I was driving down a lonely road on a dark and stormy night
When a little girl by the road side showed up in my head lights
I stopped and she got in the back and in a shaky tone
She said my name is Mary please won't you take me home
She must have been so frightened all alone there in the night
There was something strange about her cause her face was deathly white
She sat so pale and quiet there in the back seat all alone
I never will forget that night I took Mary home
I pulled into the driveway where she told me to go
Got out to help her from the car and opened up the door
But I just could not believe my eyes the back seat was bare
I looked all around the car but Mary wasn't there
A small light shown from the porch a woman opened up the door
I asked about the little girl that I was looking for
Then the lady gently smiled and brushed a tear away
She said it sure was nice of you to go out of your way
But thirteen years ago today in a wreck just down the road
Our darling Mary lost her life and we srill miss her so
So thank you for your trouble and the kindness you have shown
You're the thirteenth one who's been here bringing Mary home
You're the thirteenth one who's been here bringing Mary home
THE wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding — Riding — riding
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.
PART TWO
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching — Marching — marching
King George's men came matching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain .
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
* * * * * *
X
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding — Riding — riding
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
I was working in the lab late one night
When my eyes beheld an eerie sight
For my monster from his slab began to rise
And suddenly to my surprise
He did the mash
He did the monster mash
The monster mash
It was a graveyard smash
He did the mash
It caught on in a flash
He did the mash
He did the monster mash
From my laboratory in the castle east
To the master bedroom where the vampires feast
The ghouls all came from their humble abodes
To get a jolt from my electrodes
They did the mash
They did the monster mash
The monster mash
It was a graveyard smash
They did the mash
It caught on in a flash
They did the mash
They did the monster mash
The zombies were having fun
The party had just begun
The guests included Wolf Man
Dracula and his son
The scene was rockin', all were digging the sounds
Igor on chains, backed by his baying hounds
The coffin-bangers were about to arrive
With their vocal group, "The Crypt-Kicker Five"
They played the mash
They played the monster mash
The monster mash
It was a graveyard smash
They played the mash
It caught on in a flash
They played the mash
They played the monster mash
Out from his coffin, Drac's voice did ring
Seems he was troubled by just one thing
He opened the lid and shook his fist
And said, "Whatever happened to my Transylvania twist?"
It's now the mash
It's now the monster mash
The monster mash
And it's a graveyard smash
It's now the mash
It's caught on in a flash
It's now the mash
It's now the monster mash
Now everything's cool, Drac's a part of the band
And my monster mash is the hit of the land
For you, the living, this mash was meant too
When you get to my door, tell them Boris sent you
Then you can mash
Then you can monster mash
The monster mash
And do my graveyard smash
Then you can mash
You'll catch on in a flash
Then you can mash
Then you can monster mash
If you ever go back into Wooly Swamp son you better not go at night
There's things out there in the middle of them woods
That'd make a strong man die from fright
There's things that crawl and things that fly
And things that creep around on the ground
And they say the ghost of Lucias Clay gets up and it walks around.
CHORUS:
But I couldn't believe it, I just had to find out for myself
And I couldn't conceive it, I never would listen to nobody else
No I couldn't believe it, I just had to find out for myself
That there's some things in this world you just can't explain.
The old man lived in the Wooly Swamp way back in the gurgling woods
And he never did do a lot of harm in the world
But he never did do no good
People didn't think too much of him
They all thought he acted funny
The old man didn't care about people anyway
All he cared about was his money.
He'd stuff it all down in Mason jars and bury it all around
But on certain nights if the moon was right
He'd dig it up out of the ground.
He'd pour it all out on the floor of his shack
And run his fingers through it.
Old Lucias Clay was a greedy old man
And that's all there ever was to it.
CHORUS
The Crayton boys were white trash they lived over on Parvis Creek
They were a real snake and sneaky as a cat
And belligerent when they'd speak.
One night the oldest brother said ya'll meet in the Wooly Swamp later
We'll get old Lucias' money and we'll pitch him to the alligators.
They found the old man out in the back with a shovel in his hand
And thirteen rusty Mason jars he just dug up out of the sand.
And they all went crazy and they beat the old man
Then they picked him up off the ground
Then they threw him in the swamp and they stood there and laughed
Till the black water sucked him down.
Then they turned around and went back to the shack
And they picked up the money and ran.
But they hadn't gone nowheres when they realized
They were running in quicksand.
And they struggled and screamed but they couldn't get away
Then just before they were gone
They could hear that old man laughing
In a voice that was loud and strong.
Now that's been fifty years ago an' if you go back by there again
There's a spot in the yard in back of that shack
Where the ground is always wet.
And on certain nights if the moon is right
And you're down by the dark footpath
You can hear three yound men screaming
And you can hear that old man laugh.
(traditional ballad circa 1400)
The wind doth howl today m'love
And a winter's worth of rain
I never had but one true love
In cold grave she was lain
Oh I adored my sweetest love
As any young man may
So I'll sit and weep upon her grave
For twelve-month and a day
One true love is eternity for two
Three four nevermore
Will I see my love true
The twelve-month and a day foregone
The dead began to speak
"Oh who sits weeping on my grave
And will not let me sleep?"
"'Tis I, m'love, upon thy grave
Who will not let you sleep
For I crave one kiss of your lips
And that is all I seek"
"You crave one kiss of my cold lips
But I am one year gone
If you have one kiss of my lips
Your time will not be long
Let me remind thee, dearest one
A patient heart to keep
For we professed eternal love
That lives though I may sleep"
There down in yonder garden grove
Love, where we once did walk
The finest flower that ever was seen
Has withered to a stalk
The stalk is withered dry, my love
Though our hearts shan't decay
So make yourself content, my love
Till god calls you away"
Cyrus Jones 1810 to 1913
Made his great grandchildren believe
he could live to a 103
A hundred and three is forever when you’re just a little kid
So, Cyrus Jones lived forever
Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain
Gravedigger
Muriel Stonewall 1903 to 1954
She lost both of her babies in the second great war
Now, you should never have to watch your only children lowered in the ground
that means you should never have to bury your own babies
Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain
Gravedigger
Ring around the rosey
Pocket full o'posey
Ashes to ashes
{Musical intro}
We all fall down
Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain
Oh Gravedigger
Little Mikey Carson '67 to '75
He rode his bike like the devil until the day he died
When he grows up he wants to be Mr. Vertigo on the flying trapeze
Oh, 1940 to 1992--
Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain
Grave digger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain
I can feel the rain
I can feel the rain
Gravedigger
When you dig my grave
Could you make it shallow
So that I can feel the rain
Gravedigger
Grave digger
He was only 29 on New Year's Day 1953 when he passed away, but the influence of Hank Williams and his songs have been so pervasive in Country Music that almost 60 years later when the song says, "The whole world calls me Hank", it only means one man.
Two great ghost songs have been written about performers meeting up with him when they were looking for direction, and one great song by another original who took a different road to become his own kind of legend.
This is Cole Porter at his wittiest and most urbane. It is probably the "happiest" song about being miserable that anyone has ever been written. You are in love, you've been dumped. Unfortunately extreme wealth dripping with diamonds and furs has a hard time proving that "money can't buy happiness" particularly in well educated three syllable words, so you might as well swing out while you sing out!
Verse
Manhattan -- I'm Up a tree
The one I've most adored
Is bored
With me.
Manhattan -- I'm Awf'lly nice
Nice people dine with me
And even twice.
Yet the only one in the world I'm mad about
Talks of somebody else
And walks out.
Refrain
With a million neon rainbows burning below me
And a million blazing taxis raising a roar
Here I sit above the town
In my pet pailletted gown
Down in the depths on the 90th floor.
While the crowds at El Morrocco punish the parquet
And at "21" the couples clamor for more
I'm deserted and depressed
In my regal eagle's nest
Down in the depths on the 90th floor.
When the only one you wanted wants another
What's the use of swank and cash in the bank galore
Why even the janitor's wife
Has a perfectly good love life
And here I am facing tomorrow
Alone with my sorrow
Down in the depths on the 90th floor.
No real explanation this week, just a great bluegrass song that's been around nigh onto forever that got a new lease on life thanks to a blockbuster movie set in 1930s Mississippi.
The Movie "Oh Brother Where Art Thou" featuring "The Soggybottom Boys"
The Real Group - Union Station with Alison Krauss
I AM A MAN OF CONSTANT SORROW
I am a man of constant sorrow
I've seen trouble all my day.
I bid farewell to old Kentucky
The place where I was born and raised.
(The place where he was born and raised)
For six long years I've been in trouble
No pleasures here on earth I found
For in this world I'm bound to ramble
I have no friends to help me now.
[chorus] He has no friends to help him now
It's fare thee well my old lover
I never expect to see you again
For I'm bound to ride that northern railroad
Perhaps I'll die upon this train.
[chorus] Perhaps he'll die upon this train.
You can bury me in some deep valley
For many years where I may lay
Then you may learn to love another
While I am sleeping in my grave.
[chorus] While he is sleeping in his grave.
Maybe your friends think I'm just a stranger
My face you'll never see no more.
But there is one promise that is given
I'll meet you on God's golden shore.
A change of pace this week. This is the most famous aria from Gianni Schicchi. She's a teenager. She's in love. She's being dramatic at the top of her lungs. It's opera so you know things are going to get very, very complicated. Before it all goes to the hell in a hand basket, there is this glorious song pleading for daddy to understand. Unfortunately for her, daddy understands all to well.
Still virtually every soprano worth her salt has sung it simply because it is melodic, powerful and they can splash dramatically all over the place. Luckily for all concerned, this is a comedy. Nobody dies except the person who was dead to begin with, and all's well that ends well for a change.
So here you have great sopranos, Puccini, young love, comedy and even advertising that has used this aria to sell stuff. Take This Tune and start writing.
Italian and then Translation in English
O mio babbino caro
Mi piace, è bello, bello
Vo' andare in Porta Rossa
a comperar l'anello!
Sì, sì, ci voglio andare!
e se l'amassi indarno,
andrei sul Ponte Vecchio,
ma per buttarmi in Arno!
Mi struggo e mi tormento!
O Dio, vorrei morir!
Babbo, pietà, pietà!
Babbo, pietà, pietà!
Oh my dear papa
I like him, he is handsome, handsome
I want to go to Porta Rossa
to buy the ring!
Yes, yes, I want to go there!
And if my love were in vain,
I would go to the Ponte Vecchio
and throw myself in the Arno!
I am being consumed and I am tormented!
Oh God, I'd want to die!
Papa, have pity, have pity!
Papa, have pity, have pity!
