's gonna make it he's gotta be tough And I know I wouldn't be there to help you along So I gave you that name and I said good-bye I knew you'd have to get tough or die And it's that name that helped to make you strong" Yeah! He said, "Now you just fought one hell of a fight And I know you hate me and ya got the right To kill me now and I wouldn't blame you if you do But you oughta thank me before I die For the gravel in your gut and the spit in the eye 'Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you Sue" Yeah, what could I do? What could I do? I got all choked up and threw down my gun Called him my Pa and he called me his son And I came away with a different point of view And I think about him now and then Every time I try and every time I win And if I ever have a son, I think I'm gonna name him Bill or George, anything but Sue! I still hate that name! |
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. And I'd like to dedicate this to John and June, who helped show me how to beat the devil.
It was winter time in Nashville, down on music city row. And I was lookin' for a place to get myself out of the cold. To warm the frozen feelin' that was eatin' at my soul. Keep the chilly wind off my guitar. My thirsty wanted whisky; my hungry needed beans, But it'd been of month of paydays since I'd heard that eagle scream. So with a stomach full of empty and a pocket full of dreams, I left my pride and stepped inside a bar. Actually, I guess you'd could call it a Tavern: Cigarette smoke to the ceiling and sawdust on the floor; Friendly shadows. I saw that there was just one old man sittin' at the bar. And in the mirror I could see him checkin' me and my guitar. An' he turned and said: "Come up here boy, and show us what you are." I said: "I'm dry." He bought me a beer. He nodded at my guitar and said: "It's a tough life, ain't it?" I just looked at him. He said: "You ain't makin' any money, are you?" I said: "You've been readin' my mail." He just smiled and said: "Let me see that guitar. "I've got something you oughta hear." Then he laid it on me: "If you waste your time a-talkin' to the people who don't listen, "To the things that you are sayin', who do you think's gonna hear. "And if you should die explainin' how the things that they complain about, "Are things they could be changin', who do you think's gonna care?" There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind, Who were crucified for what they tried to show. And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time. 'Cos the truth remains that no-one wants to know. Well, the old man was a stranger, but I'd heard his song before, Back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door. When no-one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor, And lonesome was more than a state of mind. You see, the devil haunts a hungry man, If you don't wanna join him, you got to beat him. I ain't sayin' I beat the devil, but I drank his beer for nothing. Then I stole his song. And you still can hear me singin' to the people who don't listen, To the things that I am sayin', prayin' someone's gonna hear. And I guess I'll die explaining how the things that they complain about, Are things they could be changin', hopin' someone's gonna care. I was born a lonely singer, and I'm bound to die the same, But I've got to feed the hunger in my soul. And if I never have a nickle, I won't ever die ashamed. 'Cos I don't believe that no-one wants to know. |
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Ira Hayes,
Ira Hayes CHORUS: Call him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian Nor the Marine that went to war Gather round me people there's a story I would tell About a brave young Indian you should remember well From the land of the Pima Indian, a proud and noble band Who farmed the Phoenix valley in Arizona land Down the ditches for a thousand years The water grew Ira's peoples' crops 'Till the white man stole the water rights And the sparklin' water stopped Now Ira's folks were hungry And their land grew crops of weeds When war came, Ira volunteered And forgot the white man's greed CHORUS: Call him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian Nor the Marine that went to war There they battled up Iwo Jima's hill, Two hundred and fifty men But only twenty-seven lived to walk back down again And when the fight was over And when Old Glory raised Among the men who held it high Was the Indian, Ira Hayes CHORUS: Call him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian Nor the Marine that went to war Ira returned a hero Celebrated through the land He was wined and speeched and honored Everybody shook his hand But he was just a Pima Indian No water, no crops, no chance At home nobody cared what Ira'd done And when did the Indians dance CHORUS: Call him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian Nor the Marine that went to war Then Ira started drinkin' hard Jail was often his home They'd let him raise the flag and lower it like you'd throw a dog a bone He died drunk one mornin' Alone in the land he fought to save Two inches of water in a lonely ditch Was a grave for Ira Hayes CHORUS: Call him drunken Ira Hayes He won't answer anymore Not the whiskey drinkin' Indian Nor the Marine that went to war Yeah, call him drunken Ira Hayes But his land is just as dry And his ghost is lyin' thirsty In the ditch where Ira died |