Swarthmore College
ALUMNI SONGBOOK
2019 Edition
Swarthmore College
ALUMNI SONGBOOK
Being a nostalgic collection of songs
designed to elicit joyful group singing
whenever two or three are gathered together
on the lawns or in the halls of Alma Mater.
Nota Bene
June, 1999:
Our Folk Festival Group, the folk who keep
the computer lines hot with their neverending
conversation on the folkfestival listserv, the ones
who have staged Folk Things the last two Alumni
Weekends, decided that this year we’d like to
have some song books to facilitate and energize
singing.
The selection here is based on song sheets
which Willa Freeman Grunes created for the War
Years Reunion in 1992 with additional selections
from the other participants in the listserv.
There are quite a few songs here, but many
more could have been included.
We wish to say up front, that this book is
intended for the use of Swarthmore College
Alumni on their Alumni Weekend and is neither
for sale nor available to the general public.
We have not sought permission for the use of
copyrighted material.
May, 2001:
A new edition with corrections of errors of
spelling and/or words has been prepared for the
June 2001 Alumni Weekend.
May, 2010:
The above notes were written by the original
compiler and editor, Anne Matthews Rawson ’50.
The Swarthmore Folk logo was created by John
Loven ’70.
This expanded edition was compiled and
edited by Fred Stollnitz ’59, with technical
assistance from Janet Stollnitz and Audree
Penner. The Oce of Alumni Relations facilitated
publication of this edition.
May, 2016:
More songs were added in 2011, 2012, 2014, 2015,
and this year. In 2011, 45 songs (including 11 Rounds)
were added after 44 alumni suggested more than
155 songs. That edition included 121 songs.
In 2012, for the centennial of Woody Guthrie’s
birth, a note about his songs and 13 of the
songs were added, making 18 in that section of
the book. Eight other songs also were added,
bringing the total to 142. As in previous years,
Janet Stollnitz provided technical assistance, and
Astrid Devaney of the Oce of Alumni Relations
facilitated publication.
The 2014 edition celebrated the College’s
sesquicentennial. It also honored the life and
legacy of Pete Seeger with 21 of his songs, plus
notes about his musical legacy. The total number
of songs increased to 148.
In 2015, we observed several anniversaries.
In honor of the 125th anniversary of the birth of
Lead Belly and the 50th anniversary of the Selma-
to-Montgomery march, Lead Belly’s “Bourgeois
Blues” was added, as well as a new section of 11
Civil Rights songs suggested by three alumni.
Willa Freeman Grunes ’47 helped us celebrate
the 70th anniversary of the rst Swarthmore
College Intercollegiate Folk Festival (and the
90th anniversary of her birth!) by telling us about
the origins of the Festivals and about her role
in booking the rst two featured folk singers,
Richard Dyer-Bennet and Lead Belly, in 1945 and
1946, respectively.
The section of More Songs increased to 74
with the addition of 19 songs suggested by three
members of the Class of ’65, making a total of
178 in the book. Thanks also to Wendy Waltman
of the Oce of Alumni Relations for facilitating
production since Astrid Devaney retired in 2012.
For 2016, a new song has been added to the
section of Civil Rights Songs: “One in Six Have
Disappeared,” which is being introduced to the
Swarthmore community by Ken Giles ‘71 at the
second year of an Alumni Weekend sing-along
session of civil rights songs, an event that he
inspired and Vaneese Thomas ‘74 led in 2015.
May, 2018:
In memory of Roger Abrahams ’55, a section
with four of his songs was added, as well as an
appendix with a biography and an excerpt from
a manuscript describing his recollectons of Ralph
Rinzler ’56 and Pete, Mike, and Peggy Seeger.
The 183 songs in this book probably are a
small fraction of those sung by Swarthmoreans
over the years, but Swarthmore Folk hope that
they bring back happy memories.
Many thanks to Janet Stollnitz for continued
technical assistance with desktop publishing,
including graphics, layout, and proofreading,
and to Caitlin Halloran Edwards of the Oce of
Alumni and Parent Engagement for facilitating
production of this and the previous edition.
—Fred Stollnitz ‘59
Songs by Swarthmore Authors
Swarthmore College Alma Mater 1
Yea, Morals Matter 2
I’ve Been Sexin’ on the Campus 2
Bland Brand Blanshard 3
Private Enterprise Forever 4
Don’t Send My Boy to Haverford 4
There Is a Tavern in the Town 5
Stars of Evening 5
Compromise Song 5
Rise Up, Urban Proletariat 5
There Ain’t No More Mmmm in the Meadow 6
Swarthmore Town 6
Hard Travelling 7
Waltzing St. Anselm 8
Stewball 9
Hi Ho, Anybody Home 9
Theory Boys 10
College Songs
A Man Without a Woman (Silver Dollar) 11
Pull Your Shades Down, Marianne 11
An Old Beer Bottle 12
By Phi Delt Doors 12
Sacred Seal of Phi Kappa Phi 12
Show Me the Way to Go Home 12
Tell Me Why 12
Featured Performers
at Swarthmore College Folk Festivals and in
Swarthmore Folk Programs at Alumni Weekend 13
Songs from Festival Performers
Quaker Lover 14
Venezuela 14
The Auld Orange Flute 15
Turtle Dove 15
Lead Belly Songs
Boll Weevil 16
Bring Me Little Water, Sylvie 16
Bourgeois Blues 17
Goodnight, Irene 18
Grey Goose 18
Cotton Fields 19
Midnight Special 19
Pick a Bale of Cotton 20
Rock Island Line 20
Take This Hammer 20
Table of Contents
Woody Guthrie Songs
Deportee 21
Do Re Mi 22
Goin’ Down the Road Feeling Bad 22
Grand Coulee Dam 23
Hard, Ain’t It Hard 23
Hard Travelin’ 24
Hard Travelin’ 24
Hobo’s Lullaby 24
The Ladies’ Auxiliary 24
I Ain’t Got No Home 25
Pastures of Plenty 25
Philadelphia Lawyer 25
Roll On, Columbia 26
So Long, It’s Been Good to Know Yuh 27
Stepstone 27
This Land Is Your Land 28
This Train Is Bound for Glory 28
Union Maid 29
Walt Whitman’s Niece 29
Pete Seeger Songs
The Bells of Rhymney 30
Delia’s Gone 30
Die Gedanken Sind Frei 31
If I Had a Hammer 31
Get Up and Go 32
Guantánamera 32
John Riley 33
Kisses Sweeter Than Wine 33
Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream 34
Puttin’ On the Style 34
Die Moorsoldaten/Peat Bog Soldiers 35
Pretty Saro 36
Si Me Quieres Escribir/If You Want To Write Me 36
Solidarity Forever 37
Swingin’ on a Scab 38
Turn, Turn, Turn 38
Waist Deep in the Big Muddy 39
Viva la Quince Brigada/
Long Live the Fifteenth Brigade! 40
Wasn’t That a Time 41
We Shall Overcome 41
Where Have All the Flowers Gone 42
Which Side Are You On? 42
Wimoweh 43
The Lion Sleeps Tonight 43
Phil Ochs Songs
Draft-Dodger Rag 44
I Ain’t Marchin’ Anymore 44
Outside of a Small Circle of Friends 45
The Power and the Glory 46
There But for Fortune 46
The Ringing of Revolution 47
What’s That I Hear? 48
When I’m Gone 48
Roger Abrahams Songs
I’m a Rambler, I’m a Gambler 49
Kentucky Moonshiner 49
The Maid on the Shore 50
Poor Ellen Smith 50
Rounds
Chairs to Mend 51
Come Follow 51
Dona Nobis Pacem 51
Hey, Ho, Nobody Home 52
Hineh Ma Tov 52
Kookaburra 52
Oh, How Lovely 52
Rose, Rose, Rose 53
Scotland’s Burning 53
Shalom Chaverim 53
White Coral Bells 53
Civil Rights Songs
Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around 54
Black, Brown and White 54
Ella’s Song 55
I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free 55
If You Miss Me at the Back of the Bus 56
Keep Your Eyes on the Prize 56
Oh, Freedom 57
One in Six Have Disappeared 57
This Little Light of Mine 58
We Shall Not Be Moved 58
Woke Up This Morning 58
War Story 59
More Songs
À la claire fontaine/At the Clear Fountain 60
Abdul Abulbul Amir 61
Ain’t Gonna Grieve My Lord No More 62
All Through the Night 62
Amelia Earhart’s Last Flight 62
Amazing Grace 63
Anne Boleyn 63
Arkansas Traveler 64
Ashokan Farewell 64
Aunt Rhody 64
Aura Lea 65
Banks of the Ohio 65
Banks of Marble/The New Banks of Marble 66
Banks of Marble 67
Barbara Allen 67
Black Is the Color of My True Love’s Hair 68
Blow the Candles Out 68
Blowin’ in the Wind 68
Blow Ye Winds in the Morning 69
Blue-Tail Fly 69
A Capital Ship 70
Careless Love 70
Cigareets and Whiskey and Wild Wild Women 71
Cindy 71
Circle Game 72
City of New Orleans 72
Crawdad 73
Cryin’ Holy Unto the Lord 73
Down by the Riverside 73
Dark as a Dungeon 74
Don’t You Weep After Me 74
Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down 74
Desperado 75
Eddystone Light 75
Five Hundred Miles 75
The Erie Canal 76
Freight Train 76
The Golden Vanity 77
House of the Rising Sun 77
I’ve Been Working on the Railroad 78
Jesse James 78
Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier 79
Joe Hill 79
Joe Hill’s Last Will 79
Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye 80
Kum Ba Yah 81
The L & N Don’t Stop Here Anymore 81
The Last Thing on My Mind 81
Lady of the Harbor 82
Long Black Veil 82
Lydia Pinkham 83
Lyndon Johnson Told the Nation 83
Michael, Row the Boat Ashore 84
On Top of Old Smoky 84
Old Friend 84
Oh, Mary, Don’t You Weep 85
Passing Through 85
Pity the Downtrodden Landlord 86
Pretty Little Baby 86
Respect 87
The Riddle Song (I Gave My Love a Cherry) 88
St. James Inrmary 88
Shenandoah 88
She’ll Be Comin’ ‘Round the Mountain 89
The Ship Titanic 90
Sloop John B 90
Streets of Laredo (Cowboy’s Lament) 91
Swing Low, Sweet Chariot 91
Today 91
Thaïs 92
The Times They Are a-Changin’ 93
Twelve Gates to the City 94
Wabash Cannonball 94
When I First Came to This Land 94
Waltzing Matilda 95
The Water is Wide 95
We Shall Not Be Moved (Union version) 96
The Hamburg Show Song 96
When the Saints Go Marching In 97
The Wraggle Taggle Gypsies 97
When the Ship Comes In 98
You Are My Sunshine 98
Appendix A In memory of Roger Abrahams ’55 99– 102
Appendix B In memory of Paul Booth ‘64 103– 106
Information about swarthmore folk 107
Index of Songs 108 – 109
Subscribing to THE swarthmore folk
on-line Discussion Group 110
Swarthmore Folk -1- Alumni Songbook
Songs by Swarthmore Authors
Swarthmore College Alma Mater
(Words: E. J. Taylor ‘02, perhaps written in 1900 or 1901.
Tune: “Annie Lisle,” H. S. Thompson, 1857, arranged by H. L. Brown ‘16)
(New verses by Ken Hechler ‘35, Commencement Speech, 4 June 2001)
Though we leave thee and though sorrow
Still our laughter gay,
We will tender mem’ries borrow
From the past so gray.
Then you’ll hear the old “grads” singing,
As they sang of yore,
Hail to thee, our Alma Mater!
Hail, all hail Swarthmore!
Staunch and grey thou stand’st before us,
On the campus fair,
Thy high spirit guarding o’er us,
Who thy blessings share.
Thee we praise with songs of gladness,
Name thy glories o’er,
Hail to thee, our Alma Mater!
Hail, all hail Swarthmore!
Ev’ry stone of Alma Mater
Holds a mem’ry dear;
Ev’ry ripple of Crum’s water
Is a greeting clear.
Thee we praise with songs of gladness,
Name thy glories o’er,
Hail to thee, our Alma Mater!
Hail, all hail Swarthmore!
III
Mother Earth needs conservation—
can’t you hear her cry?
We must work for preservation,
or the earth will die.
Peace and freedom for all nations;
feed and house the poor.
Hail to thee, our Alma Mater,
Hail, All Hail, Swarthmore!
I
As we leave old Swarthmore College
and this campus fair,
Join the ght for racial justice,
show the world you care!
You will be remembered one day,
not for wealth or power,
But your work for all the people—
that’s your nest hour.
II
There’s a need for more crusaders;
give your heart and soul;
Fight against the special interests;
that should be your goal.
We must get along together,
with all peoples too;
Dierences should be respected,
and their points of view.
Swarthmore Folk -2- Alumni Songbook
Yea, Morals Matter
(Original version 1936, lyrics by F. Dudley Perkins ‘37; one verse from the ‘40s, and then several more selected from
the many written for the War Years Reunion in 1992 by Paul Zall ‘48 and friends. Tune: “Yes, Jesus Loves Me.”)
Swarthmore girls abhor all sin
Drink no whiskey, beer or gin
But a few with morals loose
Slyly sip tomato juice
Chorus:
Yea, morals matter (3x)
No sin at old Swarthmore.
Swarthmore boys are good as gold
Never think of making bold
If the girls are slightly bored
They can go to Haverford
Chorus:
Crum Woods is the co-ed’s doom
Whisp’ring shadows ll the gloom
Suddenly there falls a hush
Dean’s inspecting underbrush
Chorus:
The Press Box is a sinful den
Not discussed by Swarthmore men
But those nasty boys from Penn
Call it Annex number ten.
Chorus:
1940s:
Mr. Gresley’s got the key
But he won’t give it up to me.
Now all I can do is hope
Mr. G. won’t see this rope.
Chorus:
1992:
Homer Gresley kept the key
To Worth women’s chastity
Making sure that they would be
Safe from sex and puberty.
Chorus:
Amy at the switchboard knew
What, where, when, and who with who;
Today they would hire her
At the National Enquirer.
Chorus:
Dragon of the dining room
Mrs. Selmes could spell our doom
On the days that we were late,
Those were days we never ate.
Chorus:
I’ve Been Sexin’ on the Campus
(Tune: “I’ve Been Working on the Railroad.” Words by ?)
I’ve been sexin’ on the campus, all the live-long day.
I’ve been sexin’ on the campus, just to pass the time away—I doubt it.
Can’t you hear old Biehle* calling, “Dinah, you come home”?
Can’t you hear the captain** shoutin’, “Leave my boys alone!”
Dinah, won’t you (silence) … (3x) with me, with me? (repeat line)
Someone’s in the cloisters with Dinah
Someone’s in the cloisters, I know.
Someone’s in the cloisters with Dinah — (long whistle)
Fee, e, ddle i-o (3x)
(Whistle the last line.)
___
*Miss Biehle was Assistant Dean of Women.
**a reference to the ruler of the Navy V12 unit on campus during World War II
Swarthmore Folk -3- Alumni Songbook
Bland Brand Blanshard
(Words, Burnham Terrell ‘45. Tune, “Battle Hymn of the Republic”)
Bland Brand Blanshard lies amouldring in his grave (3x)
And the Ideal Will goes on.
Chorus:
Green and Bosanquet* forever! (3x)
The Ideal Will goes on!
Blanshard went to Heaven, met the ghost of William James.
The ghost he says to Blanshard, “You’re a goddamn dirty name.”
Blanshard says, “I’m pleased to meet you, hope you are the same.”
And the Ideal Will goes on.
Chorus:
Relations are, said Blanshard, an impossibility.
On that point, with Bradley, I confess I must agree.
Then how, if so, can I agree with him or he with me?
And the Ideal Will goes on.
Chorus:
Blanshard drank a drop or two beyond his proper share.
He saw a purple walrus sitting in his favorite chair.
“Oh dear,” he cried, “a horrid beast! I’m glad it isn’t there!”
And the Ideal Will goes on.
Chorus:
Verses by later philosophy students—circa 1948:
Bland Brand Blanshard had — Hegel in his head; (3x)
And so they rubbed it in with camphorated oil.
Chorus:
Mrs. Blanshard found him down in Crum, one dark and stormy night.
He said, “My love, I cannot move, ‘cause logic true and tight
Has shown to me that Zeno must have been completely right.”
And the Ideal Will goes on.
Chorus::
Teddy** said to Brand, “I sadly must report to you:
Your wife was necking madly with a kid from Ethics II.”
Said Brand, “I cannot picture it; therefore it is not true.”
And the Ideal Will goes on.
Chorus:
______
* Thomas Hill Green (1836–1882) and Bernard Bosanquet (1848–1923) were
prominent British Idealists.
** Teddy Selmes
Swarthmore Folk -4- Alumni Songbook
We built this mighty nation with our enterprise and cash,
And we’ve all become accustomed to a periodic crash;
So you really shouldn’t grumble if it seems to go to smash,
For prot will prevail!
Chorus: Private enterprise forever (3x)
For prot must prevail!
Toward anarchistic, communistic, socialistic blah,
Revolution, insurrection, strikes, etcetera,
Our attitude will always be a loud and lusty HUAH!
For prot will prevail!
Chorus:
Our workers organize and strike and call us dirty names;
If their wives and kids are starving, we’ll admit it is a shame,
But we wish they’d learn to understand
that we are not to blame,
For prot must prevail!
Chorus:
We’ve organized the N.A.M., the Junior C. of C.;
Our lobbyists are hard at work in Washington, D.C.,
To preserve Congressional condence in a free economy,
Where prot will prevail!
Chorus:
New lyrics—1990:
The money-lenders loaded up the money-grubber’s greed
When the deadbeats couldn’t pay the bill,
they all began to bleed
Now the people have to bail them out
because they’re guaranteed
Milkin’ moolah from you and me.
Chorus: Mike and Ivan get the monee! (3x)
Milkin’ moolah from you and me!
Housing, education, jobs, and rain that’s acid-free—
It’s too bad we can’t aord them. Oh we’re sad as sad can be,
But on our leader’s eloquent lips, this is what we see:
Free of taxes we shall be!
Chorus: Read our lips—No, no new taxes! (3x)
Free from taxes we shall be!
South of the border, the arrangements are insane;
The peons make a living keeping Yankees in cocaine;
The padrones shoot the padres and the medics in the brain,
So the world will remain the same!
Chorus: Siempre power it is ours! (3x)
And the world must remain the same.
More lyrics (upbeat!)—1990:
Hungarians, Rumanians,
and Bulgars, Czechs, and Poles
And the Germans all lit candles
for to liberate their souls;
With a million tiny hammers
they have chipped away the walls;
Now the people must prevail.
Chorus:
Mir i svoboda forever!
Paz y Libertad forever!
Peace and freedom live forever.
Now the people must prevail!
Stalinism’s gone to hell and
perestroika’s here;
Vodka’s out and Gorby drinks
American root beer;
The guns and bombs are put away;
good will replaces fear;
And a better world is near!
Chorus:
Peace and amity forever! (3x)
A better world is near!
Private Enterprise Forever
(Words, Burnham Terrell ’45. Tune, “Battle Hymn of the Republic”)
Don’t Send My Boy to Haverford
“Don’t send my boy to Haverford,”
the dying mother said.
“Don’t send my boy to Haverford,
I’d rather see him dead.
Oh, send my boy to Swarthmore,
to Harvard or Cornell,
But don’t send my boy to Haverford;
I’d see him rst in Hell.”
Swarthmore Folk -5- Alumni Songbook
There is a tavern in the town, in the town,
And there my true love sits him down,
sits him down,
And drinks his wine as merry as can be,
And never, never thinks of me.
Chorus:
Fare thee well for I must leave thee,
Do not let this parting grieve thee.
And remember that the best of friends
must part, must part.
Adieu, adieu kind friends adieu, yes, adieu,
I can no longer stay with you, stay with you.
I’ll hang my harp on a weeping willow tree,
And may the world go well with thee.
He left me for a damsel dark, damsel dark.
Each Friday night they used to spark,
used to spark.
And now my love, who once was true to me,
Takes that dark damsel on his knee.
Chorus:
There Is a Tavern in the Town
(F. J. Adams, 1891)
Swarthmore verses, from the ‘40s, by ?
There is a tavern out of town, out of town,
And there you sometimes take us down,
take us down
To drink our health as merry as can be,
Return through Crum where love is free.
Chorus #2:
But if we drink too freely, we’ll get Hell from
old Miss Biehle*
For she doesn’t like that sort of thing
at all, at all
But it really doesn’t matter;
she’ll fall for our line of chatter
If we hold our breaths while we go
marching down the hall.
But if we really had too much, had too much,
And Martha gets us in her clutch, in her clutch,
We’ve had our fun, with you while we were here.
We didn’t think we’d get that drunk on beer.
Chorus #2:
*Miss Biehle was Assistant Dean of Women.
Rise Up, Urban Proletariat
(From the 1957 Hamburg Show, Anything & Everything, with
words by Theodor Nelson ’59 and music by Richard L. Caplan ’61)
Rise up, urban proletariat!
Rise up, urban proletariat!
The intellectual classes are stirring up the masses
To realize their function as a revolutionary commisariat.
Get the expropriators expropriated!
Get the expropriators expropriated!
For in expropriation will ever be salvation
For the masses who religiously are opiated.
In your methods be eclectic!
In your methods be eclectic!
For eclecticized diversion will be hiding your subversion
And fullling your position in the forces of dialectic.
Repeat rst verse.
Compromise Song
(Tune: “Tararara Boomdeay”)
Let us not antagonize
We must learn to compromise
And to hell with principle
It is not invincible
Stars of Evening
Everybody takes their hats o to us
Stars of evening shining
Bet your money on the Swarthmore team
’Cause that is the time you’ll win. Da, da, da …
(Repeat verse, end at “win.”)
Swarthmore Folk -6- Alumni Songbook
There Ain’t No More Mmmm in the Meadow
(Words: Richard Lubarsky ’64 and Leo Braudy ’63.
Tune: “There Ain’t No More Cane on the Brazos”)
There ain’t no more mmmm in the meadow;
Tractors are moving on through.
There ain’t no more mmmm in the meadow
Because of that old route of Blue.
The word came down from Harrisburg above;
You should have heard those Swarthmore students ip,
’Cause how are you going to get
your full measure of love
If you can’t cross that old center strip?
Go away with your liederkranz, go away with your beer,
That ain’t the proper thing to do.
You wake up in the morning from a night of good cheer,
Surveyors watching over you.
Nowhere to make the integrating feast,
No way to look nature in the face,
No way to make the double-backed beast,
And no more forfended place.
Swarthmore Town
(Words: Leo Braudy ’63, with J. Harvey Smith ’64
and R. Daniel Menaker ’63. T une: : “When First I
Came to Louisville” or “The Lily of the West”)
When rst I came to Swarthmore Town,
Some pleasure for to nd,
I knew the rules would never change
But it never troubled my mind.
I sowed my wild oats from
Worth to M.L. 3.
Now my time is up, my judgement’s here,
Before
the
C.J.C.
Prentice is out and Barr is in
But still it is the same;
For doing what comes natural
We all must bear the blame.
The arguments they use are
Subtle as a truck:
All those old enough to vote
Can neither drink nor f**k.
Gather
round, Swarthmoreans,
It’s time to state our case
To show that harsh paternalism
Hides under a smiling face.
Gather round me, darlings,
It’s plain that we’ve been had,
We can only choose to be good
And never to be bad.
Listen to my story
Before I have to go.
You’ll never get the rules changed
If you try to go it slow.
Civil disobedience
Is the only way, you see,
Or we’ll sully our hands in Victorian sands
Till Nineteen eighty-three.
Paul
R. Booth ‘64
June 7, 1943 – January 17, 2018
Paul Booth ‘64 and Robert Gentile ‘64 compiled A Pretty Songbook, Fred, a collection of 22
songs, most of which were written by Swarthmore students. Three of those songs are on
this page and the next one; the “Alma Mater” and “Yea, Morals Matter“ are on Pages 1 and
2, “Rise Up, Urban Proletariat” is on Page 5, and “The Hamburg Show Song” (not originally a
Swarthmore song) is on Page 87.
(For more about Paul, see Appendix B in this Songbook.)
Hard Travelling
(Words: Peter Bergman, David Tucker ’58, Jonathan Eberhart, Paul Booth ’64,
and Robert Gentile ‘64. Tune: “Hard Travelin’ ” by Woody Guthrie)
My name is Orval Faubus, I thought you knowed,
I live in that restricted district, way down the road.
If you act good and you behave, I’m going to make you an honorary slave.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, I thought you knowed,
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, way down the road.
Hard travelling, hard rambling, hard drinking and hard gambling,
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is Chiang Kai-Shek, I thought you knowed,
I live in Imperial Palace, way down the road.
Chinese Reds they get my praise when they only shell us on even days.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is Jacqueline Kennedy, I thought you knew,
I live in that great white mansion, way down the rue.
I never thought that I would see so many women looking just like me.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is Caroline Kennedy, I thought you knowed,
I live in that big white house, way down the road.
After a while it sure gets hard to play dolls with my security guard.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is William Buckley, I thought you knowed,
I live in that Paisley bomb shelter, way down the road.
Against dropping bombs I’ll not agitate, as long as the bombs discriminate.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is Teddy Kennedy, I thought you knowed,
I’m going to live there in the White House, way down the road.
It sure is sad, you will agree, that the Divine Rights of Kings will end with me.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is Nikita Krushchev, I thought you knowed,
I live in Lenin’s Tomb, way down the road.
I’d give up Berlin without a ght if I could have Jacqueline for just one night.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is David Ben-Gurion, I thought you knowed,
I live at the Wailing Wall, way down the road.
President Smith is really me; we’ve never denied it publicly.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
Swarthmore Town
(Words: Leo Braudy ’63, with J. Harvey Smith ’64
and R. Daniel Menaker ’63. T une: : “When First I
Came to Louisville” or “The Lily of the West”)
When rst I came to Swarthmore Town,
Some pleasure for to nd,
I knew the rules would never change
But it never troubled my mind.
I sowed my wild oats from
Worth to M.L. 3.
Now my time is up, my judgement’s here,
Before
the
C.J.C.
Prentice is out and Barr is in
But still it is the same;
For doing what comes natural
We all must bear the blame.
The arguments they use are
Subtle as a truck:
All those old enough to vote
Can neither drink nor f**k.
Gather
round, Swarthmoreans,
It’s time to state our case
To show that harsh paternalism
Hides under a smiling face.
Gather round me, darlings,
It’s plain that we’ve been had,
We can only choose to be good
And never to be bad.
Listen to my story
Before I have to go.
You’ll never get the rules changed
If you try to go it slow.
Civil disobedience
Is the only way, you see,
Or we’ll sully our hands in Victorian sands
Till Nineteen eighty-three.
Hard Travelling
(Words: Peter Bergman, David Tucker ’58, Jonathan Eberhart, Paul Booth ’64,
and Robert Gentile ‘64. Tune: “Hard Travelin’ ” by Woody Guthrie)
My name is Orval Faubus, I thought you knowed,
I live in that restricted district, way down the road.
If you act good and you behave, I’m going to make you an honorary slave.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, I thought you knowed,
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, way down the road.
Hard travelling, hard rambling, hard drinking and hard gambling,
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is Chiang Kai-Shek, I thought you knowed,
I live in Imperial Palace, way down the road.
Chinese Reds they get my praise when they only shell us on even days.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is Jacqueline Kennedy, I thought you knew,
I live in that great white mansion, way down the rue.
I never thought that I would see so many women looking just like me.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is Caroline Kennedy, I thought you knowed,
I live in that big white house, way down the road.
After a while it sure gets hard to play dolls with my security guard.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is William Buckley, I thought you knowed,
I live in that Paisley bomb shelter, way down the road.
Against dropping bombs I’ll not agitate, as long as the bombs discriminate.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is Teddy Kennedy, I thought you knowed,
I’m going to live there in the White House, way down the road.
It sure is sad, you will agree, that the Divine Rights of Kings will end with me.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is Nikita Krushchev, I thought you knowed,
I live in Lenin’s Tomb, way down the road.
I’d give up Berlin without a ght if I could have Jacqueline for just one night.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
My name is David Ben-Gurion, I thought you knowed,
I live at the Wailing Wall, way down the road.
President Smith is really me; we’ve never denied it publicly.
I’ve been doing some hard travelling, Lord.
Paul Booth ‘64, before
announcing the rst
national march against
the war in Vietnam,
April 1965
Swarthmore Folk -7- Alumni Songbook
(Underscore indicates accented syllable.)
If that than which nothing greater can be conceived
Can be conceiv-ed not to exist,
Then ’tis not that than which nothing greater can be conceived;
This is unquestionable, I insist.
Chorus:
Thus spake St. Anselm, thus spake St. Anselm—
Never forgotten, though centuries dead.
And we’re awed as we read his proof so ontological;
How can we question a word that he said?
For in that case a being greater can be conceived,
Whose major traits we can easily list:
Namely, that than which nothing greater can be conceived,
And which can NOT be conceived not to exist.
Chorus:
Thus spake St. Anselm, thus spake St. Anselm—
Never forgotten, though centuries dead.
And we’re awed as we read his proof so ontological;
How can we question a word that he said?
If that than which nothing greater can be conceived
Has no existence outside of Man’s mind,
Then ’tis not that than which nothing greater can be conceived,
Due to the way that the words are dened.
For in that case a being greater can be conceived—
This is, of course, analytically true—
Namely, that than which nothing greater can be conceived,
And which exists in Reality, too.
Final chorus:
Thus spake St. Anselm, thus spake St. Anselm,
Thus spake St. Anselm, with weighty intent.
And we’re awed as we read his proof so ontological;
Would that we could understand what he meant.
__________________________________________________
Copyright 1961 by Charles S. Harris. This song may be sung
or reproduced, without written permission, by students or
faculty members in any department of theology or philosophy.
Waltzing St. Anselm
Lyrics by St. Anselm and Charles S. Harris ’59 (1961)
To be sung (with some ingenuity) to the tune of “Waltzing Matilda”
Swarthmore Folk -8- Alumni Songbook
Hi Ho, Anybody Home
(Words by Claire Faust Stephens McMurray ‘61.
Tune: “Hey, Ho, Nobody Home”
Parody based on Douglas Adams’ book,
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy)
Hi Ho, Earth is really gone,
Cleared for a hyperspatial bypass by Vogon
Still we will not pa…nic
Hi Ho, drifting quite alone
Food nor air nor money have we none
For we scorned the Vogon captain’s poems
Hi Ho, travel new and old
Hitched a ride aboard the Heart of Gold
Knew the crew, Improbably, in England
Hi Ho, missiles in a shoal
Change to a whale and petunias in a bowl
Crying “Why,” and “Oh, no, not aga…in”
Hi Ho, answer 42
Ask the mice—they outrank me and you!
Maybe they could have Earth reconstructed…
Hi Ho, anybody home?
Hi Ho, anybody home?
Stewball
(Ralph Rinzler ’56, Bob Yellin and John Herald wrote this
version of an American song about a 1790 Irish horse race
much heralded in 19
th
-century British broadside ballads.)
Oh, Stewball was a racehorse, and I wish he were mine.
He never drank water, he always drank wine.
His bridle was silver, his mane it was gold,
And the worth of his saddle has never been told.
Oh, the fairgrounds were crowded, and Stewball was there
But the betting was heavy on the bay and the mare.
And a-way up yonder, ahead of them all,
Came a-prancin’ and a-dancin’ my noble Stewball.
I bet on the grey mare, I bet on the bay.
If I’d have bet on ol’ Stewball, I’d be a free man today.
Oh, the hoot owl, she hollers, and the turtle dove moans.
I’m a poor boy in trouble, I’m a long way from home.
Oh, Stewball was a racehorse, and I wish he were mine.
He never drank water, he always drank wine.
Swarthmore Folk -9- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -10- Alumni Songbook
Theory Boys
(Elizabeth Fein [formerly Elizabeth Nickrenz] ’99, ca. 1998)
A E
Comes on the scene in a sharp wool coat
G D
Bright eyes, hair a little too long and big teeth
Wanna strip away the phrases he recites by rote
Wanna nd out what’s underneath
Don’t want to talk about anything I think I know
It won’t take long to see I’m hopelessly outclassed
And when you nally get him home
Has he got what it takes to last you?
A D E
One of these days I’m gonna have to get away from theory boys
One of these days I’m gonna have to get away from theory boys
D E
When they read Foucault for fun
A D
That’s when you know it’s time to run! If they’re so much
D E
Smarter than me, why do they act so dumb?
Drinks enough coee to choke a cow
Smokes so much the Fire Department thought his room was burning
At least he can speak his own language—no-one else knows how
Well that’s a skill that’s well worth learning—I guess
So we should live and we should love while we can
‘Cause man is mortal, life is pointless, God is dead and stu
Are you a textbook or are you a man?
There’s a point after which I’ve had enough
One of these days I’m gonna have to get away from theory boys
One of these days I’m gonna have to get away from theory boys
When they’ve always got Nietzsche near
That’s the time to run in fear
When did nihilism become endearing?
One of these days I’m gonna have to get away from theory boys
One of these days I’m gonna have to get away from theory boys
When they read Foucault for fun
That’s when you know it’s time to run
If they’re so much smarter than me, why do they act so dumb?
Pull Your Shades Down, Marianne
(Apparently a pre-1919 parody of “Hold Your Hand Out, Naughty Boy,” a British music-hall song recorded in 1913)
College Songs
Apologies for the sexist lyrics to many of these old songs. The women of their day were nevertheless an
independent and intellectual bunch, romantic, amused, no way put down.
A Man Without a Woman (Silver Dollar)
(Alfred Williams, ca. 1907)
A man without a woman is like a ship without a sail,
Is like a boat without a rudder, a kite without a tail.
A man without a woman is like a wreck upon the sand,
And if there’s one thing worse, in this universe,
It’s a woman, I said, a woman, it’s a woman without a man!
Now you can roll a silver dollar ‘cross the bar-room oor,
And it’ll roll, ‘cause it’s round.
A woman never knows what a good man she’s got,
Until she puts him down!
So listen, my honey, listen to me,
I want you to understand,
Just like a silver dollar goes from hand to hand,
A woman goes from man to man (without a doubt).
A woman goes from man to man.
Pull your shades down, Marianne (2x)
Late last night, in the pale moonlight, I saw you, I saw you.
You were combing your golden hair; it was laid out on a chair.
If you want to keep your secrets from your future man,
Pull your shades down, Marianne.
Pull your shades down, Marianne (2x)
Late last night, in the pale moonlight, I saw you, I saw you.
You were rolling your eyes of blue; one fell out and broke in two.
If you want to keep your secrets from your future man,
Pull your shades down, Marianne.
Pull your shades down, Marianne (2x)
Late last night, in the pale moonlight, I saw you, I saw you.
You were brushing your teeth of pearl; they were there in a glass of ‘earl.
If you want to keep your secrets from your future man,
Pull your shades down, Marianne.
Pull your shades down, Marianne (2x)
Late last night, in the pale moonlight, I saw you, I saw you.
You were touching your pretty leg; then you hung it upon a peg.
If you want to keep your secrets from your future man,
Pull your shades down, Marianne.
Swarthmore Folk -11- Alumni Songbook
By Phi Delt Doors
By Phi Delt doors we stand alone tonight
Singing songs of fellowship so bright
Brothers all stand fast and true, serenading just for you
So we pledge our love and then we’ll keep
Phi Delt’s friendship ever deep. We leave you now, so go to sleep.
We will sing again.
Sacred Seal of Phi Kappa Phi
Just put her in a corner, and hold her tight like thisss
Put your arms around her waist, and on her lips a kisss (if she’ll let you)
And if she starts to murmur, or if she starts to cry
Just tell her it’s the sacred seal of old Phi Kappa Phi
Show Me the Way to Go Home
(Reg. Connelly and Jimmy Campbell, 1925)
Show me the way to go home. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.
I had a little drink about an hour ago, and it went right to my head.
Wherever I may roam, o’er land or sea or foam,
You can always hear me singing this song:
Show me the way to go home … oh—show me,
Show me the way to go home.
Swarthmore Folk -12- Alumni Songbook
Tell Me Why
Tell me why the stars do shine
Tell me why the ivy twines
Tell me why the sky’s so blue
And I will tell you just why I love you.
Because God made the stars to shine
Because God made the ivy twine
Because God made the sky so blue
Because God made you, that’s why I love you.
I really think that God above
Created you for me to love.
He picked you out from all the rest
Because he knew, dear, I’d love you the best.
Fraternity Verses:
Tell me why she wears his pin
Tell me why she’s strong for him.
Tell me why she is so true.
She told me why and I’ll tell you.
Because he is a Phi Delt bold
Because he is a knight of old
Because he wears the sword and shield
That is the reason she had to yield.
An Old Beer Bottle
(James Leisy & Charles Grean, 1954)
An old beer bottle came oating on the foam;
An old beer bottle a thousand miles from home.
And in it was a paper with these words written on:
Whoever nds this bottle will nd the beer all gone.
Just like the empty bottle, I drift from beer to beer,
They’re not as sweet as your sweet kiss,
But a damn sight more sincere.
(Repeat rst verse)
Swarthmore Folk -13- Alumni Songbook
Featured Performers at Swarthmore College Folk Festivals and in
Swarthmore Folk Programs at Alumni Weekend
Alumni Weekends:
1998 Susan Reed
1999 Saul Broudy singing Lead Belly songs
2000 Jean Ritchie
2001 Mike Seeger
2002 John Wright ’62 & Ellen Faber Wright ’64
2003 Joe Hickerson
2004 Arnold Gessel ’54, Ralph Lee Smith ’51,
Marcy Gordon ’78, Svitanje
2005 Chester Children’s Chorus,
Richard & Jesse Lenatsky
2006 Merry Lyin’ and Friends
2007 Peter Schickele ’57
2008 Three from Virginia: Ralph Lee Smith ’51,
Madeline MacNeil, Lea Coryell
2009 Peggy Seeger
2010 Merry Lyin’ and Friends
2011 Doc Watson and David Holt
2012 Robby George (’77) and Friends
2013 The Tungsten Trio
2014 John Wright ‘62 & Ellen Wright ‘64;
Alan Hollister ‘69, Tom O’Donnell ‘69, &
John Loven ‘70; J.J. Johnson ‘79,
Emily Aubrey ‘89 & Melissa Running ‘94
2015 Robby George (’77) and Friends
5
2016 Freebo (Daniel Friedberg ‘66) and His
Fabulous Friends, Roger North ’66 and
Chad Watson
2017 Robby George (’77) and Friends
2018 Marcy Gordon ’78, John Loven ‘70 and
Chuck Kupferschmidt
Svitanje is an Eastern European women’s vocal ensemble.
Merry Lyin’ is a folk trio formed in 1966 by Michael Greenwald ‘70,
Laura Hassler’70, and Tony Barrand (Keele University Exchange
Scholar 1966–’67). Performing with Merry Lyin’ in 2006 and 2010
were the English folk duo John Roberts & Tony Barrand and Lé Lé
Mam (women’s chorus led by Laura Hassler).
Daniel Miner ’77, Glenn Rosen ’77, Robin Ringgold Cockey ’77, and
Douglas Greason ’77
John Loven ‘70, Neal Collier, and Chuck Kupferschmidt
5
Daniel Miner ‘77, Charlie McGovern ‘80, and Glenn Rosen ‘77
Robin Ringgold Cockey ’77, Daniel Miner ’77, Charlie McGovern ‘80,
and Glenn Rosen ’77
Folk Festivals:
1945 Richard Dyer-Bennet
1946 Lead Belly
1947 (no Festival)
1948 Susan Reed, Jerry Reed
1949 Woody Guthrie, John Jacob Niles
1950 Jerry Reed
1951 Oscar Brand, Keith Chalmers
1952 Richard Dyer-Bennet
1953 Pete Seeger
1954 Susan Reed
1955 Jean Ritchie, Josh White
1956 (no Festival)
1957 John Jacob Niles
1958 Odetta
1959 Roger Abrahams ‘55, Ralph Rinzler ‘56,
Robin Christenson ‘57
1960 The New Lost City Ramblers
1961 (no Festival; Jean Ritchie and others
appeared in concerts)
1962 Pete Seeger, Rev. Gary Davis,
Ellen Stekert
1963 Lightnin’ Hopkins, Doc Watson,
Bonnie Dobson, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott
1964 Jesse Fuller, The New Lost City Ramblers,
Billy Vanaver, Phil Ochs
1965 Doc Watson, Bill Monroe, Pat Sky,
Junior Wells’ Chicago Blues group
1966 Son House, Tom Rush
1967 Skip James, Richie Havens
Venezuela
(Jerry Reed sang a shorter version at the 1948 Festival.)
I met her in Venezuela
With a basket on her head.
If she loved others she did not say,
But I knew she’d do to pass away,
To pass away the time in Venezuela (2x)
I gave her a beautiful sash of blue,
A beautiful sash of blue,
Because I knew that she would do
With all the tricks I knew she knew
To pass away the time in Venezuela (2x)
And when the wind was out to sea,
The wind was out to sea,
And she was taking leave of me,
I said, “Cheer up, there’ll always be
Sailors ashore on leave in Venezuela” (2x)
Her lingo was strange, but the thought of her smile,
The thought of her beautiful smile,
Will haunt me and taunt me for many a mile,
For she was my girl and she did the while
To pass away the time in Venezuela (2x)
Swarthmore Folk -14- Alumni Songbook
Quaker Lover
(Richard Dyer-Bennet came to the 1945 Festival
and sang us this version, and we adopted it.)
Once there was a Quaker lover, O dear, O dear me,
Courted a Pres-by-terian’s daughter, O dear, O dear me.
Here’s a ring cost many a shilling, O dear, O dear me,
Take it and wear it if thou art willing, O dear, O dear me.
What do I care for you and your money, tee-i-dinktum, tee-i-dee
Want a man to call me “Honey,” tee-i-dinktum, tee-i-dee.
Madam, I have house and land, O dear, O dear me,
Both shall be at thy command, O dear, O dear me.
What do I care for your house and land, tee-i-dinktum, tee-i-dee,
All I want’s a handsome man, tee-i-dinktum, tee-i-dee.
Madam, I have come a courtin’, O dear, O dear me,
‘Tis not for pleasure nor for sportin’, O dear, O dear me.
What do I care for your desire? tee-i-dinktum, tee-i-dee,
If you come you’ll court the re, tee-i-dinktum, tee-i-dee.
I’ll go home and tell my mother, O dear, O dear me,
She’ll go straight and nd me another, O dear, O dear me.
What do I care for you and your mother? tee-i-dinktum, tee-i-dee,
She’s an old Quaker and you’re another! tee-i-dinktum, tee-i-dee.
Songs from Festival Performers
Richard Dyer-Bennet
Turtle Dove
(Also sung by Jerry Reed in 1948)
Tender little turtle dove
Settin’ in the pine
Mournin’ for his own true love
As I will do for mine, for mine
Why not me for mine?
Up on the mountain the other day
Pretty little owers grew
Never did I know ‘til the other day
What love, oh love could do, could do
What love, oh love could do.
Now she’s gone and left me
Standin’ in the rain
Cryin’ for my own true love
Who’s never gonna come again, again
Never gonna come again.
If I had a scolding wife
Tell you as sure as you’re born
I’d take her down to New Orleans
Swap her o for corn, for corn
Swap her o for corn.
I am a poor country boy
Money I got none
But there’s silver in the stars
And gold in the mornin’ sun, sun
Gold in the mornin’ sun.
The Auld Orange Flute
(Sung by Jerry Reed at the 1948 Festival)
In the County Tyrone, near the town of Dungannon
Where many a ruction meself had a hand in,
Bob Williamson lived, a weaver by trade,
And we all of us thought him a stout Orange blade.
On the 12th of July as it yearly did come,
Bob played on the ute to the sound of the drum,
You may talk of piano or ddle or lute,
But there’s nothin’ could sound like the Old Orange Flute.
Now this cunning old Keogh boy surely took us all in,
He married a Papist named Bridget McGinn
Turned Papist himself and forsook the old cause
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws.
Now the boys in the town made much comment upon it
And Bob had to ee to the province of Connaught
He ed with his wife and his xin’s to boot,
And along with the rest took the Old Orange Flute.
To the chapel of a Sunday by the priest’s own desire
Bob took the old ute for to play in the choir
He took the old ute for to play at the Mass,
But the instrument shivered and sighed, “Och, alas!”
Bob jumped up and started and got in a utter,
And dipped the old ute in the bless’d holy water
But blow as he might, it would make not a sound
But “The Protestant Boys” or “Down, Fenians, Lie Down.”
At a council of priests there was great disquisition;
They sentenced the ute to severe inquisition,
But the tortures of thumbscrew, of rack and of boot
Could not make a Papist of the Old Orange Flute.
The Old Orange Flute, oh, its fate was pathetic
’Twas branded and burned at the stake as heretic.
With the ames all around it there was heard a strange noise,
’Twas the old ute still playing “The Protestant Boys”!
Swarthmore Folk -15- Alumni Songbook
Jerry Reed
Lead Belly Songs
Boll Weevil
You can talk about the latest,
The latest of your home,
These boll weevils,
They gonna rob you of a home,
They’re a-lookin’ for a home. (2x)
The rs’ time I seen the boll weevil,
He was sitting on a square.
Next time I seen the boll weevil,
He had his whole family there,
He’s a-lookin’ for a home. (2x)
The farmer takes the boll weevil,
An’ he put ’im on the sand,
The boll weevil he says to the farmer,
”You are treatin’ me just like a man.
I’ll have a home, I’ll have a home.
Then I’ll have a home,
then I’ll have a home.”
Then the farmer, he said to the merchant,
”I never made but one bale,
Before I let you have that last one,
I’ll suer and die in jail.
And I’ll have a home, and I’ll have a home.”
An’ the old lady says to her old man,
”I been tryin’ that ol’ level best,
Keep one o’ these ol’ boll weevils
Out o’ my brand-new cotton dress.
And it’s full of holes, and it’s full of holes.
Yes, it’s full of holes, yes, it’s full of holes.
It is a-full o’ holes, it is a-full o’ holes.”
Then the farmer take the boll weevil,
An’ he put him in the ice,
The boll weevil said to the farmer,
”You is treatin’ me mighty nice.
And I’ll have a home, and I’ll have a home.”
If anybody should come ’ long and ask you people,
Who composed this song,
Tell ’em it’s Huddie Ledbetter,
He’s done been here and gone,
He’s a-looking for a home. (6x)
Bring Me Little Water, Sylvie
Bring me little water, Sylvie
Bring me little water now
Bring me little water, Sylvie
Ev’ry little once in a while
Can’t you hear me calling you?
Can’t you hurry now?
I need a little bit o’ water
Ev’ry little once in a while
Bring it in a bucket, Sylvie
Bring it in a bucket now
Bring it in a bucket, Sylvie
Ev’ry little once in a while
Sylvie come a-running
Bucket in her hand
I will bring you water
Fast as I can
Can’t you see me coming?
Can’t you see me now?
I will bring you water
Ev’ry little once in a while
(Repeat rst verse)
Swarthmore Folk -16- Alumni Songbook
Huddie Ledbetter
(Lead Belly)
(Lead Belly’s version of traditional “Boll Weevil Holler”)
Bourgeois Blues
(Huddie Ledbetter [Lead Belly], 1938)
Listen heah, people, listen to me,
Don’t try to buy no home down in Washin’ D.C.
’Cause it’s a bourgeois town, (hoo) it’s a bourgeois town
I got the bourgeois blues, I’m gonna spread the news all aroun’
Me, my sweet wife an’ Miss Barnacle run all over that town
Everywhere we go, the people they would turn us down
(Lawd) In a bourgeois town, (hoo) it’s a bourgeois town
I got the bourgeois blues, I’m gonna spread the news all aroun’
Some white folks in Wash’i’ton, they know just how
Call a colored man a nigger just to see him bow
(Lawd) In a bourgeois tow’, (hoo) it’s a bourgeois tow’
I got the bourgeois blues, I’m gonna spread the news all arou’
Me an’ my sweet wife Marthy w’ standing upstairs
Heard a white man shoutin’, “Want no negroes up there”
He was a bourgeois man (hoo) livin’ in a bourgeois town
I got the bourgeois blues, I’m gonna spread the news all aroun’
This is the home of the brave, land of the free
I don’t wanta be mistreated by no bourgeoisie
(Lawd) In a bourgeois town, (hoo) it’s a bourgeois town
I got the bourgeois blues, I’m gonna spread the news all aroun’
(Notes by Woody Guthrie from Hard-Hitting Songs for Hard-Hit People, published in 1967)
Don’t run o, folks. That just means “bushwa.” Bushwa means moneyed folks with a lot of high falooting notions. Think
they’re just a shade better than you and me, or that they got a perfect right to twist us loose from our money any old
way they can, or that Negroes are “niggers” and are to be looked down on, or that colored people are all right so long
as they “stay in their own place.”
Bushwa folks are just a little tangled up in the head, that’s all, you know, just sorta uppity or sissy or think they’re smart.
Leadbelly is a Negro Blues singer and “King of the Twelve String Guitar,” and you can’t fool him.
Here’s a song he wrote after some business men and landlords in Washington, D.C. had insulted him, his wife, and a
carload of friends, some white, some Negro. They refused to let him eat at the same cafe or stay in the same house.
They tried several and was turned down. Leadbelly said, “What kind of town is this, anyhow?” and his friends said, “this
is a bushwa town.” So in a few minutes, Leadbelly exploded with this song and red it into the faces of the stuck-up
Bushwas at several of their very most elegant parties.
I’ve lived with Leadbelly and his wife Martha many weeks and they’re 2 of as good a friends as I ever had. Lots of
books have already been written about his prison life and his story and full page pictures has appeared in magazines.
Leadbelly, to my notion, and his wife are Real Folks.
Swarthmore Folk -17- Alumni Songbook
Goodnight, Irene
(Huddie Ledbetter and John A. Lomax, 1936)
Chorus (after each verse):
Irene goodnight, Irene goodnight,
Goodnight Irene, goodnight Irene, I’ll see you in my dreams.
Last Saturday night I got married; me and my wife settled down.
Now me and my wife are parted; I’m gonna take another stroll downtown.
Sometimes I live in the country, sometimes I live in town,
Sometimes I have a great notion to jump in the river and drown.
Quit ramblin’ and quit gamblin’, quit staying out late at night,
Stay home with your wife and family; sit down by the reside bright.
I asked your mother for you, she told me you was too young.
I wished to God I’d never seen your face, I’s sorry you ever was born.
I love Irene, God knows I do, I’ll love her ’til the seas run dry,
And if Irene turns her back on me, I’d take morphine and die.
You cause me to weep, you cause me to mourn, you cause me to leave my home,
But the very last words I heard her say was “Please sing me one more song.”
Grey Goose
Well, las’ Monday mornin’,
Lawd, Lawd, Lawd,
Well, las’ Monday mornin’,
Lawd, Lawd, Lawd.
Similarly:
My daddy went a-huntin’.
Well, he carried along his zulu.
Well, along come a grey goose.
Well, he throwed it to his shoulder,
An’ he ram his hammer way back.
Well, he pulled on de trigger.
Well, down he come a-windin’.
He was six weeks a-fallin’.
He was six weeks a-ndin’.
An’ he put him on de wagon,
An’ he taken him to de white house.
Lordy, your wife an’ my wife,
Oh, dey give a feather pickin’.
He was six weeks a-pickin’.
An’ dey put him on to parboil.
He was six months a-parboil’,
An’ dey put him on de table,
Now, de fork couldn’ stick him,
An’ de knife couldn’t cut him.
An’ dey throwed him in de hog-pen,
An’ he broke de ol’ sow’s jaw-bone.
An’ dey taken him to de saw-mill,
An’ he broke de saw’s teeth out.
An’ de las’ time I seed him,
Well, he’s yin’ across de ocean,
Wid a long string o’ goslins,
An’ dey all goin’: Quink-Quank.
Swarthmore Folk -18- Alumni Songbook
Midnight Special
(Huddie Ledbetter)
Well you wake up in the morning,
Hear the ding dong ring,
You go a-marching to the table,
See the same damn thing;
Well, it’s on-a one table,
Knife, a fork and a pan,
And if you say anything about it,
You’re in trouble with the man.
Chorus:
Let the Midnight Special
Shine her light on me;
Let the Midnight Special
Shine her ever-loving light on me.
If you ever go to Houston,
You better walk right;
You better not stagger,
You better not ght;
Sheri Benson will arrest you,
He’ll carry you down,
And if the jury nds you guilty,
Penitentiary bound.
Chorus:
Yonder come little Rosie,
How in the world do you know?
l can tell her by her apron,
And the dress she wore.
Umbrella on her shoulder,
Piece of paper in her hand,
She goes a-marching to the captain,
Says, “I want my man.”
Chorus:
I don’ believe that Rosie loves me.
“Well, tell me why.”
She ain’t been to see me
Since las’ July.
She brought me little coee
She brought me little tea
Brought me damn near ever’thing
But the jail house key.
Chorus:
Yonder comes Doctor Adams.
“How in the world do you know?”
Well he gave me a tablet
The day befo’.
There ain’t no doctor
In all the lan’
Can cure the fever
Of a convict man.
Chorus:
Cotton Fields
When I was a little-bitty baby
My mama would rock me in the cradle
In them old cotton elds back home
Oh, [repeat the 3 lines]
Chorus:
Oh, when them cotton bolls get rotten
You can’t pick very much cotton
In them old cotton elds back home
It was down in Lou’siana
Just a mile from Texarkana
In them old cotton elds back home.
Oh, [repeat the 3 lines]
Chorus:
I was over in Arkansas (Arkansaw)
People ask me what you come here for
In them old cotton elds at home
Oh, [repeat the 3 lines]
Chorus:
It may sound a little funny
But you didn’t make very much money
In them old cotton elds at home
Oh, [repeat the 3 lines]
Chorus:
Swarthmore Folk -19- Alumni Songbook
Pick a Bale of Cotton
(Repeat each verse before the chorus, also repeated)
Gotta jump down, turn around
to pick a bale of cotton
Jump down, turn around to pick a bale a day.
Chorus: Oh, Lord, I can pick a bale of cotton,
Oh, Lord, I can pick a bale a day.
Me and my gal can pick a bale of cotton
Me and my gal can pick a bale a day.
Chorus:
Me and my wife can pick a bale of cotton
Me and my wife can pick a bale a day.
Chorus:
Take This Hammer
Take dis hammer (huh!), carry it to the captain (huh!) (3x)
You tell him I’m gone (huh!), tell him I’m gone (huh!).
If he asks you (huh!), was I runnin’ (huh!) (3x))
You tell him I was yin’ (huh!), tell him I was yin’ (huh!).
If he asks you (huh!), was I laughin’ (huh!) (3x)
You tell him I was cryin’ (huh!), tell him I was cryin’ (huh!).
I don’t want no (huh!), cornbread and molasses (huh!) (3x)
They hurt my pride (huh!), they hurt my pride (huh!).
Take dis hammer (huh!), carry it to the captain (huh!) (3x)
You tell him I’m gone (huh!), tell him I’m gone (huh!).
Me and my buddy can pick a bale of cotton
Me and my buddy can pick a bale a day.
Chorus:
Me and my poppa can pick a bale of cotton
Me and my poppa can pick a bale a day.
Chorus:
Takes a might big man to pick a bale of cotton
Takes a might big man to pick a bale a day.
Chorus:
(Repeat rst verse)
Rock Island Line
Chorus: Oh, the Rock Island Line is a mighty good road
Oh, the Rock Island Line is the road to ride
Oh, the Rock Island Line is a mighty good road
If you want to ride, you gotta ride it like you nd it
Get your ticket at the station on the Rock Island Line.
A-B-C double X-Y-Z
Cat’s in the cupboard and she cain’t see me.
Chorus:
I may be right and I may be wrong,
Lawd, you gonna miss me when I’m gone.
Chorus
Jesus died to save our sins
Glory to God, we’re gonna need Him again
Chorus
Moses stood on the Red Sea shore
Smitin’ the water with a two-by-four.
Chorus
Swarthmore Folk -20- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -21- Alumni Songbook
Woody Guthrie Songs
Woody Guthrie Publications, headed by
Woody’s daughter, Nora Guthrie, maintains
“The Ocial Woody Guthrie Website” at
<www.woodyguthrie.org>. The site includes
an “alphabetical listing of published and
recorded lyrics. In most cases Woody’s
stylized spelling, punctuation, and grammar
have been retained. Like the nasal twang in
his singing voice, he meant it that way.”
On the Woody Guthrie Website, the page of
lyrics for each song gives copyright dates
and information about recordings, but not
the date when the song was written. In most
cases, it also gives no indication of Woody’s
sources. Many of his lyrics were original,
but some were adaptations of other songs.
Some of his tunes may have been original,
but many were from other songs, with little
or no change. In this Alumni Songbook,
information about dates and sources is given
when available from Wikipedia, from the
Mudcat Café <www.mudcat.org>, or from
documentation of Smithsonian Folkways
Recordings.
The crops are all in and the peaches are rotting
The oranges are piled in their creosote dumps
You’re ying them back to the Mexican border
To pay all their money to wade back again
Chorus:
Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita
Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria
You won’t have a name
when you ride the big airplane
And all they will call you will be deportee.
My father’s own father, he waded that river
They took all the money he made in his life
My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees,
And they rode the truck till they took down and died.
Chorus:
Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted,
Our work contract’s out and we have to move on;
Six hundred miles to the Mexican border
They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.
Chorus:
We died in your hills, we died in your deserts,
We died in your valleys and died on your plains,
We died ‘neath your trees and we died in your bushes,
Both sides of the river, we died just the same.
Chorus:
The sky plane caught re over Los Gatos Canyon
A reball of lightning which shook all our hills
Who are these friends, all scattered like dry leaves?
The radio says they are just deportees.
Chorus:
Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards?
Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit?
To fall like dry leaves and rot on my topsoil
And be called by no name except deportees?
Deportee
(Words, Woody Guthrie, 1948
Often sung to tune by Martin Homan)
Swarthmore Folk -22- Alumni Songbook
Do Re Mi
(Woody Guthrie, 1937)
Lots of folks back East, they say
Is leavin’ home every day,
Beatin’ the hot old dusty way to the California line.
‘Cross the desert sands they roll
Gettin’ out of that old dust bowl,
They think they’re goin’ to a sugar bowl
But here’s what they nd
Now, the police at the port of entry say,
“You’re number fourteen thousand for today.”
Oh, if you ain’t got the do re mi, folks,
You ain’t got the do re mi,
Why, you better go back to beautiful Texas,
Oklahoma, Kansas, Georgia, Tennessee.
California is a garden of Eden,
A paradise to live in or see;
But believe it or not, you won’t nd it so hot
If you ain’t got the do re mi.
You want to buy you a home or a farm
That can’t deal nobody harm,
Or take your vacation by the mountains or sea.
Don’t swap your old cow for a car,
You better stay right where you are,
You better take this little tip from me.
‘Cause I look through the want ads every day
But the headlines on the papers always say:
If you ain’t got the do re mi, boys,
You ain’t got the do re mi,
Why, you better go back to beautiful Texas,
Oklahoma, Kansas, Georgia, Tennessee.
California is a garden of Eden,
A paradise to live in or see;
But believe it or not, you won’t nd it so hot
If you ain’t got the do re mi.
Goin’ Down the Road Feeling Bad
(Woody’s 1939 version of a song
from the late 1800s or earlier)
I’m blowin’ down this old dusty road,
I’m a-blowin’ down this old dusty road,
I’m a-blowin’ down this old dusty road, Lord, Lord,
An’ I ain’t a-gonna be treated this a-way.
I’m a-goin’ where the water taste like wine,
I’m a-goin’ where the water taste like wine,
I’m a-goin’ where the water taste like wine, Lord,
An’ I ain’t a-gonna be treated this way.
I’m a-goin’ where the dust storms never blow,
I’m a-goin’ where them dust storms never blow,
I’m a-goin’ where them dust storms never blow,
blow, blow,
An’ I ain’t a-gonna be treated this way.
They say I’m a dust bowl refugee,
Yes, they say I’m a dust bowl refugee,
They say I’m a dust bowl refugee, Lord, Lord,
An’ I ain’t a-gonna be treated this way.
I’m a-lookin’ for a job at honest pay,
I’m a-lookin’ for a job at honest pay,
I’m a-lookin’ for a job at honest pay, Lord, Lord,
An’ I ain’t a-gonna be treated this way.
My children need three square meals a day,
Now, my children need three square meals a day,
My children need three square meals a day, Lord,
An’ I ain’t a-gonna be treated this way.
It takes a ten-dollar shoe to t my feet,
It takes a ten-dollar shoe to t my feet,
It takes a ten-dollar shoe to t my feet, Lord, Lord,
An’ I ain’t a-gonna be treated this way.
Your a-two-dollar shoe hurts my feet,
Your two-dollar shoe hurts my feet,
Yes, your two-dollar shoe hurts my feet,
Lord, Lord,
An’ I ain’t a-gonna be treated this way.
I’m a-goin’ down this old dusty road,
I’m blowin’ down this old dusty road,
I’m a-blowin’ down this old dusty road, Lord, Lord,
An’ I ain’t a-gonna be treated this way.
Grand Coulee Dam
(Woody Guthrie, 1941. Tune, “Wabash Cannonball”)
Well, the world has seven wonders that the trav’lers always tell,
Some gardens and some towers, I guess you know them well,
But now the greatest wonder is in Uncle Sam’s fair land,
It’s the big Columbia River and the big Grand Coulee Dam.
She heads up the Canadian Rockies where the rippling waters glide,
Comes a-roaring down the canyon to meet the salty tide,
Of the wide Pacic Ocean where the sun sets in the West
And the big Grand Coulee country in the land I love the best.
In the misty crystal glitter of that wild and windward spray,
Men have fought the pounding waters and met a watery grave,
Well, she tore their boats to splinters but she gave men dreams to dream
Of the day the Coulee Dam would cross that wild and wasted stream.
Uncle Sam took up the challenge in the year of ’thirty-three,
For the farmer and the factory and all of you and me,
He said, “Roll along, Columbia, you can ramble to the sea,
But river, while you’re rambling, you can do some work for me.”
Now in Washington and Oregon you can hear the factories hum,
Making chrome and making manganese and light aluminum,
And there roars the ying fortress now to ght for Uncle Sam,
Spawned upon the King Columbia by the big Grand Coulee Dam.
First time I seen my true love
He was walkin’ by my door.
The next time I saw his false-hearted smile
He was layin’ dead and cold on the oor.
Chorus:
Well, who’s goin’ to kiss your ruby lips,
And who’s goin’ to hold you to his breast?
And who will talk your future over
While I’m out ramblin’ in the West?
Chorus:
Don’t go to drinkin’ or to gamblin’,
Don’t go there your sorrows to drown.
That hard-liquor place is a low-down disgrace,
It’s the meanest old place in this town.
Chorus:
Hard, Ain’t It Hard
(Woody’s adaptation, around 1938, of “There Is a Tavern in the Town”)
There is a house in this old town,
And that’s where my true love lays around.
And he takes other women right down on his knee
And he tells them a little tale he won’t tell me.
Chorus: It’s a-hard and it’s hard, ain’t it hard
To love one that never did love you?
It’s a-hard, and it’s hard, ain’t it hard, great God,
To love one that never will be true?
Swarthmore Folk -23 Alumni Songbook
Hobo’s Lullaby
(Goebel Reeves, 1934.
Tune is a harmony of “Just Before the
Battle, Mother,” by George F. Root)
Go to sleep you weary hobo
Let the towns drift slowly by
Can’t you hear the steel rails hummin’
That’s the hobo’s lullaby
I know your clothes are torn and ragged
And your hair is turning gray
Lift your head and smile at trouble
You’ll nd peace and rest someday
Now don’t you worry ‘bout tomorrow
Let tomorrow come and go
Tonight you’re in a nice warm boxcar
Safe from all that wind and snow
I know the police cause you trouble
They cause trouble everywhere
But when you die and go to Heaven
You’ll nd no policemen there
So go to sleep you weary hobo
Let the towns drift slowly by
Listen to the steel rails hummin’
That’s a hobo’s lullaby
Hard Travelin’
(Woody Guthrie, 1941)
I’ve been havin’ some hard travelin’, I thought you knowed
I’ve been havin’ some hard travelin’, way down the road
I’ve been havin’ some hard travelin’,
hard ramblin’, hard gamblin’
I’ve been havin’ some hard travelin’, lord
I’ve been ridin’ them fast rattlers, I thought you knowed
I’ve been ridin’ them at wheelers, way down the road
I’ve been ridin’ them blind passengers,
dead-enders, kickin’ up cinders
I’ve been havin’ some hard travelin’, lord
I’ve been hittin’ some hard-rock minin’,
I thought you knowed
I’ve been leanin’ on a pressure drill, way down the road
Hammer yin’, air-hose suckin’,
six foot of mud and I shore been a muckin’
And I’ve been hittin’ some hard travelin’, lord
I’ve been hittin’ some hard harvestin’,
I thought you knowed
North Dakota to Kansas City, way down the road
Cuttin’ that wheat, stackin’ that hay,
and I’m tryin’ to make about a dollar a day
And I’ve been havin’ some hard travelin’, lord
I’ve been working that Pittsburgh steel,
I thought you knowed
I’ve been a dumpin’ that red-hot slag, way down the road
I’ve been a blasting, I’ve been a rin’,
I’ve been a pourin’ red-hot iron
I’ve been hittin’ some hard travelin’, lord
I’ve been layin’ in a hard-rock jail, I thought you knowed
I’ve been a laying out 90 days, way down the road
Damned old judge, he said to me,
“It’s 90 days for vagrancy.”
And I’ve been hittin’ some hard travelin’, lord
I’ve been walking that Lincoln highway,
I thought you knowed,
I’ve been hittin’ that 66, way down the road
Heavy load and a worried mind,
lookin’ for a woman that’s hard to nd,
I’ve been hittin’ some hard travelin’, lord
The Ladies’ Auxiliary
(Woody Guthrie)
Well, the Ladies’ Auxiliary
It’s a good auxiliary.
’Bout the best auxiliary
That you ever did see.
If you need an auxiliary,
See the Ladies’ Auxiliary.
It’s the Ladies’ Auxiliary.
Swarthmore Folk -24- Alumni Songbook
Pastures of Plenty
(Woody Guthrie, 1941. Tune, “Pretty Polly”)
It’s a mighty hard row
that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and Westward we rolled
And your deserts were hot
and your mountains were cold
I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
I slept on the ground in the light of the moon
On the edge of the city you’ll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind
California, Arizona, I harvest your crops
Well it’s North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground,
cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine
Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam
where the waters run down
Every state in the Union us migrants have been
We’ll work in this ght and we’ll ght till we win
It’s always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, I will work till I die
My land I’ll defend with my life if it be
’Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free
I Ain’t Got No Home
(Woody Guthrie, ca. 1938. Tune adapted from “This World
Is Not My Home,” an old Southern gospel song.)
I ain’t got no home, I’m just a-roamin’ ’round,
Just a wandrin’ worker, I go from town to town.
And the police make it hard wherever I may go
And I ain’t got no home in this world anymore.
My brothers and my sisters
are stranded on this road,
A hot and dusty road that a million feet have trod;
Rich man took my home
and drove me from my door
And I ain’t got no home in this world anymore.
Was a-farmin’ on the shares,
and always I was poor;
My crops I lay into the banker’s store.
My wife took down and died upon the cabin oor,
And I ain’t got no home in this world anymore.
I mined in your mines and I gathered in your corn
I been working, mister, since the day I was born
Now I worry all the time like I never did before
’Cause I ain’t got no home in this world anymore
Now as I look around, it’s mighty plain to see
This world is such a great and a funny place to be;
Oh, the gamblin’ man is rich
an’ the workin’ man is poor,
And I ain’t got no home in this world anymore.
Way out in Reno, Nevada,
Where the romances bloom and fade,
A great Philadelphia lawyer
Was in love with a Hollywood maid.
“Come, love, and we’ll go rambling
Down where the lights are so bright.
I’ll win you a divorce from your husband,
And we can get married tonight.”
Wild Bill was a gun-totin’ cowhand,
Ten notches was carved in his gun.
And all of the boys around Reno
Left Wild Bill’s sweetheart alone.
One night when Bill was returnin’
From ridin’ the range in the cold,
He thought of his Hollywood sweetheart,
Her love was as lasting as gold.
Philadelphia Lawyer
(Woody Guthrie, 1937. Tune, “The Jealous Lover [Florella]”)
As he drew near to her window,
Two shadows he saw on her shade;
’Twas the great Philadelphia lawyer
Makin’ love to Bill’s Hollywood maid.
The night was as still as the desert,
The moon hangin’ high overhead.
Bill listened awhile through the window,
He could hear ev’ry word that they said:
“Your hands are so pretty and lovely,
Your form is so rare and divine.
Come go back with me to Philadelphia
And leave this wild cowboy behind.”
Now tonight back in old Pennsylvania,
Among those beautiful pines,
There’s one less Philadelphia lawyer
In old Philadelphia tonight.
Swarthmore Folk -25- Alumni Songbook
Chorus:
Roll on, Columbia, roll on
Roll on, Columbia, roll on
Your power is turning our darkness to dawn
So roll on, Columbia, roll on
Green Douglas rs where the waters cut through
Down her wild mountains and canyons she ew
Canadian Northwest to the ocean so blue
Roll on Columbia, roll on
Chorus:
Other great rivers add power to you
Yakima, Snake, and the Klickitat, too
Sandy, Willamette and Hood River too
So roll on, Columbia, roll on
Chorus:
Tom Jeerson’s vision would not let him rest
An empire he saw in the Pacic Northwest
Sent Lewis and Clark and they did the rest
So roll on, Columbia, roll on
Chorus:
It’s there on your banks
that we fought many a ght
Sheridan’s boys in the blockhouse that night
They saw us in death but never in ight
So roll on Columbia, roll on
Chorus:
Remember the trial when the battle was won?
The wild Indian warriors to the tall timber run
We hung every Indian with smoke in his gun
So roll on, Columbia, roll on
Chorus:
Year after year we had tedious trials
Fighting the rapids and cascades and downs
Indians rest peaceful on Mamelou sound
So roll on, Columbia, roll on
Chorus:
At Bonneville now there are ships in the locks
The waters have risen and cleared all the rocks
Shiploads of plenty will steam past the docks
So roll on, Columbia, roll on
Chorus:
And on up the river is Grand Coulee Dam
The mightiest thing ever built by a man
To run the great factories and water the land
So roll on, Columbia, roll on
Chorus:
These mighty men labored by day and by night
Matching their strength
’gainst the river’s wild ight
Through rapids and falls, they won the hard ght
So roll on, Columbia, roll on
Chorus:
Roll On, Columbia
(Words, Woody Guthrie, 1941. Tune based on ”Goodnight, Irene”)
Swarthmore Folk -26- Alumni Songbook
So Long, It’s Been Good to Know Yuh
(Woody Guthrie, 1940)
I’ve sung this song, but I’ll sing it again,
Of the place that I lived on the wild windy plains,
In the month called April, county called Gray,
And here’s what all of the people there say:
Chorus:
So long, it’s been good to know yuh;
So long, it’s been good to know yuh;
So long, it’s been good to know yuh.
This dusty old dust is a-gettin’ my home,
And I’ve got to be driftin’ along.
A dust storm hit, an’ it hit like thunder;
It dusted us over, an’ it covered us under;
Blocked out the trac an’ blocked out the sun,
Straight for home all the people did run, singin’:
Chorus:
We talked of the end of the world, and then
We’d sing a song an’ then sing it again.
We’d sit for an hour an’ not say a word,
And then these words would be heard:
Chorus:
The sweethearts they sat
in the dark and they sparked.
They hugged and they kissed in that dusty old dark.
They sighed and they cried
and they hugged and they kissed,
But instead of marriage they talked like this: Honey,
Chorus:
Now, the telephone rang, an’ it jumped o the wall,
That was the preacher, a-makin’ his call.
He said, “Kind friends, this may the end;
An’ you got your last chance of salvation from sin!”
Well, the churches was jammed,
and the churches was packed,
But that dusty old dust storm blowed so black
That the preacher could not read a word of his text,
So he folded his specs, took up a collection, said:
Chorus:
Stepstone
(Woody’s aaptation of “Old Step Stone”
by J. O. Webster, 1880)
I stood on the stepstone when school days was o’er
And longed for the time to go by,
Now that it’s gone I stand here tonight
To bid this old stepstone goodbye.
Chorus:
Goodbye to my stepstone, goodbye to my home,
God bless the ones that I leave with a sigh;
Fields will be whitening
And I will be gone to ramble this wide world alone.
I stand on my stepstone at eventide now,
The wind whistles by with a moan;
How did it start and I stand here tonight,
Goodbye to my stepstone and home.
Chorus:
It’s hard to be parted from those that we love,
When reverses in fortune have come;
The world’s strongest heart strings
have broken in twain,
By the absence of loved ones and home.
Chorus:
Swarthmore Folk -27- Alumni Songbook
This Land Is Your Land
(Woody Guthrie, 1940 to 1944. Tune adapted from the
African-American gospel song, “When the World’s on Fire”)
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 that ribbon of highway
I saw above me that endless skyway,
I saw below me that golden valley
This land was made for you and me.
Chorus:
I’ve roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps
To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts,
While all around me a voice was sounding:
This land was made for you and me.
Chorus:
When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
And the wheatelds waving and the dust clouds rolling,
As the fog was lifting, a voice was chanting:
This land was made for you and me.
Chorus:
As I went walking, I saw a sign there
And on the sign it said “No Trespassing.”
But on the other side it didn’t say nothing,
That side was made for you and me.
Chorus:
In the squares of the city, in the shadow of a steeple,
By the relief oce, I saw my people;
As they stood there hungry, I stood there asking
Is this land made for you and me?
Chorus:
Nobody living can ever stop me
As I go walking that freedom highway
Nobody living can make me turn back
This land was made for you and me.
Chorus:
This Train Is Bound For Glory
(Woody’s adaptation of a traditional gospel song)
This train is bound for glory, this train.
This train is bound for glory, this train.
This train is bound for glory,
Don’t carry nothing but the righteous
and the holy.
This train is bound for glory, this train.
This train don’t carry no gamblers, this train;
This train don’t carry no gamblers, this train;
This train don’t carry no gamblers,
Liars, thieves, nor big shot ramblers,
This train is bound for glory, this train.
This train don’t carry no liars, this train;
This train don’t carry no liars, this train;
This train don’t carry no liars,
She’s streamlined and a midnight yer,
This train don’t carry no liars, this train.
This train don’t carry no smokers, this train;
This train don’t carry no smokers, this train
This train don’t carry no smokers,
Two bit liars, small time jokers,
This train don’t carry no smokers, this train.
This train don’t carry no con men, this train;
This train don’t carry no con men, this train;
This train don’t carry no con men,
No wheeler dealers, here and gone men,
This train don’t carry no con men, this train.
This train don’t carry no rustlers, this train;
This train don’t carry no rustlers, this train;
This train don’t carry no rustlers,
Sidestreet walkers, two bit hustlers,
This train is bound for glory, this train.
Swarthmore Folk -28- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -29- Alumni Songbook
Union Maid
(Woody Guthrie, 1940. Tune, “Red Wing”)
There once was a union maid
Who never was afraid
Of goons and ginks and company nks
And deputy sheris who made the raids
She went to the union hall
When a meeting it was called
And when the Legion boys came ’round
She always stood her ground.
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Oh, you can’t scare me,
I’m sticking to the union
I’m sticking to the union,
I’m sticking to the union
Oh, you can’t scare me,
I’m sticking to the union
I’m sticking to the union till the day I die.
This union maid was wise
To the tricks of company spies
She couldn’t be fooled by a company stool
She’d always organize the guys
She always got her way
When she struck for better pay
She’d show her card to the National Guard
And this is what she’d say:
You gals who want to be free
Just take a little tip from me:
Get you a man who’s a union man
And join the Ladies’ Auxiliary.
Married life ain’t hard
When you got a union card
And a union man has a happy life
When he’s got a union wife.
Last night or the night before that,
I won´t say which night,
A seaman friend of mine,
I´ll not say which seaman,
Walked up to a big old building,
I won´t say which building,
And would not have walked up the stairs,
not to say which stairs,
If there had not been two girls,
leaving out the names of those two girls.
I recall a door, a big long room,
I´ll not tell which room,
I remember a big blue rug,
but I can´t say which rug,
A girl took down a book of poems,
not to say which book of poems,
And as she read I laid my head,
and I can´t tell which head,
Down in her lap, and I can mention which lap.
Walt Whitman’s Niece
(Words: Woody Guthrie, 1946; Music: Stephen William Bragg, 1998)
My seaman buddy and girl moved o
after a couple of pages and there I was,
All night long, laying and listening
and forgetting the poems.
And as well as I could recall,
or my seaman could recollect,
My girl had told us that she was a niece
of Walt Whitman, but not which niece,
And it takes a night and a girl
and a book of this kind
A long, long time to nd its way back.
Pete Seeger Songs
The Bells of Rhymney
(Words, Idris Davies, 1938.
Music, Pete Seeger, recorded 1958)
Oh what will you give me?
Say the sad bells of Rhymney.
Is there hope for the future?
Cry the brown bells of Merthyr.
Who made the mineowner?
Say the black bells of Rhondda.
And who robbed the miner?
Cry the grim bells of Blaina.
They will plunder willy-nilly,
Say the bells of Caerphilly.
They have fangs, they have teeth!
Shout the loud bells of Neath.
Even God is uneasy,
Say the moist bells of Swansea.
And what will you give me?
Say the sad bells of Rhymney.
Throw the vandals in court!
Say the bells of Newport.
All would be well if, if, if,
Cry the green bells of Cardi.
Why so worried, sisters, why?
Sing the silver bells of Wye.
And what will you give me?
Say the sad bells of Rhymney.
Delia’s Gone
(A Bahaman version of an American honky-tonk ballad. Recorded by Pete Seeger, 1954.)
Tony shot his Delia
On a Christmas night;
First time he shot her,
She bowed her head and died.
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Delia’s gone, one more round,
Delia’s gone, one more round,
Delia’s gone, one more round,
Delia’s gone, one more round.
Sent for the doctor,
Doctor came too late.
Sent for the minister
To lay out Delia straight.
Delia, oh Delia,
Where you been so long?
Everybody’s talkin’ about
Poor Delia’s dead and gone.
Pete Seeger
May 3, 1919 – January 27, 2014
The centennial of Pete Seeger’s birth is being cel-
ebrated in numerous events around the world in
2019. Many of them are listed on the Smithsonian
Institution’s website at <spiritofseeger.com>.
Pete Seeger’s life, music, and legacy encapsulated
nearly a century of American history and culture.
He has immersed himself in folk music and used
it, like Johnny Appleseed, to “plant the seeds of a
better tomorrow in the homes across our land.”
—Smithsonian Folkways
Pete’s repertoire was huge, and encompassed
many of the songs in this book. This section has
a few that he wrote, adapted, or popularized.
Swarthmore Folk -30- Alumni Songbook
Die Gedanken sind frei, my thoughts freely ower,
Die Gedanken sind frei, my thoughts give me power.
No scholar can map them, no hunter can trap them,
No man can deny: Die Gedanken sind frei! (2x)
I think as I please, and this gives me pleasure,
My conscience decrees, this right I must treasure;
My thoughts will not cater to duke or dictator;
No man can deny: Die Gedanken sind frei! (2x)
And should tyrants take me and throw me in prison,
My thoughts will burst free like blossoms in season.
Foundations will crumble and structures will tumble,
And free men will cry: Die Gedanken sind frei! (2x)
Die Gedanken Sind Frei
(An old German folksong, perhaps of Swiss origin. A popular version was published early in the 19
th
Century.
The song became popular again in the period before World War II, and was banned by the Nazis. This English
version was popularized by Pete Seeger and was sung as a leftist protest song during the McCarthy era.)
If I had a hammer,
I’d hammer in the mornin’,
I’d hammer in the evenin’,
All over this land.
I’d hammer out danger,
I’d hammer out a warning,
I’d hammer out love between
My brothers and my sisters,
All over this land.
If I had a bell,
I’d ring it in the mornin’
I’d ring it in the evenin’,
All over this land.
I’d ring out danger,
I’d ring out a warning,
I’d ring out love between
My brothers and my sisters,
All over this land.
If I Had a Hammer
(Words, Lee Hays. Music, Pete Seeger. 1949)
If I had a song,
I’d sing it in the mornin’
I’d sing it in the evenin’,
All over this land.
I’d sing out danger,
I’d sing out a warning,
I’d sing out love between
My brothers and my sisters
All over this land.
Well, I got a hammer,
And I got a bell
And I got a song—to—sing
All over this land,
It’s the hammer of justice,
It’s the bell of freedom,
It’s the song about love between
My brothers and my sisters
All over this land.
Swarthmore Folk -31- Alumni Songbook
Guantánamera
(Chorus: José Fernández Diaz, 1929. Verses: José Martí, adapted by Julián Orbon, 1949.
Music by José Fernández Diaz,1929, adapted by Julián Orbon, 1949, and Pete Seeger, 1961.)
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Guantánamera! Guajira! Guantánamera!
Guantánamera, Guajira, Guantánamera
Peasant girl from Guantánamo!
Peasant girl from Guantánamo
Yo soy un hombre sincero
De donde crece la palma,
Y antes de morirme quiero
Echar mis versos del alma.
I am an truthful man,
From the land of the palm.
Before dying, I want
To share these poems of my soul.
Mi verso es de un verde claro
Y de un carmín encendido:
Mi verso es de un ciervo herido
Que busca en el monte amparo.
My verses are light green,
But they are also aming red.
My verses are like a wounded fawn
Seeking refuge in the mountain.
Cultivo una rosa blanca,
En julio como en enero,
Para el amigo sincero
Que me da su mano franca.
I cultivate a white rose
In July as in January
For the sincere friend
Who gives me his hand.
Y para el cruel que me arranca
El corazón con que vivo
Cardo ni ortiga cultivo:
Cultivo la rosa blanca.
And for the cruel one who would tear out
The heart with which I live,
I cultivate neither thistles nor nettles,
I cultivate a white rose.
Con los pobres de la tierra
Quiero yo mi suerte echar:
El arroyo de la sierra
Me complace más que el mar.
With the poor people of the earth
I want to share my lot.
The mountain stream
Pleases me more than the sea.
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get up and go has got up and went
But in spite of it all, I’m able to grin
And think of the places my get up has been.
Old age is golden, so I’ve heard said
But sometimes I wonder as I crawl into bed
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup
My eyes on the table until I wake up.
As sleep dims my vision, I say to myself:
Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?
But though nations are warring and business is vexed
I’ll still stick around to see what happens next.
When I was young, my slippers were red
I could kick up my heels right over my head.
When I was older, my slippers were blue,
But still I could dance the whole night through.
Now I am older, my slippers are black,
I hu to the store and I pu my way back.
But never you laugh; I don’t mind at all,
I’d rather be hung than not pu at all.
I get up each morning and dust o my wits,
Open the paper and read the obits.
If I’m not there, I know I’m not dead,
So I eat a good breakfast and go back to bed.
Get Up and Go
(Anonymous poem, arranged and set to music by Pete Seeger, 1960)
Swarthmore Folk -32- Alumni Songbook
John Riley
(Traditional ballad, as sung by Pete Seeger)
As I went walking one Sunday morning,
To breathe the sweet and pleasant air,
Who should I spy but a fair young maiden;
Whose cheek was like the lily fair.
I stepped up to her so quickly saying,
“Would you like to be a sailor’s wife?”
“Oh no kind sir,” she quickly answered,
“I choose to lead a sweet single life.”
“What makes you dierent from other women?
What makes you dierent from other kind?
For you are young, sweet, beautiful and handsome,
And for to marry you, I might incline.”
“It’s now kind sir that I must tell you.
I might have been married three years ago
To one John Riley who left this country.
He’s been the cause of my overthrow.”
“He courted me both late and early.
He courted me both night and day.
And when he had once my aections gained,
He left me here and he went away.”
Kisses Sweeter Than Wine
(Words, Lee Hays & Pete Seeger, 1950; music, Huddie Ledbetter, 1940s.)
When I was a young man and never been kissed
I got to thinkin’ over what I had missed.
I got me a girl, I kissed her and then
Oh Lord, I kissed her again.
Chorus:
Oh . . . oh, kisses sweeter than wine,
Oh . . . oh, kisses sweeter than wine.
I asked her to marry and be my sweet wife,
And we would be so happy the rest of our life.
I begged and I pleaded like a natural man, and then
Oh Lord, she gave me her hand.
Chorus:
“Oh, never mind for this Johnny Riley,
Oh, come with me to the distant shore.
Why, we’ll sail o’er to Pennsylvany,
And bid adieu to Riley forever more.”
“I shan’t go with you to Pennsylvany,
Or go with you to the distant shore.
My heart is with Riley, my long-lost lover
Although I’ll never see him no more.”
Oh, when he saw that her love was loyal,
He gave her kisses one, two, and three,
Saying, “I’m the man you once called Johnny Riley,”
Saying, “I’m the cause of your misery.”
“I’ve sailed the ocean, gained great promotion,
I’ve laid my money on the English shore,
And now we’ll marry, no longer tarry,
And I shall never deceive you any more.”
I worked mighty hard and so did my wife,
Workin’ hand in hand to make a good life.
Corn in the elds and wheat in the bins, I was
Oh Lord, the father of twins.
Chorus:
Our children numbered just about four,
And they all had sweethearts knockin’ at the door.
They all got married and didn’t hesitate; I was
Oh Lord, the grandfather of eight.
Chorus:
Now we are old, and ready to go,
We get to thinkin’ what happened a long time ago.
Had a lot of kids, trouble and pain, but,
Oh Lord, we’d do it again.
Chorus:
Swarthmore Folk -33- Alumni Songbook
Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream
(Ed McCurdy, 1950)
Last night I had the strangest dream
I’d never dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war.
I dreamed I saw a mighty room
The room was lled with men
And the paper they were signing said
They’d never ght again.
And when the paper was all signed
And a million copies made
They all joined hands
and bowed their heads
And grateful pray’rs were prayed.
And the people in the streets below
Were dancing ’round and ’round
While swords and guns and uniforms
Were scattered on the ground.
Last night I had the strangest dream
I’d never dreamed before
I dreamed the world had all agreed
To put an end to war.
Young man in a carriage, driving like he’s mad,
With a team of horses that he’s borrowed from his dad.
He cracks his whip so lively, just to see his lady smile,
But she knows he’s only puttin’ on the style.
Chorus:
Puttin’ on the agony, putting’ on the style,
That’s what all the young folks are doin’ all the while,
And as I look around me, I’m very apt to smile,
To see so many people puttin’ on the style.
Young man in a restaurant, smokes a dirty pipe,
Lookin’ like a pumpkin that’s only half-way ripe.
Smokin’, chewin’, spittin’, and thinkin’ all the while,
There’s nothin’ to equal puttin’ on the style.
Chorus:
Young man home from college, thinks he’s mighty swell,
Uses big jawbreakers that he can hardly spell.
They aren’t found in Webster’s and they won’t be for a while,
But we all know he’s only puttin’ on the style.
Chorus:
Sweet sixteen, goes to church just to see the boys,
Laughs and giggles at every little noise.
She turns this way a little, then she looks that way a while,
But everybody knows she’s only puttin’ on the style.
Chorus:
Preacher in the pulpit, shouts with all his might,
“Glory, hallelujah!” Puts people in a fright.
Now you might think that Satan’s
running up and down the aisle,
But it’s only the preacher puttin’ on the style.
Chorus:
Swarthmore Folk -34- Alumni Songbook
Puttin’ On the Style
Die Moorsoldaten
(Words: Johann Esser und Wolfgang Langho
Music: Rudi Goguel. 1933)
Wohin auch das Auge blicket,
Moor und Heide nur ringsherum.
Vogelsang uns nicht erquicket,
Eichen stehen kahl und krumm.
Chorus:
Wir sind die Moorsoldaten,
Und ziehen mit dem Spaten ins Moor.
Hier in dieser oden Heide
Ist das Lager aufgebaut,
Wo wir fern von jeder Freude
Hinter Stacheldraht verstaut.
Chorus:
Morgens ziehen die Kolonnen
In das Moor zur Arbeit hin.
Graben bei dem Brand der Sonne,
Doch zur Heimat steht der Sinn.
Chorus:
Heimwärts, heimwärts! Jeder sehnet,
Zu den Eltern, Weib und Kind.
Manche Brust ein Seufzer dehnet,
Weil wir hier gefangen sind.
Chorus:
Auf und nieder geh’n die Posten,
Keiner, keiner kann hindurch.
Flucht wird nur das Leben kosten!
Vierfach ist umzäunt die Burg.
Chorus:
Doch für uns gibt es kein Klagen,
Ewig kann’s nicht Winter sein.
Einmal werden froh wir sagen:
“Heimat, du bist wieder mein!”
Dann zieh’n die Moorsoldaten
Nicht mehr mit dem Spaten ins Moor!
Dann ziehn die Moorsoldaten
Nicht mehr mit dem Spaten ins Moor!
Peat Bog Soldiers
The rst, fth, and sixth verses of Die Moorsoldaten make a
shorter version usually sung in performance. Those are the
verses translated here.
Far and wide as the eye can wander,
Heath and bog are everywhere.
Not a bird sings out to cheer us.
Oaks are standing gaunt and bare.
Chorus:
We are the peat bog soldiers,
Marching with our spades to the bog.
Up and down the guards are pacing,
No one, no one can get through.
Flight would mean a sure death facing,
Guns and barbed wire block our view.
Chorus:
But for us there’s no complaining,
Winter will in time be past.
One day we shall cry, rejoicing.
“Homeland, dear, you’re mine at last.”
Then no more the peat bog soldiers
Will march with our spades to the bog!
Then no more the peat bog soldiers
Will march with our spades to the bog!
This song was written by prisoners in a Nazi moorland
labor camp in Lower Saxony, Germany. Political opponents
of the Third Reich, the prisoners were banned from singing
existing political songs, so they wrote their own.
The song has a slow, simple melody, reecting a soldier’s
march, and is deliberately repetitive, echoing and telling
of the daily grind of hard labor in harsh conditions. It was
popular with German refugees in London in the Thirties
and was used as a marching song by the German volun-
teers of the International Brigades during the Spanish Civil
War. It was soon picked up by other nationalities, and it
appears in almost all the collected anthologies of Spanish
Civil War songs.
The French Foreign Legion also use the French version of
the song, “Le Chant des Marais,” as one of its marching
songs.
Swarthmore Folk -35- Alumni Songbook
lf You Want To Write Me
lf you want to write me a letter, you already know my whereabouts.
I’m on the Gandesa Front, in the rst line of the ghting.
If you want to eat your ll, good food and not too many pesos,
On that bloody battleeld stands an inn where you are welcome.
At the entrance of this inn there waits a moor by name Mohammed,
Who warmly greets you, “Hurry, hurry, rare and spicy food awaits you.”
The rst dish which they serve is hot grenades in quick succession,
Followed by a burst of shrapnel, makes a meal you’ll all remember.
Swarthmore Folk -36- Alumni Songbook
Pretty Saro
Down in some lone valley, in some lonesome place
Where the wild birds do whistle and their notes do increase
Farewell pretty Saro, I’ll bid you adieu
And I’ll dream of pretty Saro wherever I go
My love, she won’t have me, so I understand
She wants a freeholder and I have no land
I cannot maintain her with silver and gold
Nor buy all the ne things that a big house can hold
If I were a merchant and could write a ne hand
I’d write my love a letter so she’d understand
But I’ll wander by the river where the waters o’erow
And I’ll dream of pretty Saro wherever I go
Si Me Quieres Escribir
(One of the most popular songs from the Spanish Civil War.
Recorded by Pete Seeger in the 1940s.)
Si me quieres escribir, ya sabes mi paradero,
Si me quieres escribir, ya sabes mi paradero,
En el frente de Gandesa primera linea de fuego.
En el frente de Gandesa primera linea de fuego.
Si tu quieres comer bien, barato y de buena forma. (2x)
En el frente de Gandesa, alli tienen una fonda. (2x)
En la entrada de la fonda, hay un moro Mojama (2x)
Que te dice, “Pasa, pasa que quieres para comer.” (2x)
El primer plato que dan, son grenadas rompedoras (2x)
El segundo de matralla para recordar memorias. (2x)
When the union’s inspiration through the workers’ blood shall run,
There can be no power greater anywhere beneath the sun,
Yet what force on earth is weaker than the feeble strength of one,
But the Union makes us strong.
Chorus:
Solidarity forever! Solidarity forever! Solidarity forever!
For the Union makes us strong.
Is there aught we hold in common with the greedy parasite,
Who would lash us into serfdom and would crush us with his might?
Is there anything left to us but to organize and ght?
For the Union makes us strong.
Chorus:
It is we who ploughed the prairies, built the cities where they trade,
Dug the mines and built the workshops, endless miles of railroad laid;
Now we stand outcast and starving, ‘mid the wonders we have made,
But the Union makes us strong.
Chorus:
All the world that’s owned by idle drones is ours and ours alone,
We have laid the wide foundations, built it skyward, stone by stone.
It is ours not to slave in, but to master and to own
While the Union makes us strong.
Chorus:
They have taken untold millions that they never toiled to earn,
But without our brain and muscle not a single wheel can turn;
We can break their haughty power, gain our freedom when we learn
That the Union makes us strong.
Chorus:
In our hands is placed a power greater than their hoarded gold,
Greater than the might of armies magnied a thousand-fold;
We can bring to birth a new world from the ashes of the old,
For the Union makes us strong.
Chorus:
Solidarity Forever
(Words, Ralph Chaplin, 1915. Tune: “Battle Hymn of the Republic”)
Swarthmore Folk -37- Alumni Songbook
Turn, Turn, Turn
Words from the Bible (Ecclesiastes 3, verses 1-8)
Music and additional words by Pete Seeger (1959)
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
To everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose
under heaven.
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
To everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time for every purpose under heaven.
A time to build up, a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones
A time to gather stones together.
A time of war, a time of peace
A time of love, a time of hate
A time you may embrace
A time to refrain. . .from embracing.
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of peace. . .I swear it's not too late.
Swinging on a Scab
(Tune:”Swinging On A Star.”
Sung by Pete Seeger and The Berries,
for the Motion Picture Workers strike of 1948.)
Chorus:
Are you gonna stick on the line
Till we force the bosses to sign?
This is your ght, brother, and mine,
Or would you rather be a scab?
A scab is an animal that walks on his knees.
He snis every time the bosses sneeze.
His back is brawny and his brain is weak;
He’s just plain stupid with a rotten streak,
But if you don’t care whose back it is you stab,
Go right ahead and be a scab.
Chorus:
. . . Or would you rather be a nk?
A nk is an animal that smells like a skunk.
He’s two brackets lower than a punk.
He’s makes his living on breaking strikes,
‘Cause busting unions is the job he likes
But if you get so you kinda like to stink
Go right ahead and be a nk.
Chorus:
. . . Or would you rather be a stool?
A stool is an animal with long hairy ears
He runs back with everything he hears
He ain’t no bargain though he can be bought
Though he’s slippery he still gets caught
But if you’re cut out to be a dirty tool
Go right ahead and be a stool.
Chorus:
. . . Or would you rather be a goon?
A goon is an animal that’s terribly shy.
He can’t stand to look you in the eye.
He rides to work on a cop’s coattails,
And wears brass knuckles to protect his nails.
But if your head’s like a hole in a bassoon,
Go right ahead and be a goon.
Last Chorus:
You dont have to lead with your chin;
You can pick your side and pitch in,
‘Cause the union’s going to win.
Until the day the bosses sign,
We’re gonna stick right on the line.
Swarthmore Folk -38- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -39- Alumni Songbook
It was back in nineteen forty-two,
I was a member of a good platoon.
We were on maneuvers in-a Loozianna,
One night by the light of the moon.
The captain told us to ford a river,
That’s how it all begun.
We were—knee deep in the Big Muddy,
But the big fool said to push on.
The sergeant said, “Sir, are you sure,
This is the best way back to the base?”
“Sergeant, go on! I forded this river
’Bout a mile above this place.
It’ll be a little soggy but just keep slogging.
We’ll soon be on dry ground.”
We were—waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool said to push on.
The sergeant said, “Sir, with all this equipment
No man will be able to swim.”
“Sergeant, don’t be a Nervous Nellie,”
The captain said to him.
“All we need is a little determination;
Men, follow me, I’ll lead on.”
We were—neck deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool said to push on.
All at once, the moon clouded over,
We heard a gurgling cry.
A few seconds later, the captain’s helmet
Was all that oated by.
The sergeant said, “Turn around men!
I’m in charge from now on.”
And we just made it out of the Big Muddy
With the captain dead and gone.
We stripped and dived and found his body
Stuck in the old quicksand.
I guess he didn’t know that the water was deeper
Than the place he’d once before been.
Another stream had joined the Big Muddy
’Bout a half mile from where we’d gone.
We were lucky to escape from the Big Muddy
When the big fool said to push on.
Well, I’m not going to point any moral;
I’ll leave that for yourself
Maybe you’re still walking, you’re still talking
You’d like to keep your health.
But every time I read the papers
That old feeling comes on;
We’re—waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
Waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
Waist deep in the Big Muddy
And the big fool says to push on.
Waist deep! Neck deep! Soon even a
Tall man’ll be over his head, we’re
Waist deep in the Big Muddy!
And the big fool says to push on!
Waist Deep in the Big Muddy
(Pete Seeger, 1967)
Pete Seeger
Viva la Quince Brigada
(Spanish Civil War song, derived from an old Spanish folk song)
Viva la quince brigada,
Rùmbala, Rùmbala, Rùmbala
Viva la quince brigada,
Rùmbala, Rùmbala, Rùmbala
Que se ha cubierto de gloria,
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Que se ha cubierto de gloria,
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Luchamos contra los moros,
Rùmbala, Rùmbala, Rùmbala
Luchamos contra los moros,
Rùmbala, Rùmbala, Rùmbala
Mercenarios y fascistas,
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Mercenarios y fascistas,
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Solo es nuestro deseo,
Rùmbala, Rùmbala, Rùmbala
Solo es nuestro deseo,
Rùmbala, Rùmbala, Rùmbala
Acabar con el fascismo,
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Acabar con el fascismo,
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
En los frentes de Jarama,
Rùmbala, Rùmbala, Rùmbala
En los frentes de Jarama,
Rùmbala, Rùmbala, Rùmbala
No tenemos ni aviones,
Ni tanques, ni cañones, ¡Ay, Manuela!
No tenemos ni aviones,
Ni tanques, ni cañones, ¡Ay, Manuela!
Ya salimos de España,
Rùmbala, Rùmbala, Rùmbala
Ya salimos de España,
Rùmbala, Rùmbala, Rùmbala
Para luchar en otros frentes,
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Para luchar en otros frentes,
¡Ay, Manuela! ¡Ay, Manuela!
Long Live the Fifteenth Brigade!
Long live our Fifteenth Brigade, boys,
Rumbala, rumbala, rumbala
Long live our Fifteenth Brigade, boys,
Rumbala, rumbala, rumbala
For her name is grand and glorious,
Ay, Manuela! Ay, Manuela!
For her name is grand and glorious,
Ay, Manuela! Ay, Manuela!
We are ghting against the Moors,
Rumbala, rumbala, rumbala
We are ghting against the Moors,
Rumbala, rumbala, rumbala
Death to the hirelings of the Fascists,
Ay, Manuela! Ay, Manuela!
Death to the hirelings of the Fascists,
Ay, Manuela! Ay, Manuela!
We have only one desire,
Rumba la, rumba la, rumba la,
We have only one desire,
Rumbala, rumbala, rumbala
Forever end the Fascist terror,
Ay, Manuela! Ay, Manuela!
Forever end the Fascist terror,
Ay, Manuela! Ay, Manuela!
At Jararna we are standing,
Rumbala, rumbala, rumbala
At Jararna we are standing,
Rumbala, rumbala, rumbala
And we have no planes above us,
Not a tank, nor any cannons, Ay Manuela!
And we have no planes above us,
Not a tank, nor any cannons, Ay Manuela!
We have left the Spanish trenches,
Rumbala, rumbala, rumbala
We have left the Spanish trenches,,
Rumbala, rumbala, rumbala
To ght the Fascists where we nd them,
Ay, Manuela! Ay, Manuela!
To ght the Fascists where we nd them,
Ay, Manuela! Ay, Manuela!
Swarthmore Folk -40- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -41- Alumni Songbook
Our fathers bled... at Valley Forge...
The snow was red with blood,
Their faith was warm... at Valley Forge,
Their faith... was brotherhood!
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Wasn’t that a time! Wasn’t that a time!
A time to try... the soul of man.
Wasn’t that a terrible time!
Brave men who fought... at Gettysburg...
Now lie in soldiers’ graves,
But there they stemmed... the rebel tide,
And there... the faith was saved.
The fascists came... with chains and war...
To prison us in hate.
And many a good... man fought and died,
To save... the stricken faith.
(Lee Hays & Walter Lowenfels, 1957)
Informers took their Judas pay
To tell their sorry tale,
The gangs in Congress had their way
And free souls went to jail.
How many times we’ve gone to kill
In freedom’s holy name
And children died to save the pride
Of rulers without shame.
(Peter, Paul & Mary)
The wars are long, the peace is frail,
The madmen come again.
There is no freedom in a land
Where fear and hate prevail.
(Lee Hays & Walter Lowenfels)
New chorus:
Isn’t this a time! Isn’t this a time!
A time to try... the soul of man.
Isn’t this a terrible time!
Our faith cries out, we have no fear,
We dare to reach our hand
To other neighbors far and near,
To friends in every land.
Last chorus:
Isn’t this a time! Isn’t this a time!
A time to free... the soul of man.
Isn’t this a wonderful time!
ISN’T THIS A WONDERFUL TIME!
Wasn’t That a Time
(Lee Hays & Walter Lowenfels. First three verses, rst and last choruses written
for Henry Wallace’s Progressive Party presidential campaign,1948)
We Shall Overcome
(Adapted by Lucille Simmons, Zilphia Horton, Pete Seeger, Guy Carawan and Frank Hamilton,
from words of the African-American gospel song “I’ll be Alright” and
Charles Tindley’s 1903 gospel song “I’ll Overcome Some Day,” and from melody
of the 19th-century pre-Civil War spiritual “No More Auction Block for Me.”)
We shall overcome, we shall overcome,
We shall overcome someday
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
That we shall overcome someday
We’ll walk hand in hand, we’ll walk hand in hand,
We’ll walk hand in hand someday
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
That we shall overcome someday
We shall live in peace, we shall live in peace,
We shall live in peace someday
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
That we shall overcome someday
We shall brothers be, we shall brothers be,
We shall brothers be someday
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
That we shall overcome someday
The truth shall make us free, truth shall make us free,
The truth shall make us free someday
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
That we shall overcome someday
We are not afraid, we are not afraid,
We are not afraid today
Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe
That we shall overcome someday
Swarthmore Folk -42- Alumni Songbook
Where Have All the Flowers Gone
(Pete Seeger, 1955; last two verses by Joe Hickerson, 1960)
Where have all the owers gone? Long time passing.
Where have all the owers gone? Long time ago.
Where have all the owers gone?
Girls have picked them ev'ry one.
When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?
Where have all the young girls gone? Long time passing.
Where have all the young girls gone? Long time ago.
Where have all the young girls gone?
They've taken husbands ev'ry one.
When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?
Where have all the young men gone? Long time passing.
Where have all the young men gone? Long time ago.
Where have all the young men gone?
Gone for soldiers ev’ry one.
When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?
Where have all the soldiers gone? Long time passing.
Where have all the soldiers gone? Long time ago.
Where have all the soldiers gone?
Gone to graveyards ev'ry one.
When will they ever learn? When will they ever learn?
Where have all the graveyards gone? Long time passing.
Where have all the graveyards gone? Long time ago.
Where have all the graveyards gone?
Covered with owers ev'ry one.
When will we ever learn? When will they ever learn?
(Repeat rst verse)
Which Side Are You On?
(Words: Florence Reece,1931. Tune: Traditional.
As sung by Pete Seeger & Almanac Singers,1941.)
Come all of you good workers,
Good news to you I’ll tell
Of how the good old union
Has come in here to dwell.
Chorus:
Which side are you on?
Which side are you on?
My daddy was a miner
And I’m a miner’s son,
And I’ll stick with the union
‘Til every battle’s won.
Chorus:
They say in Harlan County
There are no neutrals there;
You’ll either be a union man,
Or a thug for J. H. Blair.
Chorus:
Oh workers can you stand it?
Oh tell me how you can.
Will you be a lousy scab
Or will you be a man?
Chorus:
Don’t scab for the bosses,
Don’t listen to their lies.
Us poor folks haven’t got a chance
Unless we organize.
Chorus (2 times)
Wimoweh
(Music and Zulu words, “Mbube” [The Lion] by Solomon Linda, recorded by his Original Evening Birds,1939.
Transcribed by Pete Seeger as “Wimoweh,” 1949, and recorded by The Weavers, 1952)
Zulu: M-bu-be wo! M-bu-be, m-bu-be m-bu-be [“The lion sleeps, the lion, the lion.” In the
introduction, Solomon Linda calls out “You are a lion.” Thus, the song was a veiled reference to the
legend that the great king of the Zulus, Chaka (known as “the lion”), was not dead, he was only
sleeping, and would someday wake up.]
A D A E
Bass refrain: Hey yup boy! Wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh,
(repeat throughout)
Tenor refrain: Wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh, wimoweh,
(repeat throughout)
Descant: Oo———————————— Oo———————————— (repeat)
Ah—– Ah—– Ah—– Ah—– Ah————————————— (repeat)
Oo——————————————————————————— (rpt countermelody)
The Lion Sleeps Tonight
(Music, Solomon Linda, “Mbube”; refrain [see ”Wimoweh”]; new words by George Weiss, 1961;
Recorded in 1961 by The Tokens, singing the new verses to the countermelody.)
C F C G7
In the jungle, the migh-ty jungle, the lion sleeps tonight.
C F C G
In the jungle, the qui – et jungle, the lion sleeps tonight.
Near the village, the peaceful village, the lion sleeps tonight.
Near the village, the quiet village, the lion sleeps tonight.
Hush, my darling, don’t fear, my darling, the lion sleeps tonight.
Hush, my darling, don’t fear, my darling, the lion sleeps tonight.
Swarthmore Folk -43 Alumni Songbook
Pete Seeger
Phil Ochs Songs
Draft-Dodger Rag
(Phil Ochs,1964)
I’m just a typical American boy
From a typical American town.
I believe in God and Senator Dodd
And keeping old Castro down,
’n’ when it came my time to serve,
I knew “better dead than red,
But when I got to my old draft board,
Buddy, this is what I said:
Sarge, I’m only eighteen, I got a ruptured spleen,
And I always carry a purse.
I got eyes like a bat and my feet are at,
And my asthma’s getting worse.
O, think of my career, my sweetheart dear,
And my poor old invalid aunt.
Besides, I ain’t no fool, I’m a-goin’ to school,
And I’m working in a defense plant.
I’ve got a dislocated disc and a racked-up back,
I’m allergic to owers and bugs,
And when bombshells hit, I get epileptic ts,
And I’m addicted to a thousand drugs.
I got the weakness woes and I can’t touch my toes,
I can hardly reach my knees,
And if the enemy came close to me,
I’d probably start to sneeze.
I hate Chou En-Lai, and I hope he dies,
But one thing you gotta see,
That someone’s gotta go over there,
But that someone isn’t me.
So I wish you well, Sarge, give ‘em Hell,
Yeah, kill me a thousand or so,
And if you ever get a war without blood and gore,
Well, I’ll be the rst to go.
I Ain’t Marchin’ Anymore
(Phil Ochs,1964)
Oh, I marched to the battle of New Orleans
At the end of the early British war.
The young land started growin’,
The young blood started owin’,
But I ain’t marchin’ anymore.
For I’ve killed my share of Indians
In a thousand dierent ghts.
I was there at the Little Big Horn.
I heard many men a-lyin’,
I saw many more a-dyin’,
But I ain’t marchin’ anymore.
Chorus:
’Cause it’s always the old to lead us to the war.
It’s always the young to fall.
Now look at all we’ve won
with the sabre and the gun.
Tell me, is it worth it all?
For I stole California from the Mexican land,
Fought in the bloody Civil War.
Yes, I even killed my brothers
And so many others,
But I ain’t a-marchin’ anymore
And I marched to the battles of
the German trench
In a war that was bound to end all wars.
Oh, I must have killed a million men,
And now they want me back again,
But I ain’t marchin’ anymore.
Chorus:
For I ew the nal mission in the Japanese sky,
Set o the mighty mushroom roar.
When I saw the cities burnin’.
I knew that I was learnin’
That I ain’t marchin’ anymore
Now the labor leader’s screamin’ when they
close the missile plants,
United Fruit screams at the Cuban shore.
Call it “Peace” or call it “Treason,”
Call it “Love” or call it “Reason,”
But I ain’t a-marchin’ any more.
No, I ain’t a-marchin’ any more.
Swarthmore Folk -44- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -45- Alumni Songbook
Outside of a Small Circle of Friends
(Phil Ochs, 1967)
C D C D
Look outside the window, there’s a woman being grabbed.
C Em F G
They’ve dragged her to the bushes and now she’s being stabbed.
E Am
Maybe we should call the cops and try to stop the pain,
F Am Dm G
But Monopoly is so much fun, I’d hate to blow the game,
C Am Eb
And I’m sure it wouldn’t interest anybody
Cm F
Outside of a small circle of friends.
Riding down the highway, yes, my back is getting sti.
Thirteen cars are piled up, they’re hanging on a cli.
Maybe we should pull them back with our towing chain,
But we gotta move and we might get sued and it looks like it’s gonna rain,,
And I’m sure it wouldn’t interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends.
Sweating in the ghetto with the colored and the poor.
The rats have joined the babies who are sleeping on the oor.
Now wouldn’t it be a riot if they really blew their tops?
But they got too much already and besides we got the cops
And I’m sure it wouldn’t interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends.
Oh, there’s a dirty paper using sex to make a sale.
The Supreme Court was so upset, they sent him o to jail.
Maybe we should help the end and take away his ne,
But we’re busy reading Playboy and the Sunday New York Times,
And I’m sure it wouldn’t interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends.
Smoking marihuana is more fun than drinking beer,
But a friend of ours was captured and they gave him thirty years.
Maybe we should raise our voices, ask somebody why,
But demonstrations are a drag, besides we’re much too high,
And I’m sure it wouldn’t interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends.
Oh, look outside the window, there’s a woman being grabbed.
They’ve dragged her to the bushes and now she’s being stabbed.
Maybe we should call the cops and try to stop the pain,
But Monopoly is so much fun, I’d hate to blow the game,
And I’m sure it wouldn’t interest anybody
Outside of a small circle of friends.
Ochs was inspired to write “Outside of a Small Circle of Friends” by the case of Kitty
Genovese, who was stabbed to death in 1964 outside her home in Queens, New York,
while dozens of her neighbors reportedly ignored her cries for help.
Come and take a walk with me through this
green and growing land,
Walk through the meadows and the
mountains and the sand,
Walk through the valleys and the
rivers and the plains,
Walk through the sun and walk through the rain.
Chorus:
This is a land full of power and glory,
Beauty that words cannot recall.
Oh, her power shall rest on the
strength of her freedom,
Her glory shall rest on us all.
From Colorado, Kansas, and the Carolinas too,
Virginia and Alaska, from the old to the new,
Texas and Ohio and the California shore,
Tell me, who could ask for more?
Chorus:
There But for Fortune
(Phil Ochs,1963)
Show me a prison, show me a jail,
Show me a prisoner whose face is growin’ pale,
And I’ll show you a young man
with so many reasons why,
And there, but for fortune, go you or I, you or I.
Show me an alley, show me a train,
Show me a hobo who sleeps out in the rain,
And I’ll show you a young man
with so many reasons why,
And there, but for fortune, go you or I, you or I.
Show me the whiskey stains on the oor,
Show me a drunken man
as he stumbles out the door,
And I’ll show you a young man
with so many reasons why,
And there, but for fortune, go you or I, you or I.
Show me a country where the bombs had to fall,
Show me the ruins of the buildings once so tall,
And I’ll show you a young man
with so many reasons why,
And there, but for fortune, go you or I, you or I.
Yet she’s only as rich as the poorest of her poor,
Only as free as the padlocked prison door,
Only as strong as our love for this land,
Only as tall as we stand.
Chorus:
Yet our land is still troubled by
men who have to hate.
They twist away our freedom and they
twist away our fate.
Fear is their weapon and treason is their cry.
We can stop them if we try!
Chorus:
The Power and the Glory
(Phil Ochs,1963. The fourth verse was not in the nal production release,
but Ochs sang it in performances, at least one of which was recorded.)
Phil Ochs
Swarthmore Folk -46- Alumni Songbook
In a building of gold, with riches untold,
Lived the families on which
the country was founded.
And the merchants of style,
with their red velvet smiles,
Were there, for they also were hounded.
And the soft middle class
crowded in to the last,
For the building was fully surrounded.
And the noise outside was
the ringing of revolution.
Sadly they stared and sank in their chairs
And searched for a comforting notion.
And the rich silver walls looked ready to fall
As they shook in doubtful devotion.
The ice cubes would clink as they
freshened their drinks,
Wet their minds in bitter emotion.
And they talked about
the ringing of revolution.
We were hardly aware of
the hardships they beared,
For our time was taken with treasure.
Oh, life was a game, and work was a shame,
And pain was prevented by pleasure.
The world, cold and grey, was so far away
In the distance only money could measure.
But their thoughts were broken by
the ringing of revolution.
The clouds lled the room
in darkening doom
As the crooked smoke rings were rising.
How long will it take, how can we escape
Someone asks, but no one’s advising.
And the quivering oor
responds to the roar,
In a shake no longer surprising.
As closer and closer comes
the ringing of revolution.
Softly they moan, please leave us alone
As back and forth they are pacing.
And they cover their ears and try not to hear
With pillows of silk they're embracing.
And the crackling crowd is laughing out loud,
Peeking in at the target they're chasing.
Now trembling inside the ringing of revolution.
With compromise sway we give in half way
When we saw that rebellion was growing.
Now everything's lost as they kneel by the cross
Where the blood of Christ is still owing.
Too late for their sorrow they've reached their tomorrow
And reaped the seed they were sowing.
Now harvested by the ringing of revolution.
In tattered tuxedos they faced the new heroes
And crawled about in confusion.
And they sheepishly grinned for their memories were dim
Of the decades of dark execution.
Hollow hands were raised; they stood there amazed
In the shattering of their illusions.
As the windows were smashed
by the ringing of revolution.
Down on our knees we're begging you please,
We're sorry for the way you were driven.
There's no need to taunt just take what you want,
And we'll make amends, if we're living.
But away from the grounds the ames told the town
That only the dead are forgiven.
As they crumbled inside the ringing of revolution.
The Ringing of Revolution
(Phil Ochs, 1963)
Swarthmore Folk -47- Alumni Songbook
When I’m Gone
(Phil Ochs, 1966)
D Bm
There’s no place in this world where I’ll belong
when I’m gone,
G Em A
And I won’t know the right from the wrong when I’m gone,
D A Bm
And you won’t nd me singin’ on this song when I’m gone,
Em A D
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.
And I won’t feel the owing of the time when I’m gone,
All the pleasures of love will not be mine when I’m gone.
My pen won’t pour out a lyric line when I’m gone,
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.
And I won’t breathe the bracing air when I’m gone,
And I can’t even worry ‘bout my cares when I’m gone.
Won’t be asked to do my share when I’m gone,
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.
And I won’t be running from the rain when I’m gone,
And I can’t even suer from the pain when I’m gone.
Can’t say who’s to praise and who’s to blame
when I’m gone,
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.
Won’t see the golden of the sun when I’m gone,
And the evenings and the mornings will be one
when I’m gone.
Can’t be singing louder than the guns when I’m gone,
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.
All my days won’t be dances of delight when I’m gone,
And the sands will be shifting from my sight
when I’m gone.
Can’t add my name into the ght while I’m gone,
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.
And I won’t be laughing at the lies when I’m gone,
And I can’t question how or when or why when I’m gone.
Can’t live proud enough to die when I’m gone,
So I guess I’ll have to do it while I’m here.
Swarthmore Folk -48- Alumni Songbook
What’s That I Hear?
(Phil Ochs,1963)
What’s that I hear now ringin’ in my ear?
I’ve heard that sound before.
What’s that I hear now ringin’ in my ear?
I hear it more and more.
It’s the sound of freedom callin’,
Ringin’ up to the sky.
It’s the sound of the old ways a-fallin’.
You can hear it if you try.
What’s that I see now shinin’ in my eyes?
I’ve seen that light before.
What’s that I see now shinin’ in my eyes?
I see it more and more.
It’s the light of freedom shinin’,
Shinin’ up to the sky.
It’s the light of the old ways a-dyin’.
You can see it if you try.
What’s that I feel now
beating in my heart?
I’ve felt that beat before.
What’s that I feel now
beating in my heart?
I feel it more and more.
It’s the rumble of freedom callin’,
Climbin’ up to the sky.
It’s the rumble of the old ways a-fallin’,
You can feel it if you try.
Swarthmore Folk -49- Alumni Songbook
Roger Abrahams Songs
Roger D. Abrahams
June 12, 1933 – June 20, 2017
I’m a Rambler, I’m a Gambler
(As sung by Roger Abrahams ’55 at the 1959 Folk Festival)
I’m a rambler, I’m a gambler, I’m a long way from home,
And if you don’t like me, just leave me alone.
I’ll eat when I ‘m hungry, I’ll drink when I’m dry,
And if the whiskey don’t kill me, I’ll live till I die.
I had me a pretty little sweetheart; her age it was 19.
She’s the ower of Denton, Lord, the rose of Saline.
But her parents were against me and now she is the same.
If I’m on your books, Lord, won’t you blot out my name.
Kentucky Moonshiner
(As arranged and sung by Roger Abrahams ’55
at the 1958 Folk Festival)
I’ve been a moonshiner for many long years.
I spend all my money on whiskey and beers.
In a wild lonesome holler I’ll build me a still.
And I’ll sell you a gallon for a ve-dollar bill.
If the ocean was whiskey and I was some duck,
I could dive to the bottom and drink my way up,
But the ocean ain’t whiskey and I ain’t a duck,
So I’ll play Jack of Diamonds and trust to my luck .
Jack o’ Diamonds, Jack of Diamonds, I’ve knowed you of old,
For you robbed my poor pockets of silver and gold.
Well, I play cards in England and I play cards in Spain,
But I’ll bet you ten dollars I can beat you next game.
I’ve been a moonshiner for many long years.
I spend all my money on whiskey and beers.
In a wild lonesome holler I’ll build me a home,
And thems that don’t like me, they can leave me alone
Roger Abrahams ’55, Swarthmore’s most famous academic folklorist, was also a performer of
traditional songs during and after his student years. He returned to Swarthmore for the Folk
Festivals, where WSRN sta members recorded him and other outstanding performers, out-
doors in 1958 and in concert with Robin Christenson ’57 and Ralph Rinzler ’56 in 1959. The
songs in this section are a small sample from those recordings, which are available on CDs in
the Folk Festival archives in the Friends Historical Library.
(For more about and by Roger, see Appendix A in this Songbook.)
The Maid on the Shore
(As sung by Roger Abrahams ’55 at the 1959 Folk Festival)
It’s of a sea captain that sailed the salt sea
Seas they were ne, calm and clear-o
And a fair young damsel he chanced for to spy
A-walkin’ alone on the shore, shore
A-walkin’ alone on the shore
Oh, what would I not give my sailors so bold
Ten guineas, I vow and declare-o
If they’ll bring me that damsel on board of my boat
Who is walkin’ alone on the shore
Who walks all alone on the shore.”
Well, the sailors they got them a very long boat
O for the shore they did steer-o
Saying ma’am, if you please,
would you enter on board
And view a ne cargo of ware, ware
And view a ne cargo of ware
With much persuading, they got her on board
Seas they were ne, calm and clear-o
And she sat herself down in the stern of the boat
And o for the ship they did steer
And o for the ship they did steer
And when they were alongside of the boat
The captain he ordered a chair-o
Saying “First you will lie in my arms all this night
And then maybe I’ll marry you, dear
And maybe I’ll marry you, dear.”
She sat herself down in the stern of the boat
Sang so sweet and so fair-o
And she sang so sweet and so neat and complete
She sang sailors and captain to sleep
Sang sailors and captain to sleep
She robbed them of silver, she robbed them of gold
And she robbed them of ne costly ware-o
And the captain’s broad sword she did take for an oar
And she paddled her way to the shore, shore
Paddled her way to the shore
And when he awoke and he found she was gone
He was like a man in despair-o
And she vowed and saluted both captain and crew
“I’m a maiden once more on the shore, shore
I’m a maiden once more on the shore.”
Poor Ellen Smith
(As sung by Roger Abrahams ’55 and Robin
Christenson ’57 at the 1958 Folk Festival)
Poor Ellen Smith, how was she found?
Shot in the heart, lyin’ cold on the ground
Lyin’ cold on the ground
Shot in the heart, lyin’ cold on the ground
Poor Ellen Smith, sweet as a rose
Well, I loved little Ellen,
there ain’t nobody knows!
Ain’t nobody knows!
Well, I loved little Ellen,
there ain’t nobody knows!
While I’m drinkin’ and gamblin’,
just roamin’ ’round town
A ball from my pistol knocked sweet Ellen down
Knocked sweet Ellen down
A ball from my pistol knocked sweet Ellen down
Well, if I could go home and stay when I go
Sweet ow’rs around Ellen’s
back yard I would sow
Sweet ow’rs I would sow
Sweet ow’rs around Ellen’s
back yard I would sow
Poor little Ellen, sweet as a rose
Well, I loved little Ellen, there ain’t nobody knows!
Ain’t nobody knows
Well, I loved little Ellen, there ain’t nobody knows!
“Poor Ellen Smith” is a genuinely American murder
ballad. Several versions exist, set to the tune of an
old shape-note hymn, “How Firm a Foundation.” The
version printed here is similar to “Poor Little Ellen,”
recorded by Walter Forbes for RCA Victor in 1962 and
reissued on CD in 2003. Other versions give more-
detailed descriptions of a sequence of events that
supposedly took place in North Carolina in the 1890s.
The story is that, after hiding out in Mount Airy for
a year, Peter Degraph (DeGra?) was convicted of
shooting and killing Ellen Smith in Winston, although
he maintained that he loved and intended to marry
her. Some versions say he was executed, others that he
served a 20-year sentence. Legend has it that feelings
ran so high, both for and against Degraph, that it
was declared a misdemeanor to sing the ballad in a
gathering of any size, because it always started a riot.
Swarthmore Folk -50- Alumni Songbook
Chairs to mend, old chairs to mend!
Mackerel, fresh mackerel!
Any old rags? Any old rags?
Rounds
Chairs to Mend
(From “Three Oxford Cries” 1786; made into a round by W. Hayes)
Part I:
Come, follow, follow, follow,
Follow, follow, follow me.
Part II:
Whither shall I follow, follow, follow,
Whither shall I follow, follow thee.
Part III:
To the greenwood, to the greenwood,
To the greenwood, greenwood tree.
Come Follow
John Hilton (17th Century)
Dona Nobis Pacem
Dona nobis pacem, pacem
Dona nobis pacem
Swarthmore Folk -51- Alumni Songbook
Hey, Ho, Nobody Home
(Traditional England)
Hey, ho, nobody home
Meat nor drink nor money have I none
Yet will I be merry
Hineh Ma Tov
(M. Yacovson)
From Psalm 133: “How good and pleasant it is when
brothers dwell together in unity.”
Hineh ma tov u’ma na’im
Shevet ach-im gam ya-chad.
Hineh ma tov u’ma na’im
Shevet ach-im gam ya-chad.
Lai, lai lai lai, lai lai lai lai lai
lai lai lai, lai lai lai lai.
Lai, lai lai, lai, lai lai lai lai lai
lai lai lai, lai lai lai lai.
Oh, How Lovely
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree
Merry, merry king of the bush is he
Laugh, Kookaburra! Laugh, Kookaburra!
Gay your life must be.
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree
Eating all the gum drops he can see
Stop, Kookaburra! Stop, Kookaburra!
Leave some there for me!
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree
Counting all the monkeys he can see
Stop, Kookaburra! Stop, Kookaburra!
That’s not a monkey, that’s me!
Kookaburra
(Australian Children’s Song, Marion Sinclair, 1936)
Swarthmore Folk -52- Alumni Songbook
Scotland’s burning, Scotland’s burning,
Look out! Look out!
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Pour on water. Pour on water.
Scotland’s Burning
Shalom Chaverim
Rose, Rose, Rose
The melody for the rst six notes (through “shall I”) can be sung
parallel to the melody shown, but a third higher—so, in solfege,
the rst line would be: do, ti, do, sol, do-do ti-ti do-re ti.
Dierent singers could sing either one in the same performance.
Another version:
Rose, rose, rose, rose
Shall I ever see thee red
Aye, marry, that thou wilt
When thou art dead.*
* i.e., when I bloom on your grave
Rose, rose, rose, rose,
Shall I ever see the wed?
Aye, marry, that thou wilt
If thou but stay.
Swarthmore Folk -53- Alumni Songbook
White coral bells upon a slender stalk,
Lilies of the Valley deck my garden walk.
Oh, don’t you wish that you could hear them ring?
That will happen only when the fairies sing.
White Coral Bells
Civil Rights Songs
Many of these songs are “zipper songs,” into which verses (traditional or new)
can be “zipped” as he occasion warrants. Verses here are examples, not definitive texts.
Swarthmore Folk -54- Alumni Songbook
Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me around,
Turn me around, turn me around.
Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me around,
(I’m gonna) Keep on a-walkin’, keep on a-talkin’,
Marchin’ up to Freedom Land.
Similarly:
Ain’t gonna let no jailhouse turn me around . . .
Ain’t gonna let no police dogs turn me around . . .
Ain’t gonna let no re hose turn me around . . .
Ain’t gonna let red-baitin’ turn me around . . .
Ain’t gonna let no injunction turn me around . . .
Ain’t gonna let oppression turn me around . . .
Ain’t gonna let segregation turn me around . . .
Ain’t gonna let injustice turn me around . . .
Ain’t gonna let little Jim Clark turn me around . . .
Ain’t gonna let Mississippi turn me around . . .
(Repeat rst verse)
This little song that I’m singin’ about,
People, you know that it’s true,
If you’re black and gotta work for a livin’,
Now, this is what they would say to you,
They says: “If you was white, you’re alright,
If you was brown, stick around,
But as you’s black, oh, brother,
Get back, get back, get back.”
I was in a place one night,
They was all havin’ fun,
They was all buyin’ beer and wine,
But they would not sell me none.
They said: “If you was white, you’re alright,
If you was brown, stick around,
But as you’s black, oh, brother,
Get back, get back, get back.”
I went to an employment oce,
Got a number ’n’ I got in line,
They called everybody’s number,
But they never did call mine.
They said: “If you was white, you’re alright,
If you was brown, stick around,
But as you’s black, oh, brother,
Get back, get back, get back.”
Me and a man was workin’ side by side,
This is what it meant:
They was payin’ him a dollar an hour,
And they was payin’ me fty cents.
They said: “If you was white, be alright,
If you was brown, stick around,
But as you’s black, oh, brother,
Get back, get back, get back.”
I helped build the country,
And I fought for it, too,
Now, I guess that you can see
What a black man have to do.
They says, “If you was white, you’s alright,
If you was brown, stick around,
But as you’s black, oh, brother,
Get back, get back, get back.”
I helped win sweet victory,
With my little plow and hoe,
Now, I want you to tell me, brother,
What you gonna do ’bout the old Jim Crow?
Now, if you is white, you’s alright,
If you’s brown, stick around,
But if you’s black, oh, brother,
Get back, get back, get back.
Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around
(This song, an activist hymn from the civil rights and labor movements, apparently was adapted from “I Ain’t Gonna
Let Ol’ Satan Turn Me ’Round,” recorded in 1936 by Jimmie Davis. In view of the later adaptation, it’s ironic that his
second successful run for Louisiana governor was on a racist platform, pledging resistance to integration. Davis
presumably based his song on the African-American spiritual “Don’t You Let Nobody Turn You ’Round.”)
Black, Brown and White
(Big Bill Broonzy, 1940s)
Swarthmore Folk -55- Alumni Songbook
Ella’s Song
(Ella Baker’s words set to music by Bernice Johnson Reagon)
Refrain (after each verse):
We who believe in freedom cannot rest
We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes
Until the killing of Black men, Black mothers’ sons
Is as important as the killing of White men, White mothers’ sons
That which touches me most is that I had a chance to work with people
Passing on to others that which was passed on to me
To me young people come rst; they have the courage where we fail
And if I can but shed some light as they carry us through the gale
The older I get, the better I know that the secret of my going on
Is when the reins are in the hands of the young who dare to run against the storm
Not needing to clutch for power, not needing the light just to shine on me
I need to be just one in the number as we stand against tyranny
Struggling myself don’t mean a whole lot, I’ve come to realize
That teaching others to stand up and ght is the only way my struggle survives
I’m a woman who speaks in a voice, and I must be heard
At times I can be quite dicult; I’ll bow to no man’s word
Refrain (2x)
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish I could break all the chains holding me
I wish I could say all the things that I should say
Say ’em loud, say ’em clear,
for the whole round world to hear
I wish I could share all the love that’s in my heart
Remove all the bars that keep us apart
I wish you could know what it means to be me
Then you’d see and agree
that every man should be free
I wish I could give all I’m longing to give
I wish I could live like I’m longing to live
I wish I could do all the things that I can do
Though I’m way overdue, I’d be starting anew
Well, I wish I could be like a bird in the sky
How sweet it would be if I found I could y
I’d soar to the sun and look down at the sea
Then I’d sing ’cause I’d know
how it feels to be free
I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free
(Billy Taylor and Richard Carroll Lamb [“Dick Dallas”], 1954)
In G:
G B7 Em G7 C D9 G
I wish I knew how it would feel to be free;
C G D A D
I wish I could break all the chains holding me.
G B7 Em G7 C D9 G
I wish I could say all the things that I should say
C#dim G B7 Em C#dim G D9sus4 G
Say ‘em loud, say ‘em clear for the whole round world to hear.
Paul and Silas, bound in jail,
Had no money for to go their bail
Refrain (after every verse):
Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on
Hold on (hold on), hold on (hold on)
Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on
Paul and Silas began to shout
The jail door opened and they walked on out
Freedom’s name is mighty sweet
Soon one day we’re gonna meet
The only chain that a man can stand
Is the chain of hand in hand
Keep Your Eyes on the Prize
(Adapted ca. 1956 by Alice Wine and the community on Johns Island, South Carolina, from the traditional African-
American gospel song, “Keep Your Hand on the Plow”)
Swarthmore Folk -56- Alumni Songbook
If You Miss Me at the Back of the Bus
(Carver Neblett)
If you miss me at the back of the bus, and you can’t nd me nowhere
Come on up to the front of the bus, I’ll be ridin’ up there
I’ll be ridin’ up there, I’ll be ridin’ up there
Come on up to the front of the bus, I’ll be ridin’ up there
If you miss me on the picket line, and you can’t nd me nowhere
Come on over to the city jail, I’ll be roomin’ over there
I’ll be roomin’ over there, I’ll be roomin’ over there
Come on over to the city jail, I’ll be roomin’ over there
If you miss me in the Mississippi River, and you can’t nd me nowhere
Come on over to the swimmin’ pool, I’ll be swimmin’ right there
I’ll be swimmin’ right there, I’ll be swimmin’ right there
Come on over to the swimmin’ pool, I’ll be swimmin’ right there
If you miss me at Jackson State, and you can’t nd me nowhere
Come on over to Ole Miss, I’ll be studyin’ over there
I’ll be studyin’ over there, I’ll be studyin’ over there
Come on over to Ole Miss, I’ll be studyin’ over there
If you miss me in the cotton eld, and you can’t nd me nowhere
Come on down to the courthouse, I’ll be votin’ right there
I’ll be votin’ right there, I’ll be votin’ right there
Come on down to the courthouse, I’ll be votin’ right there
If you miss me at the back of the bus, and you can’t nd me nowhere
Come on up to the front of the bus, I’ll be ridin’ up there
I’ll be ridin’ up there, I’ll be ridin’ right there
You got to come on up to the front of the bus, I’ll be ridin’ up there
The only thing we did wrong
Stayed in the wilderness a day too long
But the one thing we did right
Was to organize and ght
We’re gonna board that big Greyhound
Carryin’ love from town to town
We’re gonna ride for civil rights
We’re gonna ride, both black and white
We’ve met jail and violence too
But God’s love has seen us through
Swarthmore Folk -57 Alumni Songbook
Oh, freedom, oh, freedom
Oh, freedom over me
And before I’d be a slave
I’ll be buried in my grave
And go home to my Lord
and be free
No more weeping,
no more weeping
No more weeping over me
And before I’d be a slave . . .
Similarly:
No more moaning . . .
No more beatings . . .
No more Jim Crow . . .
There’ll be singing . . .
There’ll be shouting . . .
There’ll be glory . . .
No segregation . . .
No racism . . .
Oh, freedom . . .
Oh, Freedom
(Words adapted from chorus of
abolitionist song, “Oh, Freedom.”
Tune: “No More Auction Block for Me”)
One in Six Have Disappeared
(Lyrics © 2015 Charlie King/Pied Asp Music
Music: Rick Burkhardt with Charlie King)
Played with capo on 3
rd
fret
C F G Am F Em F C
By the latest estimation, black men in the prime of life
C F G Am F Em F C
Due to mass incarceration, taser, chokehold, gun and knife
G F C F Am G
Notwithstanding loud entreaties falling on disdainful ears
C F G Am Em F C
Now are an endangered species: one in six have disappeared
C F G Am Em F C
Father, brother, son or lover, one in six have disappeared
C F G Am Em F C
Stolen lives we can’t recover one in six have disappeared
G F C F Am G
Every home bereft or broken, every bond that we hold dear
C F G Am Em F C
All the love that’s left unspoken: one in six have disappeared
C F G Am Em F C
Elder, mentor, willing student, one in six have disappeared
C F G Am Em F C
Damned by forces juris prudent, one in six have disappeared
G F C F Am G
Master, journeyman, apprentice, pacist or bombardier
C F G Am Em F C
Teacher, lawyer, doctor, dentist, one in six have disappeared
Em B7 Em Am F Am
Out in Ferguson Missouri, two in ve have disappeared
Em B7 Em Am F Am
Numbers tell a harder story: two in ve have disappeared
Dm C Bb Am G
Genders equal at beginnin’, if they live past teenage years
Em B7 Em Am F
Sixty men, one hundred women: two in ve have disappeared
C F G Am Em F C
Ends the song that’s sung in sorrow: one in six have disappeared
C F G Am Em F C
Even if we change tomorrow, one in six have disappeared
G F C F Am G
Reparations and repentance, justice rendered, life revered
C F G Am Em F C
Still we hear the heavy sentence: one in six have disappeared
Swarthmore Folk -58- Alumni Songbook
This Little Light of Mine
(Civil Rights anthem adapted by Zilphia Horton, Fannie Lou Hamer,
and many others from a gospel song with words by Avis Burgeson
Christiansen and tune by Harry Dixon Loes, ca. 1920)
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine (3x)
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.
Everywhere I go, I’m gonna let it shine (3x)
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.
Hide it under a bushel? No! I’m going to let it shine (3x)
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.
NOW SOME SAY: You got to run and hide
BUT WE SAY: There’s no place to hide
NOW SOME SAY: Let others decide
BUT WE SAY: Let the people decide
NOW SOME SAY: That the time’s not right
BUT WE SAY: That the time’s just right
Where there’s a dark corner in this land,
Gonna let my little light shine.
On a Monday, gave me the gift of love,
On Tuesday, peace came from above,
On a Wednesday, told me to have more faith,
On Thursday, gave me a little more grace,
On a Friday, told me to watch and pray,
On Saturday, told me just what to say,
On Sunday, gave me the power divine
To let my little light shine.
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine (3x)
Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.
We shall not, we shall not be moved
We shall not, we shall not be moved
Just like a tree that’s planted by the water
We shall not be moved.
We’re ghting for our freedom
We shall not be moved
We’re ghting for our freedom
We shall not be moved
Just like a tree that’s planted by the water
We shall not be moved.
Similarly:
We’re ghting for our children . . .
We’re Black and White together . . .
We’re young and old together . . .
(Repeat rst verse)
For Union version, see Page 96.
We Shall Not Be Moved
(Adapted from African-American
spiritual, “I Shall Not Be Moved”)
Woke Up This Morning
Woke up this morning with my mind
Stayed on freedom
Woke up this morning with my mind
Stayed on freedom
Woke up this morning with my mind
Stayed on freedom
Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelujah.
I’m walking and talking with my mind
Stayed on freedom
I’m walking and talking with my mind
Stayed on freedom
I’m walking and talking with my mind
Stayed on freedom
Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelujah.
Ain’t nothing wrong with keeping my mind
Stayed on freedom
Oh, there ain’t nothing wrong with keeping my mind
Stayed on freedom
There ain’t nothing wrong with keeping your mind
Stayed on freedom
Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelujah.
I’m singing and praying with my mind
Stayed on freedom
Yeah, I’m singing and praying with my mind
Stayed on freedom
I’m singing and praying with my mind
Stayed on freedom
Hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelujah.
Swarthmore Folk -59- Alumni Songbook
War Story
(Woody Guthrie served in the Merchant Marine during World War II.
Bob Clayton wrote this ballad 75 years later, in 2013, with choruses
based on Woody’s “This Train is Bound for Glory.” )
Troopship on the water, Atlantic conict-bound.
Destroyers in our convoy say there’s U-boats all around.
Nothing much to keep us poor soldiers’ spirits high,
’Cept this merchant-sailor guitar-picking guy.
He used to sing and play for us, songs we all might know —
Songs of war, songs of peace, songs of long ago.
Some we’d never heard before, but they was quick to learn —
Just the thing to make our ghting spirit burn.
Chorus 1:
This train is bound for glory, this train! (2x)
This train is bound for glory,
Don’t carry nothing but the righteous and the holy.
This train is bound for glory, this train!
I was bunking by the hatchway in the bulkhead near the hold.
When I heard some glorious singing coming up from down below.
Then it stopped, and I hear footsteps and our guitar guy was there,
With these colored soldiers on the stair.
The colonel said, “You can play for us, like you’ve done every night;
Your guitar and songs are helping us get ready for the ght.
But you can’t bring those troops in here, there’s some as black as coal,
We don’t race-mix — we’ve gotta keep control.”
The little fella says to him, “Here’s what I think is right.
You and me and all these troops are in the same big ght.
So are these Negro soldiers, and so it seems to me:
If they’re not welcome, there’s no songs from me.
Chorus 2:
This train don’t carry no gamblers, this train. (2x)
This train don’t carry no gamblers,
No crap-shooters or midnight ramblers.
This train is bound for glory, this train.
The colonel ew in anger, and raised his voice in shout.
“You can stay, but all those Negro soldiers must get out!”
I spoke up and said to him, “Sir, it’s ne with us!
They can stay; no need to make a fuss.”
So we all sang together, and damn, those boys was good!
And the Gospel songs they brought us really did our spirits good.
That’s how I chanced to be there, on the spot, and everything,
On the night that Woody wouldn’t sing.
Chorus 3:
This train carries black and white now, this train. (2x)
This train carries black and white — all together in the same old ght.
This train is bound for glory, this train.
© 2013 Bob Clayton
Swarthmore Folk -60- Alumni Songbook
More Songs
À la claire fontaine
(Chanson enfantine)
À la claire fontaine,
M’en allant promener,
J’ai trouvé l’eau si belle
Que je m’y suis baigné
Refrain:
Il y a longtemps que je t’aime
Jamais je ne t’oublierai
Sous les feuilles d’un chêne,
Je me suis fait sécher.
Sur la plus haute branche,
Un rossignol chantait.
Refrain:
Chante, rossignol, chante,
Toi qui as le cœur gai
Tu as le cœur à rire,
Moi je l’ai à pleurer
Refrain:
J’ai perdu mon ami,
Sans l’avoir mérité
Pour un bouquet de roses,
Que je lui refusais
Refrain:
Je voudrais que la rose
Fût encore au rosier,
Et que mon doux ami
Fût encore à m’aimer
(autre version:
Et que le rosier même
À la mer fût jeté.)
Refrain:
At the Clear Fountain
(Children’s song)
At the clear fountain,
While I was strolling by,
I found the water so nice
That I went in to bathe.
Refrain:
I’ve been loving you so long,
I will never forget you.
Under the leaves of an oak,
I dried myself.
On the highest branch,
A nightingale was singing.
Refrain:
Sing, nightingale, sing,
Your heart is so happy.
Your heart feels like laughing,
Mine feels like weeping.
Refrain:
I lost my beloved,
Without deserving it,
For a bunch of roses,
That I denied him.
Refrain:
I wish that the rose
Was still on the bush,
And my sweet beloved
Still loved me.
(other version:
And even the rosebush
Was thrown in the sea.)
Refrain:
Swarthmore Folk -61- Alumni Songbook
Abdul Abulbul Amir
(Written in 1877 by William Percy French, an Irish music-hall entertainer)
The sons of the prophet are brave men and bold,
And quite unaccustomed to fear,
But the bravest by far in the ranks of the Shah
Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.
This son of the desert, in battle aroused,
Could spit twenty men on his spear.
A terrible creature, both sober and soused
Was Abdul Abulbul Amir.
If you wanted a man to encourage the van,
Or harass the foe from the rear,
Storm fort or redoubt, you had only to shout
For Abdul Abulbul Amir.
Now the heroes were plenty
and well known to fame
In the troops that were led by the Czar,
And the bravest of these was a man by the name
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
He could imitate Irving, play Euchre and pool
And perform on the Spanish Guitar.
In fact, quite the cream of the Muscovite team
Was Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
The ladies all loved him, his rivals were few;
He could drink them all under the bar.
As gallant or tank, there was no one to rank
With Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
One day this bold Russian, he shouldered his gun
And donned his most truculent sneer;
Downtown he did go, where he trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
“Young man” quoth Bulbul, “has life grown so dull,
That you’re anxious to end your career?
Vile indel! Know, you have trod on the toe
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir. “
“So take your last look at the sunshine and brook
And send your regrets to the Czar;
By this I imply you are going to die,
Mr. Ivan Skavinsky Skavar. “
Quoth Ivan, “My friend, your remarks, in the end,
Will avail you but little, I fear,
For you ne’er will survive to repeat them alive,
Mr. Abdul Abulbul Amir. “
Then this bold mameluke
drew his trusty chibouque
With a cry of “Allah Akbar!”
And with murderous intent, he ferociously went
For Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
Then they parried and thrust
and they side-stepped and cussed
’Till their blood would have lled a great pot.
The philologist blokes, who seldom crack jokes,
Say that hash was rst made on that spot.
They fought all that night,
‘neath the pale yellow moon;
The din, it was heard from afar;
And great multitudes came, so great was the fame
of Abdul and Ivan Skavar.
As Abdul’s long knife was extracting the life—
In fact, he was shouting “Huzzah!” —
He felt himself struck by that wily Kalmuck,
Count Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
The sultan drove by in his red-crested y,
Expecting the victor to cheer,
But he only drew nigh to hear the last sigh
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir.
Czar Petrovich, too, in his spectacles blue
Rode up in his new crested car.
He arrived just in time to exchange a last line
With Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
A loud-sounding splash
from the Danube was heard
Resounding o’er meadows afar;
It came from the sack tting close to the back
Of Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
There’s a tomb rises up
where the blue Danube ows;
Engraved there in characters clear:
“Ah, stranger, when passing, please pray for the soul
Of Abdul Abulbul Amir. “
A Muscovite maiden her lone vigil keeps,
’Neath the light of the pale polar star;
And the name that she murmurs
so oft as she weeps
Is Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.
Swarthmore Folk -62- Alumni Songbook
Oh, the Deacon went down (2x)
To the cellar to pray, (2x)
He found a jug (2x)
And he stayed all day (2x)
Oh, the Deacon went down to the cellar to pray
He found a jug and he stayed all day
Ain’t gonna grieve my Lord no more
Chorus:
I ain’t a-gonna grieve my Lord no more
I ain’t a-gonna grieve my Lord no more
Ain’t gonna grieve my Lord no more
Similarly:
Oh, you can’t get to Heaven on roller skates
You’ll roll right by them pearly gates
You can’t get to Heaven on a rocking chair
‘Cause the Lord don’t want no lazybones there
You can’t get to Heaven in a limousine
’Cause the Lord don’t sell no gasoline
If you get to Heaven before I do
Just drill a hole and pull me through
If I get to Heaven before you do
I’ll plug that hole with shavings and glue
You can’t get to Heaven with powder and paint
It makes you look like what you ain’t
You can’t chew tobaccy on that golden shore
’Cause the Lord don’t have no cuspidor
“That’s all there is, there ain’t no more”
Saint Peter said as he closed the door
There’s one thing more I forgot to tell
If you don’t go to Heaven, you’ll go to Hell
I’ll put my grief up on the shelf
If you want some more, make ‘em up yourself
All Through the Night
(English translation of traditional Welsh lullaby)
Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee
All through the night
Guardian angels God will send thee
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loving vigil keeping
All through the night
While the moon her watch is keeping
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O’er thy spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night
A ship out o’er the ocean, just a speck against the sky,
Amelia Earhart ying that sad day;
With her partner, Captain Noonan, on the second of July
Her plane fell in the ocean far away.
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
There’s a beautiful, beautiful eld
Far away in a land that is fair.
Happy landing to you, Amelia Earhart
Farewell, rst lady of the air.
She radioed position and said that all was well,
Although the fuel within the tanks was low.
But they’d land on Howland Island to refuel her monoplane,
Then on their trip around the world they’d go.
A half an hour later an SOS was heard,
The signal weak, but still her voice was brave.
In shark-infested waters, her plane went down that night
In the blue Pacic to a watery grave.
Now you have heard my story of that awful tragedy,
We pray that she might y home safe again.
In years to come, though others blaze a trail across the sea,
We’ll ne’er forget Amelia and her plane.
Amelia Earhart’s Last Flight
(Red River Dave McEnery, 1939)
Ain’t Gonna Grieve My Lord No More
Amazing Grace
(Words: John Newton, 1770. Tune: “New Britain”)
Amazing grace! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now I’m found
Was blind, but now I see.
‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear
And grace that fear relieved
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I rst believed.
Through many dangers, toils, and snares
I have already come
‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home.
How sweet the name of Jesus sounds
In a believer’s ear
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds
And drives away his fear.
Must Jesus bear the cross alone
And all the world go free?
No, there’s a cross for everyone
And there’s a cross for me.
When we’ve been here ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun,
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
Than when we rst begun.
In the Tower of London, large as life,
The ghost of Anne Boleyn walks, they declare.
Poor Anne Boleyn was once King Henry’s wife,
Until he had the headsman bob her hair.
Ah, yes, he did her wrong long years ago,
And she comes up at night to tell him so.
Chorus:
With her head tucked underneath her arm,
She walks the bloody Tower,
With her head tucked underneath her arm,
At the midnight hour.
She comes to haunt King Henry, she means giving him what-for
Gadzooks, she’s going to tell him o for having spilled her gore.
And just in case the headsman wants to give her an encore,
She has her head tucked underneath her arm.
Chorus:
Along the drafty corridors for miles and miles she goes,
She often catches cold, poor thing, it’s cold there when it blows,
And it’s awfully awkward for the Queen to have to blow her nose
With her head tucked underneath her arm.
Chorus:
Sometimes gay King Henry gives a spread,
For all his gals and pals, a ghostly crew.
The headsman carves the joint and cuts the bread,
Then in comes Anne Boleyn to queer the “do.”
She holds her head up with a wild “Wahoop!”
And Henry cries, “Don’t drop it in the soup!”
Chorus:
The sentries think that it’s a football that she carries in,
And when they’ve had a few they shout, “Is Army going to win?”
They think that it’s Red Grange instead of poor old Anne Boleyn
With her head tucked underneath her arm.
Chorus:
One night she caught King Henry, he was in the castle bar,
Said he, “Are you Jane Seymour, Anne Boleyn or Cath’rine Parr?
For how the sweet san fairy ann* do I know who you are
With your head tucked underneath your arm?”
Chorus:
______
* British rendition of “ça ne fait rien,” or “it doesn’t matter”
Anne Boleyn
(R. P. Weston & Bert Lee, 1934; later football names from Kingston Trio)
Swarthmore Folk -63- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -64- Alumni Songbook
Arkansas Traveler
Oh, once upon a time in Arkansas
An old man sat in his little cabin door,
And ddled at a tune that he liked to hear,
A jolly old tune that he played by ear.
It was raining hard but the ddler didn’t care
He sawed away at the popular air,
Though his roof tree leaked like a water fall
That didn’t seem to bother that man at all
A traveler was riding by that day,
And stopped to hear him a-practicing away
The cabin was aoat and his feet were wet,
But still the old man didn’t seem to fret.
So the stranger said:
“Now the way it seems to me,
You’d better mend your roof,” said he.
But the old man said, as he played away:
“I couldn’t mend it now, it’s a rainy day.”
The traveler replied: “That’s all quite true,
But this, I think, is the thing for you to do;
Get busy on a day that is fair and bright,
Then patch the old roof till it’s good and tight.”
But the old man kept on a-playing at his reel,
And tapped the ground with his leathery heel:
“Get along,” said he, “for you give me a pain;
My cabin never leaks when it doesn’t rain.”
Ashokan Farewell
(Words: Grian McGregor; tune: Jay Ungar;
one of two lyrics that Mr. Ungar has authorized.)
The sun is sinking low in the sky above Ashokan,
The pines and the willows know soon we will part.
There’s a whisper in the wind of promises unspoken,
And a love that will always remain in my heart.
My thoughts will return to the sound of your laughter,
The magic of moving as one.
And a time we’ll remember long ever after
The moonlight and music and dancing are done.
Will we climb the hills once more?
Will we walk the woods together?
Will I feel you holding me close once again?
Will every song we’ve sung stay with us forever?
Will you dance in my dreams or my arms until then?
Under the moon the mountains lie sleeping,
Over the lake the stars shine.
They wonder if you and I will be keeping,
The magic and music, or leave them behind.
Aunt Rhody
Go tell Aunt Rhody, go tell Aunt Rhody
Go tell Aunt Rhody that the old gray goose is dead.
The one that she’s been saving, the one that she’s been saving
The one that she’s been saving to make a feather bed.
The old gander’s mourning, the old gander’s mourning
The old gander’s mourning, because his wife is dead.
The goslings are weeping, the goslings are weeping
The goslings are weeping because their mother’s dead.
She died in the mill pond, she died in the mill pond
She died in the mill pond, standing on her head.
(Repeat rst verse in minor key)
Aura Lea
(Words: W. W. Fosdick. Music: George R. Poulton. 1861)
When the blackbird in the spring,
On the willow tree,
Sat and rock’d, I heard him sing,
Singing Aura Lea.
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Maid with golden hair;
Sunshine came along with thee,
And swallows in the air.
Chorus (2 times):
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Maid with golden hair;
Sunshine came along with thee,
And swallows in the air.
In thy blush the rose was born,
Music, when you spake,
Through thine azure eye the morn,
Sparkling seemed to break.
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Birds of crimson wing,
Never song have sung to me,
As in that sweet spring.
Chorus (2 times)
Aura Lea! the bird may ee,
The willow’s golden hair
Swing through winter tfully,
On the stormy air.
Yet if thy blue eyes I see,
Gloom will soon depart;
For to me, sweet Aura Lea
Is sunshine through the heart.
Chorus (2 times)
When the mistletoe was green,
Midst the winter’s snows,
Sunshine in thy face was seen,
Kissing lips of rose.
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Take my golden ring;
Love and light return with thee,
And swallows with the spring.
Chorus (2 times)
Swarthmore Folk -65- Alumni Songbook
I asked my love to take a walk
Just to walk a little way
And as we walk, oh, may we talk
All about our wedding day
Chorus:
Only say that you’ll be mine
In our home we’ll happy be
Down beside where the waters ow
On the banks of the Ohio
I held a knife against her breast
As into my arms she pressed
She cried, “Oh, Willie, don’t you murder me
I’m unprepared for eternity”
Chorus:
I took her by her lily-white hand
And dragged her down that bank of sand
There I throwed her in to drown
And watched her as she oated down
Chorus:
Was walking home ’tween twelve and one,
Thinkin’ of what I had done
I killed the girl I love, you see
Because she would not marry me
Chorus:
The very next morn about half past four
The Sheri came knockin’ at my door
He said, “Young man, come now and go
Down to the banks of the Ohio.”
Chorus:
Banks of the Ohio
(One of many versions of a 19
th
century ballad, authors unknown)
I’ve traveled ’round this country.
From shore to shining shore;
It really made me wonder
The things I heard and saw.
C G C – / F – C – / G – C – / /
I saw the weary farmer,
Plowing sod and loam;
I saw the auction hammer
Just a-knocking down his home.
Chorus:
But the banks are made of marble,
With a guard at every door,
And the vaults are stued with silver
That the farmer (seaman, etc.*) sweated for.
C – – – / G – C – / – – FC C / G – C –
I saw the seaman standing
Idly by the shore,
I heard the bosses saying,
“Got no work for you no more.”
Chorus:
I saw the weary miner
Scrubbing coal dust from his back,
And I heard his children crying,
“Got no coal to heat the shack.”
Chorus:
**
I’ve seen my brothers [good people] working
Throughout this mighty land,
I prayed we’d get together
And together make a stand.
Final Chorus:
Then we’d own those banks of marble
With no guard at any door
And we’d share those vaults of silver
That the workers sweated for!
________
* Change to t verse
** Additional verse by John Braxton:
I’ve seen my sisters working
On the job they’re underpaid
While at home they work for nothing
Half the night and all the day.
Banks of Marble
(Les Rice, 1950)
I’ve traveled ’round this country,
Just to see it once again,
While some things they might look dierent,
One big fact remains the same.
The coins once made of silver,
Are now silver-colored brass,
Like the lies the bosses tell us,
Just to trick the working class.
Chorus:
And the banks are made of marble,
With a camera above each door,
To keep us from the wealth and power,
That we all have sweated for.
I recall the friendly bank guard,
I believe his name was Bob,
’Til they got a TV camera,
And they took away his job.
Chorus:
I have seen the oce worker,
Sitting upright in her chair,
And I’ve heard the bosses tell her,
“We don’t allow no union here.”
Chorus:
I have seen the immigrant worker,
Early morning on the street,
Shaping up to do day labor,
Just to make enough to eat.
Chorus:
I have seen the civil servants,
Who thought their jobs secure,
And I heard the mayor tell them,
“We don’t need you anymore.”
Chorus:
I have dreamed that things were dierent,
I’ve kept my eyes upon the prize,
But it will be a dream forever,
Unless we organize!
Final chorus:
Then we’ll own those banks of marble,
With a person at every door,
And we’ll share the wealth and power,
That we all have sweated for.
The New Banks of Marble
(Music: Banks of Marble by Les Rice ©1950
New words: Stephen L. Suet ©2003)
Swarthmore Folk -66- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -67- Alumni Songbook
In Scarlet Town where I was born
There was a fair maid dwellin’
Made every youth cry well-a-day
And her name was Barbara Allen.
‘Twas in the merry month of May
When green buds they were swellin’
Sweet William on his death-bed lay
For the love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his servant to the town,
To the place where she was a-dwellin’,
“My master bids you come to him,
If your name be Barbara Allen.”
Then slowly, slowly she got up,
And slowly she drew nigh him,
And all she said when there she came
Was, “Young man, I think you’re dyin’ . ”
“Oh, yes, I’m sick, I’m very sick,
Oh, yes, I think I’m dyin’,
And all because I love you so
Hard-hearted Barbara Allen.”
“Oh, ken ye not in yonder town
In the place where you were a-dwellin’,
You gave a toast to the ladies all
But you slighted Barbara Allen.”
“Oh yes, I ken, I ken it well,
In the place where I was a-dwellin’;
I gave a toast to the ladies all,
But my heart to Barbara Allen.”
As she went walking over the hill
She heard the death bell knellin’.
And every stroke did seem to say,
“Hard-hearted Barbara Allen.”
“Oh, Mother, Mother, make my bed,
And make it long and narrow,
Sweet William died for me today,
I’ll die for him tomorrow.”
“Oh, Father, Father, dig my grave,
Go dig it deep and narrow.
Sweet William died for me today;
I’ll die for him tomorrow.”
They buried them both in the old churchyard,
In death he was beside her,
Out of his grave grew a red, red rose,
And out of hers a brier.
They grew and they grew o’er the old church wall,
Till they couldn’t grow no higher,
Until they tied a true lover’s knot,
The red rose and the brier.
Barbara Allen
Banks of Marble
(Les Rice, 1950)
Lyrics on facing page.
Swarthmore Folk -68- Alumni Songbook
Blow the Candles Out
When I was apprenticed in London, I went to see my dear
The candles all were burning, the moon shone bright and clear
I knocked upon her window to ease her of her pain
She rose up to let me in, then barred the door again.
I like well your behavior and this I often say
I cannot rest contented when I am far away
The roads they are so muddy, we cannot walk about
So roll me in your arms, Love, and blow the candles out.
Your father and your mother in yonder room do lie
A-hugging one another, so why not you and I?
A-hugging one another, without a fear or doubt
So roll me in your arms, Love, and blow the candles out.
I pray thee speak more softly of what we have to do
Lest that our noise of talking should make our pleasure rue.
The streets they are so nigh, Love, the people walk about
They may peep in and spy, Love, so blow the candles out.
And if we prove successful, Love, please name it after me
Treat it neat and kiss it sweet and da it on your knee
When my three years are over, my time it will be out
And I will pay my debt to you by blowing the candles out.
How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
Yes, ‘n’ how many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, ‘n’ how many times must the cannonballs y
Before they’re forever banned?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind
How many years must a mountain exist
Before it’s washed to the sea?
Yes, ‘n’ how many years can some people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free?
Yes, ‘n’ how many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just don’t see?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind
How many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, ‘n’ how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, ‘n’ how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind
The answer is blowin’ in the wind
Blowin’ in the Wind
(Bob Dylan. Tune adapted from the 19th-century pre-Civil War spiritual “No More Auction Block for Me”)
Black is the color of my true love’s hair
Her lips are like some rosy fair
The purest eyes and the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon she stands
I go to the Clyde for to mourn and weep
But satised I never can sleep
I’ll write to you in a few short lines
I’ll suer death ten thousand times
I know my love and well she knows
I love the grass whereon she goes
If she on earth no more I see
My life will quickly fade away
A winter’s past and the leaves are green
The time has passed that we have seen
But still I hope the time will come
When you and I will be as one
Black is the color of my true love’s hair
Her lips are like some rosy fair
The purest eyes and the neatest hands
I love the ground whereon she stands
Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair
Swarthmore Folk -69- Alumni Songbook
‘Tis advertised in Boston, New York, and Bualo:
Five hundred brave Americans a-whalin’ for to go.
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Singing, Blow ye winds in the morning,
Blow ye winds, heigh-ho!
Clear away your runnin’ gear,
And blow, boys, blow!
They send you to New Bedford,
that famous whaling port,
And give you to some land sharks
to board and t you out.
They send you to a boardin’ house,
there for a time to dwell;
The thieves there they are thicker
than the other side of Hell.
They tell you of the clipper ships
a-runnin’ in and out,
And say you’ll take ve hundred sperm
before you’re six months out.
And now we’re out to sea, my boys,
the wind comes on to blow;
One-half the watch is sick on deck,
the other half below.
When I was young I used to wait
On master and give him his plate
And pass the bottle when he got dry
And brush away the blue-tail y.
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care
Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care
Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care
My master’s gone away
And when he’d ride in the afternoon
I’d follow after with a hickory broom
His pony being rather shy
When bitten by a blue-tail y.
One day he rode around the farm
The ies so numerous they did swarm
One chanced to bite him on the thigh
The devil take the blue-tail y.
The pony run, he jump, he pitch
He throw’d my master in the ditch
He died and the jury wondered why
The verdict was the blue-tail y.
They laid him neath a ‘simmon tree
His epitaph is there to see
“Beneath this stone I’m forced to lie
The victim of a blue-tail y.”
Blue-Tail Fly
The skipper’s on the quarterdeck
a-squintin’ at the sails,
When up aloft the lookout spots
a mighty school of whales.
Then lower down the boats, my boys,
and after him we’ll travel,
But if you get too near his tail,
he’ll kick you to the Devil.
When we’ve caught a whale, my boys,
we’ll bring ‘im alongside,
Then over with our blubber-hooks
and rob him of his hide.
And now that our old ship is full,
our catch so great and grand
We’ll bend on all our stu’nsails
and sail for Yankee Land.
When we get home, our ship made fast,
and we get through our sailin’,
A brimming glass around we’ll pass,
and damn this blubber whalin’.
Blow Ye Winds in the Morning
Swarthmore Folk -70- Alumni Songbook
A capital ship for an ocean trip
Was the “Walloping Window Blind”
No wind that blew dismayed her crew
Or troubled the captain’s mind
The man at the wheel was made to feel
Contempt for the wildest blow-ow-ow
Tho’ it oft appeared when the gale had cleared
That he’d been in his bunk below
Chorus:
So, blow ye winds, heigh-ho
A-roving I will go
I’ll stay no more on England’s shore
So let the music play-ay-ay
I’m o for the morning train
To cross the raging main
I’m o to my love with a boxing glove
Ten thousand miles away
The bo’sun’s mate was very sedate
Yet fond of amusement too
He played hop-scotch with the starboard watch
While the captain tickled the crew
The gunner he was apparently mad
For he sat on the after rai-ai-ail
And red salutes with the captain’s boots
In the teeth of a booming gale
Chorus:
The captain sat on the commodore’s hat
And dined in a royal way
O pickles and gs and little roast pigs
And gunners bread each day
The cook was Dutch and behaved as such
For the diet he served the crew-ew-ew
Was a couple of tons of hot-cross buns
Served up with sugar and glue
Chorus:
Then we all fell ill as mariners will
On a diet that’s rough and crude
And we shivered and shookas we dipped the cook
In a tub of his gluesome food
All nautical pride we cast aside
And we ran the vessel asho-o-ore
On the Gulliby Isles where the poohpoo smiles
And the rubbily ubdugs roar
Chorus:
Composed of sand was that favored land
And trimmed with cinnamon straws
And pink and blue was the pleasing hue
Of the tickle-toe-teaser’s claws
We sat on the edge of a sandy ledge
And shot at the whistling bee-ee-ee
While the rugabug bats wore waterproof hats
As they dipped in the shining sea
Chorus:
On rugabug bark from dawn till dark
We dined till we all had grown
Uncommonly shrunk when a Chinese junk
Came up from the Torrible Zone
She was stubby and square, but we didn’t much care
So we cherrily put to sea-ea-ea
And we left all the crew of the junk to chew
On the bark of the rugabug tree
Chorus:
A Capital Ship
(Verses, Charles Edward Carryl, 1885; chorus, a parody of “Ten Thousand Miles Away”)
Love, oh love, oh careless love
Love, oh love, oh careless love
Oh it’s love, oh love, oh careless love
You see what careless love has done
Similarly:
Once I wore my apron low (3x)
You’d follow me through rain and snow
Now I wear my apron high (3x)
You’ll see my door and pass it by
How I wish my train would come (3x)
Take me back where I come from
I cried last night and the night before (3x)
I’ll cry tonight and cry no more
(Repeat rst verse)
Careless Love
Swarthmore Folk -71- Alumni Songbook
Cigareets and Whiskey and Wild Wild Women
(Tim Spencer, 1947)
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Cigareets and whiskey and wild wild women
They’ll drive you crazy, they’ll drive you insane
Cigareets, whiskey and wild wild women
They’ll drive you crazy, they’ll drive you insane
Once I was happy and had a good wife
I had enough money to last me for life
Then I met with a gal and we went on a spree
She taught me smokin’ and drinkin’ whiskee
Cigareets are a blight on the whole human race
A man is a monkey with one in his face;
Take warning dear friend, take warning dear brother
A re’s on one end, a fool’s on the t’other.
You ought to see my Cindy
She lives away down South
She’s so sweet the honey bees
Swarm around her mouth
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Get along home, Cindy, Cindy,
Get along home
Get along home, Cindy, Cindy,
I’ll marry you someday
Cindy, she’s my pretty gal
Cindy, she’s my peach
She throw’d her arms around my neck
And hung on like a leech
First time I seen my Cindy
She was standing in the door
Shoes and stockings in her hand
And her feet all over the oor
If Cindy was an apple
I’d put her on the shelf
And every time she smiled at me
I’d get up there myself
She climbed up the sugar tree
I climbed up the gum
Never saw that Cindy gal
But what I loved her some
And now good people, I’m broken with age
The lines on my face make a well-written page
I’m weavin’ this story—how sadly but true
On women and whiskey and what they can do
Write on the cross at the head of my grave
“For women and whiskey here lies a poor slave.”
Take warnin’ poor stranger, take warnin’ dear friend
In wide clear letters this tale of my end.
Cindy went to the preachin’
They had one day in town
She got so full of glory
She knocked the preacher down
Peaches in the summer time
Apples in the fall
If I don’t get the gal I love
I won’t have none at all
Now, Cindy is a pretty girl
Cindy’s ve-foot tall
She sleeps in the kitchen
With her feet out in the hall
Cindy went to meetin’
She shouted and she squealed
She got so much religion
She broke her stocking heel
Cindy’s got religion
She had it once before
When she heered my old banjo
She’s the rst one on the oor
When Cindy got religion
I’ll tell you what she done
She walked up to the preacher
And she chawed her chewin’ gum
Cindy
Circle Game
(Joni Mitchell, 1966)
G C G
Yesterday a child came out to wonder
C D7
Caught a dragony inside a jar
G C Bm
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
C G Am7 G
And tearful at the falling of a star.
Chorus:
And the seasons, they go ’round and ’round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time.
We can’t return, we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go ’round and ’round and ’round
in the circle game
Then the child grew ten times ‘round the seasons
Skated over ten clear, frozen streams
Words like “when you’re older” must appease him.
And promises of someday make his dreams.
Chorus:
Sixteen Springs and sixteen Summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town
And they tell him, “Take your time,
it won’t be long now
Till you drag you feet to slow the circles down.”
Chorus:
So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost
some grandeur coming true.
There’ll be new dreams, maybe
better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through.
Chorus:
City of New Orleans
(Steve Goodman, 1970)
Ridin’ on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday mornin’ rail
Fifteen cars and fteen restless riders
Three conductors, twenty-ve sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey
the train pulls out of Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and elds
Passin’ towns that have no name,
freight yards full of old gray men
And the graveyards of rusted automobiles
Chorus:
Good mornin’ , America, how are you?
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
Dealin’ cards with the old men in the club car
Penny a point, ain’t no one keepin’ score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
And feel the wheels rumblin’ ‘neath the oor
And the sons of Pullman porters
and the sons of engineers
Ride their fathers’ magic carpet made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep,
rockin’ to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel
Chorus:
Night time on the City of New Orleans
Changin’ cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home and we’ll be there by mornin’
Thru the Mississippi darkness
rollin’ 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 song again
“The passengers will please refrain . . . “
This train’s got the disappearin’ railroad blues
Final chorus:
Goodnight, America, how are you? . . .
Swarthmore Folk -72- Alumni Songbook
Crawdad
You get a line and I’II get a pole, honey,
You get a line and I’II get a pole, babe,
You get a line and I’II get a pole,
And we’ll go down to the crawdad hole,
Honey, sugar baby, mine,
Along come a man with a sack on his back, honey,
Along come a man with a sack on his back, babe,
Along come a man with a sack on his back,
Packin’ all the crawdads he can pack,
Honey, sugar baby, mine.
Get up old man, you slept too late, honey,
Get up old man, you slept too late, babe,
Get up old man, you slept too late,
Last piece of crawdad’s on your plate,
Honey, sugar baby, mine.
Get up old woman, you slept too late, honey,
Get up old woman, you slept too late, babe,
Get up old woman, you slept too late,
Crawdad man done passed your gate,
Honey, sugar baby, mine.
Look at that crawdad struttin’ around, honey,
Look at that crawdad struttin’ around, babe,
Look at that crawdad struttin’ around,
He thinks he’s the mayor of Crawdad Town,
Honey, sugar baby, mine.
What you gonna do when the lake goes dry, honey?
What you gonna do when the lake goes dry, babe?
What you gonna do when the lake goes dry?
Sit on the bank and watch the crawdads die,
Honey, sugar baby, mine.
What you gonna do when the crawdads die, honey?
What you gonna do when the crawdads die, babe?
What you gonna do when the crawdads die?
Sit on the bank until I cry,
Honey, sugar baby, mine.
I heard the duck say to the drake, honey,
I heard the duck say to the drake, babe,
I heard the duck say to the drake,
“There ain’t no crawdads in this lake,”
Honey, sugar baby, mine.
Swarthmore Folk -73- Alumni Songbook
Cryin’ Holy Unto the Lord
(Irene Amburgey’s version of a
traditional African-American spiritual)
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Crying holy unto the Lord
Crying holy unto the Lord
Oh, if I could I surely would
Stand on the rock where Moses stood
Sinners, run and hide your face
Sinners, run and hide your face
Go and run into the rocks and hide your face
The rocks got no hiding place
Lord, I ain’t no sinner now
Lord, I ain’t no sinner now
I’ve been to the river and I’ve been baptized
And I ain’t no sinner now
Lord, I ain’t no stranger here
Lord, I ain’t no stranger here
I’ve been introduced to the Father and the Son
And I ain’t no stranger here
Down by the Riverside
Gonna lay down my sword and shield
Down by the riverside (3x)
Gonna lay down my sword and shield
Down by the riverside
Gonna study war no more
Chorus:
I ain’t gonna study war no more
Ain’t gonna study war no more
Study war no more
(repeat 3 lines)
Gonna join hands with ev’ryone
Down by the riverside (3x)
Gonna join hands with ev’ryone
Down by the riverside
Gonna study war no more
Chorus:
Similarly:
Gonna put on my long white robe . . .
Gonna put on my starry crown . . .
Gonna put on my golden shoes . . .
Gonna walk with the Prince of Peace . . .
Well, I’ve been all around this whole wide world
Been down to sunny Alabam’
My mama always told me, Son
Never let your deal go down
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Don’t let your deal go down
Don’t let your deal go down
Don’t let your deal go down
Till your last gold dollar is gone
Well, the last time I seen that gal of mine
She was standing in the door
She said honey, I’ll be a long time gone
You’ll never see your gal no more
Well, I’m going down the railroad track
Gonna take my rocking chair
If these doggone blues don’t leave my mind
I’m gonna rock away from here
Don’t You Weep After Me
(Bahamian gospel song, ca. 1890)
When I’m dead and buried,
Don’t you weep after me.
When I’m dead and buried,
Don’t you weep after me.
When I’m dead and buried,
Don’t you weep after me.
I don’t want you to weep after me.
Sailin’ on the ocean,
Don’t you weep after me.
Sailin’ on the ocean,
Don’t you weep after me.
Sailin’ on the ocean,
Don’t you weep after me.
I don’t want you to weep after me.
Similarly:
In the good old ship of Zion...
King Peter is the captain...
The angels are the sailors...
(She’s) Lookin’ over Jordan...
When I’m dead and buried...
Come all you young fellers so young and so ne
And seek not your fortune in the dark, dreary mine
It will form as a habit and seep in your soul
‘Till the blood of your veins runs as black as the coal
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Where it’s dark as a dungeon
and damp as the dew
Where the dangers are double
and the pleasures are few
Where the rain never falls
and the sun never shines
It’s dark as a dungeon way down in the mines
It’s many a man I have seen in my day
Who lived just to labor his whole life away
Like a end with his dope or a drunkard his wine
A man must have lust for the lure of the mine
I hope when I’m gone and the ages shall roll
My body will blacken and turn into coal
Then I’ll look from the door
of my heavenly home
And pity the miner a-digging my bones
The midnight, the morning, the middle of day
Are the same to the miner who labors away.
Where the demons of death
often come by surprise,
One slip of the slate and you’re buried alive.
Dark as a Dungeon
(Merle Travis, 1947)
Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down
(Flatt & Scruggs’ 1957 version of an old-time song)
Swarthmore Folk -74- Alumni Songbook
Desperado
He was a desperado from the wild and woolly west
He came into Chicago just to give the west a rest
He wore a big sombrero and a gun beneath his vest
And everywhere he went he gave his war whoop!
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
He was a brave, bold man and a—desperado
From Cripple Creek, way down in—Colorado
And he walked around like a—big tornado
And everywhere he went he gave his war whoop!
He went to Coney Island just to take in all the sights
He saw the hootchie-cootchie and the girls dressed up in tights
He got so darned excited that he shot out all the lights
And everywhere he went he gave his war whoop!
A great big fat policemen was a-walking down his beat
He saw this desperado come a-walking down the street
He grabbed him by the whiskers, and he grabbed him by the seat
And threw him where he wouldn’t give his war whoop!
My father was the keeper of the Eddystone light
And he slept with a mermaid one ne night
From this union there came three
A porpoise and a porgy and the other was me!
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Yo ho ho, the wind blows free,
Oh for the life on the rolling sea!
One night, as I was a-trimmin’ of the glim
A-singin’ a verse from the evening hymn
A voice from the starboard shouted “Ahoy!”
And there was my mother, a-sitting on a buoy.
“Oh, what has become of my children three?”
My mother then she asked of me.
“One was exhibited as a talking sh
The other was served from a chang dish.”
Then the phosphorus ashed in her seaweed hair.
I looked again, and my mother wasn’t there
But her voice came echoing back from the night
“To Hell with the keeper of the Eddystone Light!”
Eddystone Light
Swarthmore Folk -75- Alumni Songbook
Five Hundred Miles
(Hedy West, 1961)
If you miss the train I’m on,
you will know that I am gone
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles
A hundred miles (4x)
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles
Lord I’m one, Lord I’m two, Lord I’m three,
Lord I’m four
Lord I’m 500 miles away from home
Away from home (4x)
Lord I’m 500 miles away from home
Not a shirt on my back, not a penny to my name
Lord, I can’t go a-home this a-way
This a-way (4x)
Lord, I can’t go a-home this a-way
If you miss the train I’m on,
you will know that I am gone
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles
Swarthmore Folk -76- Alumni Songbook
I’ve got an old mule and her name is Sal
Fifteen years on the Erie Canal
She’s a good old worker and a good old pal
Fifteen years on the Erie Canal
We’ve hauled some barges in our day
Filled with lumber, coal, and hay
And we know every inch of the way
From Albany to Bualo
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Low bridge, everybody down
Low bridge for we’re coming to a town
And you’ll always know your neighbor
And you’ll always know your pal
If you’ve ever navigated on
The Erie Canal
Freight Train
(Elizabeth “Libba” Cotten [1895–1987], ca. 1907)
Freight train, freight train, run so fast,
Freight train, freight train, run so fast;
Please don’t tell what train I’m on,
They won’t know what route I’m gone.
When I am dead and in my grave,
No more good times here I crave.
Place the stones at my head and feet,
Tell them all that I’ve gone to sleep.
(These lyrics from recording of Libba Cotten made by Mike Seeger early in 1958.)
When I die, Lord, bury me deep,
Way down on old Chestnut Street,
So I can hear old Number 9,
As she comes rolling by.
When I die, Lord, bury me deep,
Way down on old Chestnut Street,
Place a stone at my head and feet,
Tell them all that I’m gone to sleep.
We’d better look around for a job, old gal
Fifteen years on the Erie Canal
You bet your life I wouldn’t part with Sal
Fifteen years on the Erie Canal
Giddap there gal, we’ve passed that lock
We’ll make Rome ‘bout six o’clock
One more trip and then we’ll go
Right back home to Bualo
Oh, where would I be if I lost my pal?
Fifteen years on the Erie Canal
Oh, I’d like to see a mule as good as Sal
Fifteen years on the Erie Canal
A friend of mine once made her sore
Now he’s got a broken jaw
‘Cause she let y with her iron toe
And kicked him into Bualo
The Erie Canal
(Thomas S. Allen, 1905)
House of the Rising Sun
There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
It’s been the ruin of many a poor girl
And me, oh God, I’m one
My mother was a tailor,
She sewed them new blue jeans.
My lover he was a gamblin’ man
Way down in New Orleans
Now the only thing a gamblin’ man needs
Is a suitcase and a trunk
And the only time he's satised
Is when he's on a drunk
Go tell my baby sister
Don’t do what I have done
But shun that house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
With one foot on the platform
And one foot on the train
I'm goin' back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain
I'm going back to New Orleans
My race is almost run
I'm going back to spend my days
Beneath that Rising Sun
The Golden Vanity
Oh, there was a lofty ship sailing on the lowland sea
And the name of our ship was the Golden Vanity
And we feared she would be taken
by the Spanish enemy
As she sailed upon the lowland, lowland low,
As she sailed upon the lowland sea
Then up stepped our cabin boy, and boldly up spoke he
And he said to our captain, "What would you give to me
if I swim alongside the Spanish enemy
And I sink her in the lowland, lowland low,
If I sink her in the lowland sea?"
"A treasure chest of gold and silver I'll give to thee
And my own fairest daughter, thy bonnie bride shall be
If you’ll swim alongside the Spanish enemy
And sink her in the lowland, lowland low,
If you'll sink her in the lowland sea."
So, the boy he made ready, and overboard sprang he,
And he swam to the side of the Spanishenemy
And with his brace and auger
in her side he bored holes three
And sank her in the lowland, lowland low,
He sank her in the lowland sea
Then the boy he did swim back,
to the cheering of the crew
But the captain would not heed him,
for his promise he did rue
He scorned his sad entreaties,
though loudly he did sue
And he left him in the lowland, lowland low,
He left him in the lowland sea
Then the boy he turned ‘round
and swam to the port side
And up unto his messmates, full bitterly he cried,
Saying "Messmates, pull me up,
for I'm drifting with the tide,
And I'm sinking in the lowland, lowland low,
I'm sinking in the lowland sea."
Well, his messmates pulled him up,
but on the deck he died
And they placed him in his hammock,
which was so fair and wide
And they lowered him down, and over the port side
And he sank into the lowland, lowland low,
He sank into the lowland sea
Swarthmore Folk -77- Alumni Songbook
Hush Little Baby
(Traditional American lullaby, as recorded by Joan Baez)
Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,
Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.
And if that mockingbird don’t sing,
Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.
And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass.
And if that looking glass gets broke,
Mama’s gonna buy you a billy goat.
And if that billy goat won’t pull,
Mama’s gonna buy you a cart and bull.
And if that cart and bull turn over,
Mama’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover.
And if that dog named Rover won’t bark,
Mama’s gonna buy you a horse and cart.
And if that horse and cart fall down,
You’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town.
Jesse James
(One of many versions of a ballad written in 1882 under the
pseudonym “Billy Gashade” soon after Jesse James was killed)
Jesse James was a lad who killed many a man,
He robbed the Glendale train
He stole from the rich and he gave to the poor
He’d a hand and a heart and a brain.
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life,
Three children, they were brave,
But that dirty little coward that shot Mr. Howard
Has laid poor Jesse in his grave.
Well, it was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward,
I wonder how he feels,
For he ate of Jesse’s bread and he slept in Jesse’s bed,
Then he laid poor Jesse in his grave.
It was on a Saturday night, when Jesse was at home,
Talkin’ to his family brave,
Robert Ford came along, like a thief in the night,
And laid poor Jesse in his grave.
Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor,
He’d never see a man suer pain,
And with his brother Frank he robbed the Gallatin bank,
And stopped the Glendale train.
It was on a Wednesday night, the moon was shining bright,
They robbed the Glendale train,
And people they did say, for many miles away,
It was those outlaws, they’re Frank and Jesse James
Now the people held their breath
when they heard of Jesse’s death,
And wondered how he ever came to fall
Robert Ford, it was a fact, he shot Jesse in the back
While Jesse hung a picture on the wall
This song was made by Billy Gashade
As soon as the news did arrive;
He said there was no man with the law in his hand
Who could take Jesse James when alive.
I’ve Been Working on the Railroad
(First appeared in print in
Carmina Princetoniai, 1894)
I’ve been working on the railroad,
all the live-long day;
I’ve been working on the railroad,
just to pass the time away.
Can’t you hear the whistle blowing,
rise up so early in the morn;
Can’t you hear the captain shouting,
“Dinah, blow your horn!”
Dinah, won’t you blow,
Dinah, won’t you blow,
Dinah, won’t you blow your horn?
Dinah, won’t you blow,
Dinah, won’t you blow,
Dinah, won’t you blow your horn?
Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah,
someone’s in the kitchen I know,
Someone’s in the kitchen with Dinah,
strummin’ on the old banjo!
Singin’ fee, e, ddly-i-o,
fee, e, ddly-i-o-o-o-o
Fee, e, ddly-i-o,
strummin’ on the old banjo.
Swarthmore Folk -78- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -79- Alumni Songbook
Joe Hill
(Alfred Hayes & Earl Robinson, 1936)
I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night,
Alive as you and me
Says I, “But Joe, you’re ten years dead.”
“I never died,” says he, “I never died,” says he.
“In Salt Lake, Joe, by God,” says I,
Him standing by my bed,
“They framed you on a murder charge.”
Says Joe, “But I ain’t dead,”
Says Joe, “But I ain’t dead.”
“The copper bosses shot you, Joe,
They killed you, Joe,” says I.
“Takes more than guns to kill a man,”
Says Joe, “I didn’t die,” says Joe, “I didn’t die.”
And standing there as big as life
And smiling with his eyes
Joe says, “What they forgot to kill
Went on to organize, went on to organize.”
“Joe Hill ain’t dead,” he says to me,
“Joe Hill ain’t never died.
Where workingmen are out on strike
Joe Hill is at their side, Joe Hill is at their side.”
“From San Diego up to Maine
In every mine and mill
Where workers strike and organize,”
Says he, “You’ll nd Joe Hill,”
Says he, “You’ll nd Joe Hill.”
(Repeat rst verse)
My Will is easy to decide,
For there is nothing to divide
My kin don’t need to fuss and moan
“Moss does not cling to a rolling stone“
My body?—Oh.—If I could choose,
I would to ashes it reduce
And let the merry breezes blow
My dust to where some owers grow
Perhaps some fading ower then
Would come to life and bloom again.
This is my last and Final Will
Good Luck to All of you,
Joe Hill
Joe Hill’s Last Will
(Words, Joe Hill, 1915. Pete Seeger spoke it on
one of his records. Ethel Raim later set it to music.)
Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier
(From an English folk song, popular throughout
the American Revolutionary War)
There she sits on Buttermilk Hill
Oh, who could blame her cryin’ her ll
Every tear would turn a mill
Johnny has gone for a soldier
Me-oh-my she loved him so
It broke her heart just to see him go
Only time will heal her woe
Johnny has gone for a soldier
She sold her clock and she sold her reel
She sold her only spinning wheel
To buy her love a sword of steel
Johnny has gone for a soldier
She’ll dye her dress, she’ll dye it red
And in the streets go begging for bread
The one she loves from her has ed
Johnny has gone for a soldier
Johnny has gone for a soldier...
Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye
(Words probably by Joseph B. Geoghegan, 1867. Music probably by Patrick S. Gilmore, 1863,
for “When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again.” See notes.)
While goin’ the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo
While goin’ the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo
While goin’ the road to sweet Athy, a stick in me hand and a tear in me eye
A doleful damsel I heard cry, Oh, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.
With your guns and drums and drums and guns, hurroo, hurroo
With your guns and drums and drums and guns, hurroo, hurroo
With your guns and drums and drums and guns, the enemy nearly slew ye
My darling dear, ye look so queer, Oh, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.
Where are the eyes that looked so mild, hurroo, hurroo
Where are the eyes that looked so mild, hurroo, hurroo
Where are the eyes that looked so mild, when my poor heart you rst beguiled?
Why did ye run from me and the child? Oh, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.
Where are your legs that used to run, hurroo, hurroo
Where are your legs that used to run, hurroo, hurroo
Where are your legs that used to run, when rst you went to carry a gun?
Indeed your dancing days are done! Oh, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.
I’m happy for to see ye home, hurroo, hurroo
I’m happy for to see ye home, hurroo, hurroo
I’m happy for to see ye home, all from the island of Sulloon
So low in the esh, so high in the bone! Oh, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.
Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg, hurroo, hurroo
Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg, hurroo, hurroo
Ye haven’t an arm, ye haven’t a leg, ye’re an eyeless, boneless, chickenless egg
Ye’ll have to be put with a bowl out to beg! Oh, Johnny, I hardly knew ye.
They’re rolling out the guns again, hurroo, hurroo
They’re rolling out the guns again, hurroo, hurroo
They’re rolling out the guns again, but they never will take my sons again!
No, they never will take my sons again! Yes, Johnny, I’m swearing to ye.
General opinion at folk-song website The Mudcat Café <mudcat.org> is that British music-hall performer Joseph B.
Geoghegan wrote this song around 1867 to the tune of “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.” That song was published
in 1863 by Irish-American composer and bandmaster Patrick S. Gilmore, under the pen name “Louis Lambert,” who wrote it
while serving in the Union Army.
However, an unnamed author of Wikipedia articles uses the geographic references in “Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye” to support
the claim that this is an Irish anti-war, anti-recruiting song from the early 1800s, when soldiers from Athy, County Kildare,
fought for Britain in “Sulloon” (Ceylon, now Sri Lanka) in the Kandyan Wars. The Wikipedia articles also claim that Gilmore
ironically used the traditional tune of “Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye” when he wrote “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.”
Those claims are challenged with expert opinion that the tune is not of Irish origin and with the lack of documentary
evidence that the song existed before 1867, when British troops had been deployed from their base in Ceylon to ght
elsewhere.
Swarthmore Folk -80- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -81- Alumni Songbook
Oh, when I was a curly-headed baby
My daddy set me down upon his knee
Said, “Son, you go to school and learn your letters
Don’t be no dusty miner like me”
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
For I was born and raised at the mouth of
the Hazard Holler
The coal cars roared and rumbled past my door
But now they stand in a rusty row and empty
And the L & N don’t stop here any more
I used to think my daddy was a black man
With scrip enough to buy the company store
But now he goes downtown with empty pockets
And his face as white as a February snow
Last night I dreamt I went down to the oce
To get my payday like I done before
Them old cudsy* vines had covered up the doorway
And there was trees and grass growin’ right up
through the oor
I never thought I’d live to love the coal dust
Never thought I’d pray to hear the tipple roar
But, Lord, how I wish that grass could change
to money
And them greenbacks ll my pockets once more
______
* kudzu
The L & N Don’t Stop Here Anymore
(Jean Ritchie, 1963)
Kum Ba Yah
(Gullah-dialect version of traditional African-American
spiritual, “Come By Here.” The song has gone around the
world, and is widely sung in Africa. It is sometimes
mistakenly said to have African origins.)
Kum ba yah, my lord, kum ba yah! (3x)
Oh, Lord, kum ba yah
Someone’s crying, Lord, kum ba yah! (3x)
Oh, Lord, kum ba yah
Similarly:
Someone’s singing . . .
Someone’s praying . . .
Sleeping, dreaming, crying, laughing, etc.
Come by here, my lord, come by here! (3x)
Oh, Lord, come by here
The Last Thing on My Mind
(Tom Paxton, 1964)
It’s a lesson too late for the learnin’
Made of sand, made of sand
In the wink of an eye my soul is turnin’
In your hand, in your hand.
Chorus (repeated after each verse):
Are you going away
with no word of farewell
Will there be not a trace left behind
Well, I could have loved you better
Didn’t mean to be unkind
You know that was
the last thing on my mind.
As we walk on, my thoughts keep tumblin’
Round and round, round and round.
Underneath our feet the subway’s rumblin’
Underground, underground .
As I lie in my bed in the mornin’
Without you, without you.
Every song in my breast lies a bornin’
Without you, without you.
You’ve got reasons a-plenty for goin’
This I know, this I know.
For the weeds have been steadily growin’
Please don’t go, please don’t go.
Long Black Veil
(Danny Dill and Marijon Wilkin, 1959)
Ten years ago, on a cold dark night,
Someone was killed ’neath the town hall light.
There were few at the scene, but they all agree
That the slayer who ran looked a lot like me.
The judge said, “Son, what is your alibi?
If you were somewhere else,
then you won’t have to die.”
I spoke not a word, though it meant my life,
For I had been in the arms
of my best friend’s wife.
She walks these hills in a long black veil.
She visits my grave
when the night winds wail.
Nobody knows, nobody sees,
Nobody knows but me.
From far away, and distant lands—
The tempest-tossed with hopeful hearts
and calloused hands
Reach toward the light, the torch held high—
And cast their gaze upon the lady of the harbor.
Chorus:
And she welcomes them with open arms,
She says, “Let my children in.”
Shine on, shine on,
Oh, you lady of the harbor.
And so it was, with my own kin.
They sailed from Sweden
and from France and Ireland.
Their earthly cares packed in their bags,
They cast their gaze upon the lady of the harbor.
Chorus
The scaold was high and eternity near
She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
But sometimes at night, when the cold wind moans,
In a long black veil, she cries o’er my bones.
She walks these hills in a long black veil.
She visits my grave
when the night winds wail.
Nobody knows, nobody sees,
Nobody knows but me.
Swarthmore Folk -82- Alumni Songbook
Bridge:
Now we’re locking down the borders
and we're lling up the jails
And we say they don't belong.
How conveniently do we forget
That we’ve all come to sing
the same sweet song?
But will the dream survive the strain,
Will huddled masses have a chance
to learn its sweet refrain?
Or will we fall into our fears,
And turn our backs against
the lady of the harbor?
Chorus
Shine on, shine on,
Oh, you lady of the harbor.
Shine on, shine on,
Oh, you lady of the harbor.
Oh, you lady of the harbor.
Lady of the Harbor
(Joe Jencks)
Lydia Pinkham
Chorus (repeated after each verse):
Oh, we will sing, we’ll sing, we’ll sing
Of Lydia Pinkham, Pinkham, Pinkham,
And the love she bears for the human race.
Oh, we will sing, we’ll sing, we’ll sing,
Of Lydia Pinkham, Pinkham, Pinkham;
All the journals bear her face.
Oh, Widow Brown, she had no children,
Though she loved them very dear.
She took two bottles of Lydia’s compound,
compound.
Now she has them twice a year.
Oh, Mrs. Green, she had her troubles
She could not make one drop of wee.
She drank two bottles of Lydia’s compound,
compound.
Now they pipe her out to sea.
[alternative version]
Oh, Mrs. Green had kidney troubles,
In fact they wouldn’t work at all,
She took a bottle of Lydia’s compound,
compound.
And now she’s a human Niagara Falls.
Take a swallow when you awaken,
And your pains will disappear.
Keep on taking it every hour,
And by noon you’ll switch to beer.
Lottie Simms, she had no lovers,
Blotchy pimples caused her plight.
She took two bottles of Lydia’s compound,
compound.
Now she has one every night.
Lyndon Johnson Told the Nation
(Tom Paxton)
I got a letter from L. B. J.
It said this is your lucky day.
It's time to put your khaki trousers on.
Though it may seem very queer
We've got no jobs to give you here
So we are sending you to Viet Nam
Chorus (repeated after each verse):
Lyndon Johnson told the nation,
"Have no fear of escalation.
I am trying everyone to please.
Though it isn't really war,
We're sending fty thousand more,
To help save Vietnam
from the Vietnamese."
I jumped o the old troop ship,
And sank in mud up to my hips.
I cussed until the captain called me down.
Never mind how hard it's raining,
Think of all the ground we're gaining,
Just don't take one step outside of town.
Every night the local gentry,
Sneak out past the sleeping sentry.
They go to join the old VC.
In their nightly little dramas,
They put on their black pajamas,
And come lobbing mortar shells at me.
We go round in helicopters,
Like a bunch of big grasshoppers,
Searching for the Viet Cong in vain.
They left a note that they had gone.
They had to get down to Saigon,
Their government positions to maintain.
Well here I sit in this rice paddy,
Wondering about Big Daddy,
And I know that Lyndon loves me so.
Yet how sadly I remember,
Way back yonder in November,
When he said I'd never have to go.
Swarthmore Folk -83- Alumni Songbook
Old friend, comrade of mine,
Once again you’re on my mind.
There’s always a place, there’s always a time
To think of days gone by.
We spent too long apart,
And there’s so much in my heart
I want to say before we say goodbye.
Your life and mine entwined
With the music and the songs.
Our future was set from the moment that we met;
We were old, long friends.
The work that quit our play
Carried us away, then brought us home,
Brought us home again.
Love’s a game, you never made a claim
Or tried to play that game with me.
That set you apart with your own place in my heart,
Where you will always be.
As a woman among men,
It was hard to nd a friend.
Then you were there, and, with you, I was free.
We traveled far, by scooter, then by car,
From Paris down to Rome.
In Germany we clowned, in Switzerland broke down,
We were so young then.
We parted and we aged,
But our rainbow didn’t fade;
We remained, we remained old friends.
Old friend, comrade of mine,
Once again you’re on my mind.
There’s always a place, there’s always a time
To think of days gone by.
We spent too long apart,
And there’s so much in my heart
I want to say before we say goodbye.
Now you are gone, and like the music
And the song, you’ve come into my mind.
If the good we have done ensures that we live on,
You will never die.
Your friends hold you dear
We’ll keep you with us here
So never say, never say goodbye.
Song for Ralph Rinzler ‘56, written after his death in 1994.
Old Friend
(Peggy Seeger, 1994)
Swarthmore Folk -84- Alumni Songbook
On top of old Smoky, all covered with snow
I lost my true lover from courting too slow
Though courting’s a pleasure and parting is grief
A false-hearted lover is worse than a thief
For a thief will just rob you and take what you have
But a false-hearted lover will lead you to the grave
The grave will decay you and turn you to dust
Not one boy in a thousand a poor girl can trust
He’ll hug you and kiss you and tell you more lies
Than cross-ties on a railroad or stars in the skies
(Repeat rst verse)
On Top of Old Smoky
(Traditional American folk song)
Michael, Row the Boat Ashore
(African-American spiritual, collected approx. 1863.
Adapted by Tony Saletan, 1954)
Chorus, repeated after every verse:
Michael, row the boat ashore, Hallelujah,
Michael, row the boat ashore, Hallelujah.
My brothers and sisters are all on board, Hallelujah,
My brothers and sisters are all on board, Hallelujah.
Sister help to trim the sail, Hallelujah,
Sister help to trim the sail, Hallelujah.
The river is deep and the river is wide, Hallelujah,
Milk and honey on the other side, Hallelujah.
Jordan’s river is chilly and cold, Hallelujah,
Chills the body but not the soul, Hallelujah.
Swarthmore Folk -85- Alumni Songbook
Oh, Mary, Don’t You Weep
(Traditional African-American spiritual)
Well, if I could I surely would
Stand on the rock where Moses stood
Pharaoh’s army got drownded
Oh, Mary, don’t you weep
Refrain, repeated after each verse:
Oh, Mary, don’t you weep, don’t you mourn
Oh, Mary, don’t you weep, don’t you mourn
Pharaoh’s army got drownded
Oh, Mary, don’t you weep
Similarly:
Well, Mary wore three links of chain
On every link was Jesus’ name
Well, one of these nights ’bout 12 o’clock
This old world’s gonna reel and rock
Well, Moses stood on the Red Sea shore
Smotin’ the water with a two-by-four
Well, old Mr. Satan, he got mad
Missed that soul that he thought he had
Brothers and sisters, don’t you cry
There’ll be good times by and by
God gave Noah the rainbow sign
“No more water but re next time”
Passing Through
(Words: Dick Blakeslee, 1948, Music: Traditional)
I saw Adam leave the garden with an apple in his hand,
I said, “Now you’re out what are you gonna do?”
“Plant my crops and pray for rain. Maybe raise a little Cain,
I’m an orphan now and I’m just passing through.”
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Passing through, passing through,
Sometimes happy, sometimes blue,
Glad that I ran into you,
Tell the people that you saw me passing through.
I saw Jesus on the cross on that hill called Calvary.
“Do you hate mankind for what they’ve done to you?”
He said, “Talk of love, not hate. Things to do, it’s getting late,
I’ve so little time and I’m just passing through.”
I shivered with George Washington one night at Valley Forge.
I asked, “Why do men freeze here like they do?”
He said, “Men will suer, ght, even die, for what is right,
Even though they know they’re only passing through.”
I rode with old Abe Lincoln on that train to Gettysburg
And I asked him what he thought to be most true
He said every man must be unconditionally free
We’re all brothers and we’re only passing through.
I was at Franklin Roosevelt’s side just a while before he died.
He said, “One world must come out of World War II.
Yankee, Russian, Black or tan, still a man is just a man,
We’re all brothers and we’re only passing through.”
Swarthmore Folk -86- Alumni Songbook
Pretty Little Baby
(Traditional African-American spiritual; one of many versions)
Virgin Mary had a little baby,
Oooo-oooh, pretty little baby,
Oooh-oooh, glory hallelujah!
Glory be to the new-born King!
Mary, what you gonna name that pretty little baby?
Oooo-oooh, pretty little baby, (etc.)
Some call him one thing, think I’ll name him David,
Oooh-oooh, he’s the son of David. (etc.)
Mary, what you gonna name that pretty little baby?
Oooo-oooh, pretty little baby, (etc.)
Some call him one thing, think I’ll name him ‘Manuel
Oooh-oooh, think I’ll call him ‘Manuel. (etc.)
Mary, what you gonna name that pretty little baby?
Oooo-oooh, pretty little baby, (etc.)
Some call him one thing, think I’ll name him Jesus,
Oooh-oooh, think I’ll call him Savior. (etc.)
The Virgin Mary had a little baby,
Oooo-oooh, pretty little baby, (etc.)
F Bb F
Please open your hearts and your purses
F7 Bb Bbm F
To a man who is misunderstood
A A7 Dm
He gets all the kicks and the curses
G G7 C7
Though he wishes you nothing but good
F Bb F
He wistfully begs you to show him
F7 Bb Bbm F
You think he’s a friend, not a louse;
F#dim C
So remember the debt that you owe him
C#dim Dm7 G7 C7
The landlord who lends you his house
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
F Bb F
So pity the downtrodden landlord
F7 Bb Bbm F
And his back that is burdened and bent
F#dim Gm C7 F
Respect his gray hairs, don’t ask for repairs
Gm C7 F
And don’t be behind with the rent.
Pity the Downtrodden Landlord
(From a London folk opera in the early 1940s, written by Englishman Barnet Woolf, Workers Music Association.
Tune: Arnold Clayton, after “She is More to be Pitied than Censured”)
[You are able to work for a living
And rejoice in your strength and your skill;
So try to be kind and forgiving
To a man who a day’s work would kill.
You are able to talk with your neighbor
You can look the whole world in its face,
But a landlord that ventured to labor
Would never survive the disgrace.] *
When thunder clouds gather and darken
You can sleep undisturbed in your bed;
But the landlord must sit up and hearken
And shiver, and wonder, and dread;
If you’re killed, then you die in a hurry
And you never will know your bad luck,
But the landlord is shaking with worry—
“Has one of my houses been struck?”
When a landlord resorts to eviction
Don’t think that he does it for spite;
He’s acting from deepest conviction,
And what’s right, after all, is what’s right.
But I see that your hearts are all hardened
And I fear I’m appealing in vain;
Yet I hope my last plea will be pardoned
If I beg on my knees once again:
* verse added by Jerry Silverman? or Fred Hellerman?
Respect
(Aretha Franklin, 1967, based on “Respect” by Otis Redding, 1965)
(oo)
What you want (oo), Baby, I got it (oo).
What you need (oo), do you know I got it? (oo)
All I’m askin’ (oo) is for a little respect when you come home (just a little bit).
Hey, Baby (just a little bit), when you get home (just a little bit),
Mister (just a little bit).
I ain’t gon’ do you wrong, while you’re gone
Ain’t gon’ do you wrong (oo), ’cause I don’t wanna (oo).
All I’m askin’ (oo) is for a little respect when you come home (just a little bit),
Baby (just a little bit), when you get home (just a little bit). Yeah! ( just a little bit)
I’m about to give you . . . all my money, and all I’m askin’ . . . in return, honey,
Is to give me . . . my prots . . . when you get home.
(Yes sir, yes sir, yes sir, yes sir, yes sir, yes sir, yes sir, yes sir)
Yeah, baby, when you get home (just a little bit). Yeah! (just a little bit)
Ooh, your kisses (oo), sweeter than honey (oo),
And, guess what (oo), so is my money (oo).
All I want you to do for me (oo, oo) is give it to me when you get home.
(Re, re, re, re) Yeah, baby! (re, re, re, re)
Whip it to me . . . when you get home. Now! (just a little bit)
R-E-S-P-E-C-T, nd out what it means to me! R-E-S-P-E-C-T, take care of TCB!
Ooh! (sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me)
A little respect! (sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me, sock it to me)
Whoa, babe! A little respect! (just a little bit)
I get tired (just a little bit), keep on tryin’ (just a little bit),
You’re runnin’ out of foolin’ (just a little bit), and I ain’t lyin’ (just a little bit).
(Re, re, re, re) ’spect when you come home (re, re, re, re)
Or you’ll be walkin’ far out alone (just a little bit). . . .
Swarthmore Folk -87- Alumni Songbook
Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you,
Away, you rolling river.
Shenandoah, I long to see you
Away, we’re bound away ’cross the wide Missouri.
Oh, Shenandoah, I love your daughter
Away, you rolling river.
Oh Shenandoah, I love your daughter
Away, we’re bound away ’cross the wide Missouri
Oh, Shenandoah, I’m bound to leave you,
Away, you rolling river.
Oh Shenandoah, I’m bound to leave you
Away, we’re bound away ’cross the wide Missouri
Oh, Shenandoah, I’ll not deceive you
Away, you rolling river.
Oh Shenandoah, I’ll not deceive you
Away, we’re bound away ’cross the wide Missouri
For seven years, I’ve been a rover
Away, you rolling river.
For seven years, I’ve been a rover
Away, we’re bound away ’cross the wide Missouri
But I’ll return to be your lover
Away, you rolling river.
But I’ll return to be your lover
Away, we’re bound away ’cross the wide Missouri
Shenandoah
I gave my love a cherry that has no stone,
I gave my love a chicken that has no bone,
I gave my love a ring that has no end,
I gave my love a baby with no cryin’ .
How can there be a cherry that has no stone?
How can there be a chicken that has no bone?
How can there be a ring that has no end?
How can there be a baby with no cryin’?
The Riddle Song (I Gave My Love a Cherry)
(Traditional. This version is from the Kentucky mountains. An earlier version was discovered in a 15th-Century manuscript.)
Swarthmore Folk -88- Alumni Songbook
A cherry, when it’s blooming, it has no stone,
A chicken when it’s pipping, it has no bone,
A ring when it’s rolling, it has no end,
A baby when it’s sleeping, has no cryin’ .
St. James Inrmary
(One of many versions of this American blues song, which, like “The Streets of Laredo,” evolved from the
1790s Irish song, “The Unfortunate Rake.”)
I went down to St. James Inrmary;
Saw my baby there.
She was stretched out on a long white table,
So cold, so sweet, so sweet, so fair.
Let her go, let her go, God bless her,
Wherever she may be.
She can search this whole wide world over;
She won’t ever nd another man like me.
When I die, bury me in straight-laced shoes,
A box-backed suit and a Stetson hat;
Put a 20-dollar gold piece on my watch chain
So the boys will know I died standin’ pat
Folks, now that you have heard my story,
Say, boy, hand me another shot of that booze;
If anyone should ask you,
Tell ’em I’ve got those St. James Inrmary blues.
She’ll Be Comin’ ’Round the Mountain
(Secular song based on the old-time African American spiritual “When the Chariot Comes”
according to Carl Sandburg’s The American Songbag [1927] or on the folk hymn “Old Ship of
Zion” according to Alan Lomax’s The Folk Songs of North America [1960]. The song was sung
by railroad work gangs in the midwest in the 1890s. It’s now usually sung as a children's song,
often in call-and-response style, with responses that add on to the previous verse.)
She’ll be comin’ ’round the mountain when she comes (toot toot!).
She’ll be comin’ ’round the mountain when she comes (toot toot!).
She’ll be comin’ ’round the mountain, she’ll be comin’ ’round the mountain,
She’ll be comin’ ’round the mountain when she comes (toot toot!).
Similarly:
She’ll be drivin’ six white horses when she comes (whoa back!) . . . .
She’ll be drivin’ six white horses when she comes (whoa back! toot toot!).
Oh, we’ll all go out to meet her when she comes (“Hi, babe!”) . . . .
We’ll all go out to meet her when she comes (“Hi, babe!” whoa back! toot toot!).
We will kill the old red rooster when she comes (hack hack), . . .
And we’ll all have chicken and dumplings when she comes
(yum yum! hack hack, “Hi babe!” whoa back! toot toot!).
She’ll be wearing red pajamas when she comes (scratch scratch) . . . .
She’ll be wearing red pajamas when she comes
(scratch scratch, yum yum! hack hack, “Hi babe!” whoa back! toot toot!).
She will have to sleep with Grandpa when she comes (snore snore) . . . .
She will have to sleep with Grandpa when she comes (snore snore,
scratch scratch, yum yum! hack hack, “Hi babe!” whoa back! toot toot!).
Swarthmore Folk -89- Alumni Songbook
The Ship Titanic
(One of many songs about the 1912 disaster.
Tune, “Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane)
Oh, they built the ship Titanic to sail the ocean blue
And they thought they had a ship that the water would never go through
But the Lord’s almighty hand said that ship would never land
It was sad when that great ship went down
Chorus:
Oh, it was sad, Lord, sad; it was sad, Lord, sad
It was sad when the great ship went down, to the bottom of the …
Husbands and wives, little children lost their lives
It was sad when that great ship went down.
Oh, they sailed from Engl-and, and not very far from shore
When the rich refused to associate with the poor
So they sent them down below, where they’d be the rst to go
It was sad when that great ship went down
Chorus:
The boat was about to sink, and the sides about to burst,
When the captain shouted, “Women and children rst!”
Oh, the captain tried to wire, but the lines were all on re
It was sad when that great ship went down
Chorus:
Oh, they swung the lifeboats out o’er the deep and raging sea
When the band struck up with “Nearer My God to Thee”
Little children wept and cried as the waves swept o’er the side
It was sad when that great ship went down
Chorus:
Swarthmore Folk -90- Alumni Songbook
Sloop John B
(The Beach Boys’ 1965 arrangement of a traditional Bahamian folk song, “The John B. Sails,” which was transcribed in
1916 by Richard Le Gallienne; a version is in Carl Sandburg’s 1927 collection of folk songs, The American Songbag.)
We come on the sloop John B
My grandfather and me
Around Nassau town we did roam
Drinking all night, got into a ght
Well, I feel so broke up, I wanna go home
Chorus:
So hoist up the John B’s sail
See how the mainsail sets
Call for the Captain ashore and let me go home
Let me go home. I wanna go home
Well, I feel so broke up, I wanna go home
The rst mate he got drunk
He broke in the Captain’s trunk
The constable had to come and take him away
Sheri Johnstone, why don’t you leave me alone?
Well, I feel so broke up, I wanna go home
Chorus:
The poor cook he caught the ts
And threw away all my grits
And then he took and he ate up all of my corn
Let me go home. Why don’t they let me go home?
This is the worst trip I’ve ever been on
Chorus:
Swarthmore Folk -91- Alumni Songbook
Swing Low, Sweet Chariot
(African-American spiritual by Wallace Willis, 1840s)
Chorus (after each verse):
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home
Swing low, sweet chariot
Coming for to carry me home.
I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Coming for to carry me home?
A band of angels coming after me
Coming for to carry me home.
Similarly:
If you get there before I do . . .
Tell all my friends I’m coming too . . .
I’m sometimes up and I’m sometimes down . . .
But still my soul feels heavenly bound . . .
Streets of Laredo (Cowboy’s Lament)
As I walked out on the streets of Laredo,
As I walked out in Laredo one day,
I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen,
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.
“I see by your outt that you are a cowboy”
These words he did say as I boldly stepped by,
“Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story,
I was shot in the breast and 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 down to the dram-house
and then to the card house
Got shot in the breast, I am dying today.”
“Oh, beat the drum slowly and play the fe lowly,
Play the Dead March as you carry me along,
Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o’er me
For I’m a young cowboy
and I know I’ve done wrong.”
“Let sixteen gamblers come handle my con,
Let sixteen cowboys come sing me a song,
Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o’er me
For I’m a poor cowboy and I know I’ve done wrong.”
“Get six jolly cowboys to carry my con,
Get six pretty maidens to carry my pall,
Put bunches of roses all over my con,
Put roses to deaden the clods as they fall.”
“Go bring me a cup, a cup of cold water
To cool my parched lips,” the cowboy said;
Before I returned, the spirit had left him
And gone to its Maker—the cowboy was dead.
We beat the drum slowly and played the fe lowly,
And bitterly wept as we bore him along,
For we all loved our comrade,
so brave, young and handsome,
We all loved our comrade
although he’d done wrong.
Today
(Randy Sparks, 1964)
Chorus:
Today while the blossoms
still cling to the vine
I’ll taste your strawberries,
I’ll drink your sweet wine.
A million tomorrows shall all pass away
Ere I forget all the joy that is mine today.
I’ll be a dandy, and I’ll be a rover.
You’ll know who I am
by the song that I sing.
I’ll feast at your table, I’ll sleep in your clover.
Who cares what tomorrow shall bring.
Chorus
I can’t be contented with yesterday’s glory.
I can’t live on promises, winter to spring.
Today is my moment, and now is my story.
I’ll laugh and I’ll cry and I’ll sing.
Chorus
Swarthmore Folk -92- Alumni Songbook
One time in Alexandria,
in wicked Alexandria,
Where nights were wild
with revelry,
and life was but a game.
There lived, so the report is, an
adventuress and courtesan,
The pride of Alexandria,
and Thaïs was her name.
Nearby in peace and piety,
avoiding all society,
There dwelt a band of holy men
who’d build a refuge there,
And in the desert solitude
they spurned all earthly folly to
Devote their lives to holy works,
to fasting and to prayer.
Now one monk whom I
solely mention
of this group of holy men
Was known as Athanael,
he was famous near and far.
At fasting bouts
or prayer with him,
no other could
compare with him;
At grand and lofty praying
he could do the course in par.
One day while sleeping heavily
(from wrestling with the devil, he
Had gone to bed exhausted
while the sun was shining still);
He had a vision Freudian,
and though he was
annoyed, he an-
alyzed it in the well-known style
of doctors Jung and Brill.
He dreamed of Alexandria,
of wicked Alexandria,
A crowd of men were cheering
in a manner rather rude,
As Thaïs who was dancing there,
and Athanael glancing there,
Observed her do the shimmy
in what artists call the nude.
Said he, “This dream fantastical
disturbs my thoughts monastical.
Some unsuppressed desire, I fear,
has found my monkish cell;
I blushed up to the hat o’ me
to view that girl’s anatomy.
I’ll go to Alexandria
and save her soul from Hell.”
So, pausing not to wonder where
he’d put his summer underwear,
He quickly packed
his evening clothes,
his toothbrush, and a vest.
To guard against exposure, he
threw in some woollen hosiery,
And bidding all the
boys good-bye,
he started on his quest.
The monk, though warned
and fortied,
was deeply shocked
and mortied,
To nd on his arrival
wild debauchery in sway.
While some lay in a stupor sent
by booze of more than
two per cent,
The others were behaving
in a most immoral way.
Said he to Thaïs, “Pardon me,
although this job is hard on me,
I got to put you wise to what
I came down here to tell.
What’s all this sousin’
getting you?
Cut out this pie-eyed retinue.
Let’s hit the road together, kid,
and save your soul from Hell.”
Although this bold
admonishment
caused Thaïs some astonishment,
She coyly answered, “Say,
you said a heaping mouthful, Bo.
This burg’s a frost, I’m telling you,
the brand of hooch they’re
selling you
Ain’t like the stu we used to get,
so let’s pack up and go.”
So forth from Alexandria,
from wicked Alexandria,
Across the desert sands they go,
beneath the blazing sun,
Till Thaïs, parched and sweltering,
nds refuge in the sheltering
Seclusion of a convent
in the habit of a nun.
But now the monk is terried
to nd his fears are veried;
His holy vows of chastity
have cracked beneath the strain.
Like one who has a jag on, he
cries out in grief and agony,
“I’d sell my soul to see her
do the shimmy once again.”
Alas, his pleadings clamorous,
though passionate and amorous,
Have come too late—
the courtesan
has danced her nal dance.
Says he, “Now that’s a joke on me
for that there dame to
croak on me,
I hadn’t oughter passed her up
the time I had the chance.”
Thaïs
(Lyrics by Newman Levy in Opera Guyed, 1923, Alfred A. Knopf. Music, anon.)
The Times They Are a-Changin'
(Bob Dylan
, 1963
)
Come gather ’round people
Wherever you roam
And admit that the waters
Around you have grown
And accept it that soon
You’ll be drenched to the bone
If your time to you is worth savin’
Then you better start swimmin’
or you’ll sink like a stone
For the times they are a-changin’
Come writers and critics
Who prophesize with your pen
And keep your eyes wide
The chance won’t come again
And don’t speak too soon
For the wheel’s still in spin
And there’s no tellin’ who that it’s namin’
For the loser now will be later to win
For the times they are a-changin’
Come senators, congressmen
Please heed the call
Don’t stand in the doorway
Don’t block up the hall
For he that gets hurt
Will be he who has stalled
There’s a battle outside and it’s ragin’
It’ll soon shake your windows and rattle your walls
For the times they are a-changin’
Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don’t criticize
What you can’t understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is rapidly agin’
Please get out of the new one
if you can’t lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin’
The line it is drawn
The curse it is cast
The slow one now
Will later be fast
As the present now
Will later be past
The order is rapidly fadin’
And the rst one now will later be last
For the times they are a-changin’
Swarthmore Folk -93- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -94- Alumni Songbook
Wabash Cannonball
(J. A. Ro, 1882; new words by William Kindt, 1904)
From the great Atlantic Ocean to the wide Pacic shore
From the green ol’ Smoky Mountains to the southlands by the shore
She’s mighty tall and handsome and she’s known quite well by all
She’s the regular combination on the Wabash Cannonball
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Listen to the jingle, the rumble and the roar
As she glides along the woodland, through the hills and by the shore
Hear the mighty rush of the engine, hear the lonesome hoboes call
You’re traveling through the jungles on the Wabash Cannonball
Our eastern states are dandy, so the people always say
From New York to St. Louis with Chicago by the way
From the hills of Minnesota where the rippling waters fall
No changes can be taken on the Wabash Cannonball
Now here’s to Daddy Claxton, may his name forever stand
And always be remembered through the courts throughout the land
His earthly race is over, now the curtains ’round him fall
We’ll carry him home to victory on the Wabash Cannonball
Twelve Gates to the City
(African-American spiritual, adapted from Revelation 21.
This version is one of many.)
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Oh, what a beautiful city
Oh, what a beautiful city
Oh, what a beautiful city
There’s twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
Three gates in the East, three gates in the West
Three gates in the North, three gates in the South
That makes twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
Walk right in, you’re welcome to the city
Step right up, welcome to the city
Walk right through those gates to the city
There are twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
Who are those children all dressed in red?
There are twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
Must be the children that Moses led
There are twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
Rich and the poor, welcome to the city
Young and the old, welcome to the city
Weak and the strong, welcome to the city
There are twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
(Chorus 2x)
When I rst came to this land, I was not a wealthy man
So I got myself a shack, I did what I could
And I called my shack, “Break my back”
But the land was sweet and good, I did what I could
When I rst came to this land, I was not a wealthy man,
So I got myself a farm, I did what I could
And I called my farm, “Muscle in my arm”
And I called my shack, “Break my back”
But the land was sweet and good, I did what I could
Similarly:
cow, “No milk now”
horse, “Lame of course”
duck, “Out of luck”
dog, “What a hog”
wife, “Run for your life”
son, “My work’s done”
When I First Came to This Land
(Words translated by Oscar Brand in 1948
from an old Pennsylvania Dutch song)
Twelve Gates to the City
(African-American spiritual, adapted from Revelation 21.
This version is one of many.)
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
Oh, what a beautiful city
Oh, what a beautiful city
Oh, what a beautiful city
There’s twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
Three gates in the East, three gates in the West
Three gates in the North, three gates in the South
That makes twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
Walk right in, you’re welcome to the city
Step right up, welcome to the city
Walk right through those gates to the city
There are twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
Who are those children all dressed in red?
There are twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
Must be the children that Moses led
There are twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
Rich and the poor, welcome to the city
Young and the old, welcome to the city
Weak and the strong, welcome to the city
There are twelve gates to the city, Hallelujah!
(Chorus 2x)
Swarthmore Folk -95- Alumni Songbook
Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong
Under the shade of a coolabah tree,
And he sang as he watched and
waited 'til his billy boiled
"You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me."
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me"
And he sang as he watched and
waited 'til his billy boiled,
"You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me."
Down came a jumbuck
to drink at that billabong,
Up jumped the swagman
and grabbed him with glee,
And he sang as he shoved that
jumbuck in his tucker bag,
"You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me."
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
“You’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me”
And he sang as he shoved that
jumbuck in his tucker bag,
“You’ll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me.”
Up rode the squatter,
mounted on his thoroughbred,
Down came the troopers, one, two, three,
"Where's that jolly jumbuck
you've got in your tucker bag?"
"You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me."
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me"
"Where's that jolly jumbuck
you've got in your tucker bag?"
"You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me."
Up jumped the swagman
and sprang into the billabong,
"You'll never take me alive," said he,
And his ghost may be heard as
you pass by that billabong,
"You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me."
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me"
And his ghost may be heard as
you pass by that billabong,
"You'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me.
Oh, you'll come a-waltzing, Matilda, with me."
Waltzing Matilda
(Words, Banjo Patterson, 1887. Tune, Christina Macpherson)
The water is wide, I cannot get o’er
Neither have I wings to y
Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I
A ship there is and she sails the sea
She’s loaded deep as deep can be
But not so deep as the love I’m in
I know not if I sink or swim
I leaned my back against an oak
Thinking it was a trusty tree
But rst it bent and then it broke
So did my love prove false to me
I reached my hand into some soft bush
Thinking the fairest ower to nd
I pricked my nger to the bone
And left the fairest ower behind
The Water is Wide
Oh love be handsome and love be kind
Gay as a jewel when rst it’s new
But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like the morning dew
When cockle shells turn silver bells
Then will my love come back to me
When roses bloom in winter’s gloom
Then will my love return to me
(Repeat rst verse)
Swarthmore Folk -96- Alumni Songbook
We Shall Not Be Moved
(Adapted from old gospel hymn “I Shall Not Be Moved”
by African-American textile workers in North Carolina during the 1920s.
This version was rst sung in 1931 by members of the West Virginia Miner’s Union.)
Chorus, repeated after each verse:
We shall not, we shall not be moved
We shall not, we shall not be moved
Just like a tree that’s standing by the water
We shall not be moved.
The union is behind us, we shall not be moved
The union is behind us, we shall not be moved
Just like a tree that’s standing by the water
We shall not be moved.
Similarly:
We’re black and white together,
we shall not be moved . . .
We’ll stand and ght together . . .
We’re ghting for our freedom . . .
We’ll build a mighty union . . .
We’re young and old together . . .
We’re ghting for our children . . .
(Other opening lines can be added)
The Hamburg Show Song
Thought by many to be a song written about the annual Hamburg Show at Swarthmore, the song printed above is a
version of one that appears in the novel One Man’s Initiation — 1917 by John dos Passos (New York: Doran, 1922),
on Page 16.
Another version of the song, “The Wild West Show,” is
widely sung by British rugby clubs as part of a bawdy
comedy routine, which can be found on YouTube.
Is this athletic connection related to the fact that the
annual Hamburg Show at Swarthmore was sponsored by
KWINK, the Society of Men’s Athletic Team Managers?
On Page 12 of the novel, it appears with “bound for” instead of “going to” in the rst line. That version was copied in the
Crum Creek Hymnal, which was compiled and printed in the week between written and oral Honors exams in 1965.
Oh, we’re going to the Hamburg Show,
See the lion and the wild kangaroo,
And we’ll all stick together
In fair or stormy weather
’Cause we’re going to see the whole thing through!
We are o to see the Wild West show
With the elephants and the kangaroos
No matter what the weather
As long as we’re together
We’re o to see the Wild West show.
Oh we’re going to the Hamburg show
To see the elephant and the wild kangaroo,
And we’ll all stick together
In fair or foul weather,
For we’re going to see the damn show through!
For Civil Rights version, see Page 58.
There were three gypsies a-come to my door
And downstairs ran this lady-o
One sang high and another sang low
And the other sang bonny bonny Biscay-o
Then she pulled o her silk nished gown
And put on hose of leather-o
The ragged ragged rags about our door
And she’s gone with the wraggle taggle gypsies-o
It was late last night when my lord came home
Inquiring for his lady-o
The servants said on every hand
“She’s gone with the wraggle taggle gypsies-o!”
“Oh, saddle to me my milk-white steed
And go and fetch my pony-o
That I may ride and seek my bride
Who is gone with the wraggle taggle gypsies-o”
Oh, he rode high and he rode low
He rode through wood and copses too
Until he came to a wide open eld
And there he espied his a-lady-o
The Wraggle Taggle Gypsies
“What makes you leave your house and land
What makes you leave your money-o
What makes you leave your new-wedded lord
To follow the wraggle taggle gypsies-o?”
“What care I for my house and land
What care I for my money-o
What care I for my new-wedded lord
I’m o with the wraggle taggle gypsies-o!”
“Last night you slept on a goosefeather bed
With sheet turned down so bravely-o
Tonight you’ll sleep in a cold open eld
Along with the wraggle taggle gypsies-o”
“What care I for my goosefeather bed
With the sheet turned down so bravely-o
For tonight I shall sleep in a cold open eld
Along with the wraggle taggle gypsies-o!”
Swarthmore Folk -97- Alumni Songbook
When the Saints Go Marching In
(Traditional African-American spiritual, with new intro and bridge by The Weavers, 1951;
last four verses by Peter Blood, 1976.)
Introduction:
We are trav’ling in the footsteps
Of those who’ve gone before
But we’ll all be reunited (But if we stand reunited)
On a new and sunlit shore (Then a new world is in store)
Oh, when the saints go marching in
When the saints go marching in
Oh, Lord, I want to be in that number
When the saints go marching in
Similarly:
And when the sun refuse (begins) to shine . . .
When the moon turns red with blood . . .
On that hallelujah day . . .
Oh, when the trumpet sounds the call . . .
Bridge:
Some say this world of trouble
Is the only one we need
But I’m waiting for that morning
When the new world is revealed
Oh, when the new world is revealed . . .
When the revelation (revolution) comes . . .
When the rich go out and work . . .
When the air is pure and clean . . .
When we all have food to eat . . .
When our leaders learn to cry . . .
When the Ship Comes in
(Bob Dylan, 1963)
Oh, the time will come up when the winds will stop
And the breeze will cease to be breathin’
Like the stillness in the wind
before the hurricane begins
The hour that the ship comes in.
Oh, the seas will split, and the ship will hit,
And the sands on the shoreline will be shakin’.
Then the tide will sound, and the waves will pound,
And the morning will be a-breakin’.
Oh, the shes will laugh as they swim out of the path,
And the seagulls they’ll 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 on the bottom of the ocean.
A song will lift as the mainsail shifts
And the boat drifts onto the shoreline,
And the sun will respect every face on the deck,
The hour that the ship comes in.
Then 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 foes will rise with the sleep still in their eyes,
And they’ll jerk from their beds
and think they’re dreamin’,
But they’ll pinch themselves and squeal and
they’ll know that it’s for real,
The hour that the ship comes in.
Then they’ll raise their hands, sayin’
“We’ll meet all your demands”
But we’ll shout from the bow
“Your days are numbered!”
And like Pharaoh’s tribe,
they’ll be drownded in the tide,
And like Goliath, they’ll be conquered.
You Are My Sunshine
(Attributed to Jimmie Davis, who bought the
rights from the actual author, Paul Rice, 1939.
As recorded by Jimmie Davis, 1940)
The other night, dear, as I lay sleeping,
I dreamed I held you in my arms.
But when I woke, dear, I was mistaken,
And I hung my head and cried.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are grey.
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.
I’ll always love you and make you happy
If you will only say the same,
But if you leave me to love another,
You’ll regret it all someday.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are grey.
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.
You told me once, dear, you really loved me,
That no one else could come between,
But now you’ve left me and love another.
You have shattered all my dreams.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are grey.
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.
Swarthmore Folk -98- Alumni Sonbook
appendix A
In memory of Roger Abrahams ’55
Roger D. Abrahams
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Roger David Abrahams (June 12, 1933 – June 20, 2017)
was an American folklorist whose work focused
on the expressive cultures and cultural histories of
the Americas, with a specic emphasis on African
American peoples and traditions. He was the Hum
Rosen Professor of Humanities Emeritus at the
University of Pennsylvania, where he taught in the
Department of Folklore and Folklife. He was the
author of a large number of books, among which
Everyday Life: A Poetics of Vernacular Practices is a
recent title, and was the founding Director of Penn’s
Center for Folklore and Ethnography, a research and
public outreach unit associated with the Department
of Folklore and Folklife.
Education and career
Abrahams was one of three children born to Robert
D. Abrahams and Florence Kohn Abrahams, in
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. His education included
Swarthmore College in Swarthmore, Pennsylvania,
where he obtained a B.A. with Honors in English in
1955; Columbia University in New York, where he
obtained a M.A. with Honors in Literature and Folklore
in 1959; and the University of Pennsylvania, where he
obtained a Ph.D. in Literature and Folklore in 1961.
Abrahams’ career began almost immediately after he
obtained his Ph.D., rst at the University of Texas as
instructor (1960–63), assistant professor (1963–66),
and then associate professor (1966–69) in the
Department of English. He became a full professor in
1969 in the departments of English and Anthropology
and remained there for ten years. While a professor,
he also served for two years beginning in 1968 as
the Associate Director for the Center for Intercultural
Studies in Folklore and Oral History and for ve years
beginning in 1974 as department chairman. From
Texas he moved to Scripps College and Pitzer College
in Claremont, California, where he was Alexander H.
Kenan Professor of Humanities and Anthropology
for six years. In 1986 he returned to the University of
Pennsylvania, where he taught Folklore and Folklife
and was named the Hum Rosen Professor of Folklore
and Folklife, and founded the Center for Folklore and
Ethnography. Upon his retirement in 2002, he was
named professor emeritus.
Research and publications
Abrahams published 21 books and monographs, 60
book chapters and introductions, 64 scholarly articles,
and 10 review articles. He was also published in eight
magazine articles, six encyclopedia and handbook
entries, 25 “notes” sections, and as many as 55 reviews
of his work were published by other authors. His
books include: Everyday Life: A Poetics of Vernacular
Practices (2005), The Man-of-Words in the West Indies:
Performance and Emergence of Creole Culture (1983),
Blues for New Orleans: Mardi Gras and America’s Creole
Soul, coauthored with Nick Spitzer, John Szwed,
and Bob Thomson (2006); and And Other Neighborly
Names: Social Process and Cultural Image in Texas
Folklore, coauthored with Richard Bauman (2011).
Most of Abrahams’ texts were dedicated to his study
of African-American and Caribbean culture. Most
notable were African Folktales (1983), African-American
Folktales: Stories from Black Traditions in the New
World (1999), After Africa and Singing the Master: The
Emergence of African-American Culture in the Plantation
South (1992). His research interests included folksongs
and ballads from various cultures, numerous forms of
African-American folklore, West Indian folklore, riddle
study, proverbs, children’s folklore, and festival and
ritual.
Honors
Abrahams was a Fellow of the American Folklore
Society and served as its president in 1979. He was
awarded the society’s Kenneth Goldstein Award for
Lifetime Academic Leadership in 2005. In 1965, he
received a Guggenheim Fellowship.
References
Grimes, William (June 29, 2017). “Roger D. Abrahams,
Folklorist Who Studied African-American Language, Dies at
84”. The New York Times.
Abrahams, Roger D. (2005) Everyday Life: A Poetics of
Vernacular Practices. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press.
Swarthmore Folk -99- Alumni Songbook
How many people can date the exact moment in
which their lives were changed? Ralph and I were
to muse about such a moment many times over
the next decades. As students at Swarthmore
College in the early fties, and as music junkies,
we were involved in as many dierent kinds of
music as were on oer on campus. In the spring
every year, Swarthmore had a Folk Festival, a
weekend aair that centered on a concert and a
square dance. The second year I was there, Pete
Seeger was the man. Already the McCarthy era
was in full sway, and the word of the blacklist was
out, and Pete was on it. The Weavers had been
forced out of the nightclub business, and Pete
was back doing concerts. He was a hero who
lived up to his advance billing.
As so many have noticed, he is his banjo,
stretched-neck, legs apart, head lifted to the
skies, demanding nothing but total involvement
in life and the experience of the moment. He
asked of everyone whether they would not sing
together and bear the consequences of such a
brotherly act. He demanded that everyone think
about what we were singing, and act upon what
we had to think about the issues to which the
songs responded.
I was sitting there with Ralph, and we turned to
each other at the intermission and decided that
we would go looking for our banjos the next
day. Not that Pete was preaching that everyone
should play and sing for themselves or even each
other: this was music with meaning, telling of the
sorrows and problems of lives lived on the edge
of poverty and social indierence.
Singing these songs involved a commitment to
the people who had made them or kept them
alive through lives of struggle. I think I could
dredge up every song he sang that night and in
what order, and what he had to say about them.
I know he began with “Sourwood Mountain”
moving it into “Ida Red,” showing us that the
banjo was more than just an instrument to
strum behind songs. I remember “John Hardy”
the long-lost lover, and “John Henry” who beat
the steamdrill down, “Wimoweh” and “Sixteen
Tons” and the stories about hard times in
Harlan County, and Merle Travis and Aunt Molly
Jackson and her brother Jim Garland who took
those experiences and made hard-time songs
out of them. He brought songs and the act of
singing together to high pitch, but he also made
everyone want to meet these singers to hear
them up close, talking and testifying in their
songs and stories.
If Pete was leading the singing-dancing throng
for student audiences all over the country, Pete’s
half-siblings Mike and Peggy showed up at the
Festival, undoubtedly on Ralph’s urging. The
action spilled out of the auditorium onto the
lawn in front of Parrish Hall. The number of those
coming for the Festival had mushroomed, and
the spirit a lot more focused on everyone getting
a chance to play and sing with each other. A
great many of the new folkies were veterans of
the Sunday melee in Washington Square. Like
Peggy and Mike, they were our age; they told
us and showed us that this was not star stu we
were dealing with but down-to-earth music that
everyone could aspire to play. “Kitchen Music,”
Mike was to call it later.
For the generation that spread throughout the
country searching out more of these songs, it
came to be associated not so much with the
kitchen but with the greater comfort of the parlor
where we were invited to sit by the woodstove,
song-swapping with the great tradition-bearers
of the hills, mountains and the plains. Today,
when those folkies get together, it is not only to
rearm the usefulness of this enterprise, but to
talk about what it was that had us charging in
that direction.
When I went to Swarthmore in 1951, having
already graduated from a ukulele to a four-
stringed guitar, I didn’t nd much of an audience
for the songs I knew because everybody else
Recollections of Ralph Rinzler ’56, Pete Seeger, Mike Seeger, Peggy Seeger,
and the Swarthmore College Folk Festivals, by Roger Abrahams ’55
Swarthmore Folk -100- Alumni Songbook
(Roger Abrahams, continued)
knew them too, and from the same sources.
Everyone wanted to hear unusual and trenchant
folksongs, something from the working sti
or the man on the road, low-down, lonesome,
longway from home. And no four-stringed outt
was going to cut it for me to be taken seriously.
It had to be a real guitar, a six-string aair, so
getting hold of one of them turned into the rst
order of business. I had the Burl Ives recordings
and book, even saw him in “Sing Out, Sweet
Land” in high school, so I knew those songs,
but this gang was way ahead of me, and those
songs were already thought of as worn-out, ones
everyone knew.
So I borrowed or bought whatever could be
gotten in the line of folksong and tried to learn
some new ones. I then waited my turn at the
sing-arounds, hoping that no one would sing the
one I had just worked up. I had one thing going
for me in those days—a big voice. Never one
for subtlety (that was for the girls singing love
ballads), I could sing louder than anyone else.
Thrilled with my little successes, the summer
between my freshman and sophomore years I
went back to Paris to shout wherever audiences
might nd me. Mostly, it turned out to be on the
streets, though that turned a little dicult when
a group of us drew a crowd of evening strollers
and the ics thought a night in jail might just
calm us. A blues singer, Inez Cavanaugh, who
had a nightclub in the student quarter, took pity
on me and gave me an audience if I would agree
not to shout too loud while I was inside.
Coming back from that summer campaign, I had
a lot of war stories to tell, and quite a few new
songs that had come my way. Ralph and I met
that fall—he was in the class behind me—and
we shared a lot of musical interests, Gilbert and
Sullivan, opera, whatever.
When Pete Seeger sang that day at Swarthmore,
Ralph and I sat next to each other. Pete made us
aware that there was a whole world of singers
and their songs out there to be discovered.
“Get yourself a banjo and take to the road and
experience the playing and the singing of these
great American forms of expression.” Failing
that, get some old records of country singers like
Uncle Dave Macon and learn about other good-
time music from them.
As a native Philadelphian, I knew where the
best pawn shops were, so the next day I took
the Media, Wawa and West Chester local into
town, went to South Street, and picked up a
few instruments and bore them in state to the
campus. Ralph was not happy with the huge
fretless, over-decorated jobby that I had picked.
We soon discovered some of the records that
would lead us to the heart of this mysterious
universe. Between us, we already had copies of
those Library of Congress recordings that were
rst issued on 78s, and we found that they had
been reissued on long-playing discs, then coming
into sway.
Visiting New York and hooking up with a friend
from my Paris summers, Dick Singer, I always
caught up with the latest folk recordings. Dick
worked at Sam Goody’s, so he had rst look
at the new recordings being issued. This trip
he was wearing a shit-eating grin when we
connected, and so I asked what the occasion was.
He said that he had kept aside a new issue from
Folkways. He handed me a six-LP, three-volume
set which had been pulled together by Harry
Smith with a book within that deed description.
It looked as if it were mimeographed, but there
were images pasted in and a dippy, Zen overview
of the material. Harry Smith had been one of
those strange characters who hung around the
Village with the Beatnik crowd, but who showed
up every once in a while at folksong events.
After college, Ralph and I kept in touch, seeing
each other at the Festival in ’57, and various
concerts and meetings on the East Coast. One
weekend, we decided to drive up to Boston and
look in on Peggy at the house called Old Joe
Swarthmore Folk -101- Alumni Songbook
(Roger Abrahams, continued)
Clark’s. On the way back, we were exhausted,
sharing the driving, and Ralph, to his immense
chagrin, drove into the back of a car at a toll
booth.
Both of us were involved in singing, collecting,
and studying old-time performances.
In the middle 1950s, Greenwich Village was
the center of operations for folkniks, and from
there we made forays both to sing on college
campuses and in coee houses around the
country, and to search for old singers to learn
about their music from them. When I moved
there in 1957 I found myself in the middle of a
folksinging throng, all the singers who found
their way to the circle in Washington Square
every Sunday and then to the house at 190
Spring Street where I was bunking, in what is
now SoHo, for the song-swap that had turned
into a weekly event. Many of those I rst met
at the Swarthmore Festival came there to trade
songs and to catch up with old friends.
Many other of the songs widely sung by folkniks
made their way onto popular folksong records
between 1955 and 1964, as one group after
another followed the success of The Weavers.
One of these songs, “Freight Train,” had special
meaning for the singers of the Revival, as it had
been taught to Peggy and Mike Seeger by Libba
Cotton, a woman who had worked for their
parents as they were growing up. Libba Cotton
was a singer of great presence, who played the
guitar left-handed in the nger-picking style
widely found in the area of Carrboro, North
Carolina, where she grew up. Thus, it was
not only the song that had such an impact,
but the style in which she played it, for the
gured alternation of base and treble notes in
syncopation became one of the most important
ways in which folksingers developed their
musical abilities.
In fact, for many of us of my generation, that was
how we learned to ngerpick. We heard Peggy or
Mike sing it someplace, listened closely, fumbled,
bumbled, nally got the alternation and pulse,
if not the aecting musicality. Ralph Rinzler, of
course, had learned it already, and he was able to
tell when we were going down the road too long.
For those sweet singers of my generation, Peggy
and Mike were more important than anyone else.
For sheer musicality, and passion about the uses
to which music might be put, well . . . .
And taking up for the overlooked and the
underserved, ditto. Mike’s espousal of all the
forgotten musics out there called our attention to
the kind of commitment needed to really be an
active member of the Folksong Revival—though
as Mike is given to saying, “What folksong revival?
They’ve been here all the time. We just have to
learn to play and sing them right.”
Excerpted from a longer manuscript, May 2009.
Ralph Rinzler died on July 2, 1994.
Mike Seeger died on August 7, 2009.
Pete Seeger died on January 27, 2014.
Peggy Seeger turned 82 on June 17, 2017.
Roger Abrahams died on June 20, 2017.
Swarthmore Folk -102- Alumni Songook
appendix B
In memory of Paul Booth ‘64
Paul R. Booth
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Paul Booth (June 7, 1943 – January 17, 2018) was an ac-
tivist, anti-war protester, and lifelong labor organizer.
Called “one of the labor movement’s key strategists”
by Harold Meyerson and “an organizer’s organizer”
by American Federation of State County and Munici-
pal Employees (AFSCME) President Lee Saunders,
he began his work in labor movement in 1966 as
research director for the United Packinghouse Work-
ers of America. He became an organizing director for
AFSCME where he worked for four decades. Prior to
that, he was a student organizer in the class of 1964,
forming a chapter of the Students for a Democratic
Society (SDS) at Swarthmore and was one of the draft-
ers of the SDS Port Huron Statement. He became the
SDS national secretary for a year, moving to Chicago
in 1965. He was one of the chief organizers of the April
1965 March on Washington to End the War in Vietnam
as part of SDS’s Peace Research and Education Project
which he co-led with Todd Gitlin.
He spoke at the rst day of the Democratic National
Convention in Philadelphia in 2016 after Hillary Clinton
appointed him to serve on the Democratic Party’s
platform drafting committee. He retired from his
position of executive assistant to AFSCME’s President
Saunders in 2017 and continued to write about politi-
cal strategy for the 2018 election. On his retirement
early in 2017, Representative Jan Schakowsky inserted
into the Congressional Record an appreciation of Paul
Booth’s “contributions to the progressive movement
as an activist, organizer, mentor and leader,” praising
the “rich legacy and a lasting record of achievement”
that he would leave behind.
Personal life
Booth grew up in Washington, D.C. His parents were
both Socialist Party members: his mother was a psy-
chiatric social worker and his father was an economist
with the Department of Labor who helped craft So-
cial Security during the Roosevelt administration. He
graduated from Swarthmore College in 1964. He was
married to Heather Booth (née Tobis) in July 1967 and
was interviewed in a documentary about her life. They
had two children, Gene and Dan.
He died January 17, 2018, from complications of chron-
ic lymphocytic leukemia.
Writings
Paul Booth (c. 1965) A Strategy for University Reform.
Students for a Democratic Society. New York. Re-
trieved January 27, 2018.
References
Roberts, Sam (January 18, 2018). “Paul Booth, Antiwar Or-
ganizer and Union Stalwart, Dies at 74”. New York Times.
Retrieved 27 January 2018.
Meyerson, Harold. “Paul Booth, 1943–2018”. The American
Prospect. Retrieved 27 January 2018.
Quinnell, Kenneth. “Union Organizer and Antiwar Activ-
ist Paul Booth Passes at 74”. AFL-CIO. Retrieved 27 January
2018.
“Remembering Paul Booth”. AFSCME Now. American Fed-
eration of State, County and Municipal Employees, AFL–CIO.
Retrieved 27 January 2018.
Manners, Jane. “Joe Hill Goes to Harvard”. The Nation (July
2, 2001). Retrieved 27 January 2018.
“The Port Huron Statement: Still Radical at 50”. In These
Times. April 25, 2012. Archived from the original on 4 May
2012. Retrieved 27 January 2018.
Dreier, Peter. “Paul Booth: An Organizer’s Life”. Beyond
Chron. Retrieved 27 January 2018.
“The March on Washington”. Resistance and Revolution:
The Anti-Vietnam Movement at the University of Michigan
1965-1972. Michigan in the World. Retrieved 27 January
2018.
Booth, Paul. “Building an Enduring Democratic Majority”.
The American Prospect. Retrieved 27 January 2018.
2017 Congressional Record, Vol. 163, Page _
record&position=all&page=E51 E51 (2017-01-11)
Paul Booth, labor leader and antiwar activist, dies at 74,
Washington Post, Harrison Smith, January 19, 2018. Re-
trieved August 14, 2018.
Lilly Rivlin (producer, director), Heather Booth (subject,
interviewee) (2016). “Heather Booth: Changing the World
[documentary lm]”. Just Luck Production. Retrieved 2018-
08-14.
Caneva, Gina. “Heather Booth: Living the Movement Life”.
CWLU Herstory Project. Chicago Women’s Liberation Union.
Retrieved 14 August 2018.
Swarthmore Folk -103- Alumni Songbook
From The New York Times:
Paul Booth, Antiwar Organizer and Union Stalwart, Dies at 74
Paul Booth speaking on the rst day of the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia in 2016.
Credit: Paul Sancya/Associated Press
By Sam Roberts
• Jan. 18, 2018
•
Paul Booth, a leading architect of the rst major march on Washington against the Vietnam War in
1965 and later an inuential union organizer and a vigorous opponent of anti-labor legislation, died
on Wednesday in Washington. He was 74.
His death, apparently of sudden complications of chronic lymphocytic leukemia, was conrmed by
his wife, Heather, also a prominent advocate for liberal social causes. He died the same day Ms. Booth
was arrested at a sit-in on Capitol Hill to support the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program,
known as DACA.
In the mid-1960s, Mr. Booth was a national spokesman for the fractious antiwar group Students for a
Democratic Society.
He also became a leader of the radical Chicago community organizer Saul Alinsky’s movement to help
poor residents of metropolitan neighborhoods and, later, the chief assistant to Gerald W. McEntee,
the president until 2012 of the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees, the
nation’s largest public employee union.
He retired last year as executive assistant to Mr. McEntee’s successor, Lee Saunders.
“Paul was an organizer’s organizer, a man of great generosity and integrity, a friend and mentor to so
many people in AFSCME, the labor movement and the progressive community,” Mr. Saunders said in
an email on Thursday.
Swarthmore Folk -104- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore Folk -105- Alumni Songbook
Mr. Booth lobbied against President George W. Bush’s proposal to privatize Social Security. He also,
with mixed success, resisted eorts by Gov. Scott Walker of Wisconsin to cripple public sector unions.
Mr. Booth told The New York Times last year that service workers were crucial to the survival of the
union movement and to the Democratic Party, which trade unions have provided with money and
manpower.
“The eort to strangle this opportunity has been the top strategic priority of the G.O.P.,” he said.
While union membership has stagnated, Mr. Booth said that millions of health care, personal service,
education and government workers had enrolled in recent decades.
While union membership has stagnated, Mr. Booth said that millions of health care, personal service,
education and government workers had enrolled in recent decades.
“For decades, Paul had been one of the labor movement’s key strategists,” the democratic socialist
columnist Harold Meyerson wrote on Thursday on the website of the liberal magazine The American
Prospect. “Paul devised the nation’s very rst living-wage campaign, helped mastermind the 1995 in-
surgency that ousted the old-line Cold Warriors from the leadership of the A.F.L.-C.I.O., and mentored
scores — perhaps hundreds — of union leaders and organizers, movement activists and elected of-
cials.”
Paul Robert Booth was born on June 7, 1943, in Washington. His father, Philip Booth, worked for the La-
bor Department and drafted Social Security legislation and programs for migrant workers. His mother
was the former Mary Markowitz.
He majored in political science at Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania and graduated in 1964.
In addition to his wife, the former Heather Tobis (whom he had met at a sit-in against the draft at the
University of Chicago), he is survived by two sons, Eugene Victor Booth (named after Eugene V. Debs,
the socialist labor leader) and Daniel Garrison Booth (named for Daniel De Leon, the socialist editor); a
brother, Michael; and ve grandchildren.
Despite his early opposition to the Vietnam War, his campaign to register draft resisters as conscien-
tious objectors and his protests against American banks as “partners in apartheid,” because of their
ties to the South African government, Mr. Booth was considered a moderate by S.D.S. standards.
As the national secretary of S.D.S., he popularized the slogan “Build, Not Burn” to promote civilian pub-
lic service work as an alternative to the military draft.
Unlike some of his more militant colleagues, he also believed that by seeking political oce and sup-
porting candidates and campaigns, he and his fellow leftists could further the organization’s broader
political agenda.
Mr. Booth was a chief organizer of the April 1965 Washington march, during which more than 15,000
protesters paraded from the Washington Monument to the Capitol and picketed the White House. The
march was also supported by Women Strike for Peace and the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Com-
mittee, among other groups.
“We’re really not just a peace group,” Mr. Booth, just 21 at the time, told The Times in 1965. “We are
working on domestic problems — civil rights, poverty, university reform. We feel passionately and an-
grily about things in America, and we feel that a war in Asia will destroy what we’re trying to do here.”
In his book “SDS: The Rise and Development of the Students for a Democratic Society” (1973), Kirkpat-
rick Sale wrote that Mr. Booth’s politics, “which had always been in the careful center of S.D.S., hardly
made him open or responsive to the new, often bizarre, usually romantic, always militant ideas coming
up from under.”
Moreover, Mr. Sale wrote, Mr. Booth’s style, “with a int-sharp mind, a skillful tongue and years of in
Swarthmore Folk -106- Alumni Songbook
ghting experience in political groups, was abrasive to the younger and less sophisticated people
around the oce.”
“The Booth regime, which lasted the entire school year, was the old guard’s last ing,” Mr. Sale con-
cluded.
Another leader of the group, Todd Gitlin, now a journalism and sociology professor at Columbia Uni-
versity, recalled in “The Sixties: Years of Hope, Days of Rage” (1989) that in 1964 Mr. Booth cautioned
that “we must tread delicately on the Vietnam question because lots of S.D.S. people are far from be-
ing for withdrawal.”
Professor Gitlin recalled in an email on Thursday that Mr. Booth had also been one of the authors of a
manifesto that argued for moving into mainstream politics.
“Unfortunately,” Professor Gitlin said, “S.D.S. was moving in dierent directions.”
Mr. Booth joined the labor movement in 1966 as research director for the United Packinghouse Work-
ers of America. He became organizing director for the public employees union and then executive as-
sistant to Mr. McEntee.
“Some labor leaders are bombastic,” Mr. Meyerson wrote in The American Prospect. “Paul was quiet,
ironic, self-eacing, witty, warm, scholarly, and diligent — just the kind of guy who’d crunch the num-
bers to make a point about Latino realignment, whose commitment to a decent future for his nation
was such that he’d research and rewrite from his hospital bed on what the Democrats needed to do to
win in 2018, who could dismiss his own illness as a trie indisposition.”
A version of this article appears in print on Jan. 20, 2018, on Page D6 of the New York edition with the
headline: Paul Booth, Antiwar Figure in 1960s And Key Union Organizer, Dies at 74.
On January 18, 2018, the Executive Director of the National Employmet Law Project posted to her blog:
NELP Mourns the Passing of Paul Booth
by Christine L. Owens
The National Employment Law Project deeply mourns the sudden death last night of Paul Booth, a tireless
advocate and great AFSCME leader who, over a long and visionary career, never stopped ghting for work-
ing people.
Paul and the love of his life, Heather, gave tirelessly of themselves to the unnished business of building a
fairer, more inclusive and progressive nation that will one day deliver on its promise of equality and justice
for all. Their boundless energy and incomparable talents inspired generations of activists, sustained us in
dark periods, enriched all the great movements of their lifetimes, and propelled us all to act. To top it o,
Paul’s eervescence, wicked good humor, and zest for life were infectious, bringing us laughter and joy
even in the most trying moments.
This is one of those moments, and we need him now. Paul Booth was a mensch. We will always love him,
always revere him, and always draw inspiration from his example in our own ght for all working people.
Shortly before his death, Paul reminded friends that although, as Dr. King taught, the moral arc of the uni-
verse bends toward justice, “It’s up to us to do the bending.”
Paul—and Heather—inspired and empowered armies of arc-benders, including many of us at NELP. Like
the two of them—and especially now, in Paul’s memory and honor—we will never stop bending that arc.
This is one of those moments, and we need him now. Paul Booth was a mensch. We will always love him,
always revere him, and always draw inspiration from his example in our own ght for all working people.
Shortly before his death, Paul reminded friends that although, as Dr. King taught, the moral arc of the uni-
verse bends toward justice, “It’s up to us to do the bending.”
Swarthmore Folk -107- Alumni Songbook
Swarthmore College Folk Festivals blossomed almost every spring from 1945 through 1967. By
disseminating folk music and dancing among members of the College community and a large
number of attendees from far and wide, the Festivals were important in helping to spark the urban
folk revival.
In the spirit of the Swarthmore Folk Festivals, a group of alumni interested in the preservation and
presentation of folk culture has been presenting folk music and dance and related events at Alumni
Weekend each year since 1998, with generous support and patient help from the Oce of Alumni
Relations (now the Oce of Alumni and Parent Engagement).
The group, under the banner of “Swarthmore Folk,” welcomes participation of the entire Swarthmore
College community, both in the Alumni Weekend activities and in communications via the
Swarthmore Folk on-line discussion group provided by the Alumni Oce.
Some of those communications, but certainly not all, relate to planning future Alumni Weekend
activities. In addition, noteworthy folk events, publications, recordings, and persons have been
frequent topics of discussion-group messages. Information about subscribing is on Page 110 of
this Songbook.
Publication of a brief history of the Swarthmore College Folk Festivals by Ralph Lee Smith ‘51 in the
March 1997 issue of the Swarthmore College Bulletin was the occasion for starting the Folk Festivals
listserv (the predecessor to the on-line discussion group) and the Alumni Weekend folk activities.
That article, “If I Had a Song … ,” is a valuable historical reference and source of anecdotes. It is
available in the on-line archives of the Bulletin:
<bulletin.swarthmore.edu/bulletin-issue-archive/wp-content/archived_issues_pdf/Bulletin_1997_03.pdf>
After publication of the article, early subscribers to the listserv got together to jam at Alumni
Weekend 1997. They quickly started planning for the following year, with encouragement from
Barbara Haddad Ryan ‘59, then associate vice president for external aairs and head of the Alumni
Oce.
The result was a Folk Festival Reunion at Alumni Weekend 1998, including an exhibit of Folk Festival
memorabilia and a talk by Willa Freeman Grunes ‘47 on “The Swarthmore Folk Scene in the ‘40s,” in
addition to the kinds of events that have characterized Swarthmore Folk programs in subsequent
years. The eorts of Arnold Gessel ’54, the long-time chair of Swarthmore Folk, who died in 2013,
were crucial to the success of those programs.
At various times, Swarthmore Folk programs at Alumni Weekend have included informal singing and
playing, an open mike, a Friday Folk Power lunch and a Sunday breakfast jam, as well as a concert and
a talk or workshop featuring one or more performers with ties to the Swarthmore Folk Festivals. (See
Page 13 of this Songbook for a list of featured performers at the Folk Festivals and in Swarthmore
Folk programs at Alumni Weekend.)
The Friends Historical Library houses the archives of the Swarthmore Folk Festival as part of its
Swarthmore College archives. At Alumni Weekend 2004, Swarthmore Folk presented to the Friends
Historical Library a set of nine compact discs containing historic recordings of folk music performed
at Swarthmore in the 1940s, ‘50s, and ‘60s. A tenth compact disc was added during Alumni Weekend
2005. These recordings came to light as a direct result of alumni becoming aware of the active
interest of Swarthmore Folk through our Alumni Weekend activities.
We hope to see you at future Alumni Weekends and in the on-line discussion group!
Information about Swarthmore Folk
Swarthmore Folk -108- Alumni Songbook
Abdul Abulbul Amir . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
Ain’t Gonna Grieve My Lord No More . . . . . . . . . . 62
Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around . . . . . . . . 54
À la claire fontaine/At the Clear Fountain . . . . . . . . . 60
All Through the Night . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
Alma Mater . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
Amazing Grace . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
Amelia Earhart’s Last Flight. . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . 63
Anne Boleyn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
Arkansas Traveler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
Ashokan Farewell . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
Auld Orange Flute, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
Aunt Rhody . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
Aura Lea . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
Banks of Marble . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Banks of the Ohio . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
Barbara Allen . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Bells of Rhymney, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
Black, Brown and White . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair . . . . . . 64
Bland Brand Blanshard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Blow the Candles Out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
Blow Ye Winds in the Morning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
Blowin’ in the Wind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
Blue-Tail Fly . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
Boll Weevil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
Bourgeois Blues . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
Bring Me Little Water, Sylvie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
By Phi Delt Doors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Capital Ship, A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
Careless Love . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
Chairs to Mend . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
Cigareets and Whiskey and Wild Wild Women . . . 67
Cindy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
Circle Game . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
City of New Orleans . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
Come Follow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
Compromise Song . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Cotton Fields .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Crawdad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
Cryin’ Holy Unto the Lord . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
Dark as a Dungeon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
Delia’s Gone . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 30
Deportee . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21
Desperado . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
Dona Nobis Pacem . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
Don’t Let Your Deal Go Down . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .74
Don’t Send My Boy to Haverford . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4
Don’t You Weep After Me . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74
Do Re Mi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
Down by the Riverside . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
Draft-Dodger Rag . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 44
Eddystone Light . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
Ella’s Song . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
Erie Canal, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
Five Hundred Miles . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
Index of Songs
Freight Train . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
Gedanken Sind Frei, Die . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
Get Up and Go . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
Goin’ Down the Road Feeling Bad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
Golden Vanity, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
Goodnight, Irene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18
Grand Coulee Dam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
Grey Goose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18
Guantánamera . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
Hamburg Show Song, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 96
Hard, Ain’t It Hard . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
Hard Travelin’ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
Hard Travelling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Hey, Ho, Nobody Home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
Hi Ho, Anybody Home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Hineh Ma Tov . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
Hobo’s Lullaby . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
House of the Rising Sun . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
Hush Little Baby . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
I Ain’t Got No Home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
I Ain’t Marchin’ Anymore . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel To Be Free . . . . . . . . . . 55
If I Had a Hammer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
If You Miss Me at the Back of the Bus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56
I’m a Rambler, I’m a Gambler . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
I’ve Been Sexin’ on the Campus . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
I’ve Been Workin’ on the Railroad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
Jesse James . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
Joe Hill . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
Joe Hill’s Last Will . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
John Riley . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
Johnny Has Gone For a Soldier . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80
Keep Your Eyes on the Prize . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
Kentucky Moonshiner . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49
Kisses Sweeter Than Wine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 33
Kookaburra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
Kum Ba Yah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
Ladies’ Auxiliary, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 24
Lady of the Harbor . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
Last Night I Had the Strangest Dream . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Last Thing on My Mind . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
L & N Don’t Stop Here Anymore, The . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
Lion Sleeps Tonight, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Little Darling, Pal of Mine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
Long Black Veil . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
Lydia Pinkham . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
Lyndon Johnson Told the Naation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
Maid on the Shore, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .50
Man Without a Woman, A (Silver Dollar) . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Michael, Row the Boat Ashore . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .84
Midnight Special . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Moorsoldaten, Die . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
New Banks of Marble, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Oh, Freedom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
Oh, How Lovely . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52
Swarthmore Folk -109- Alumni Songook
Oh, Mary, Don’t You Weep . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
Old Beer Bottle, An . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Old Friend . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
On Top of Old Smoky . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
One in Six Have Disappeared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Outside of a Small Circle of Friends . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
Passing Through . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
Pastures of Plenty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
Peat Bog Soldiers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
Philadelphia Lawyer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25
Pick a Bale of Cotton . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Pity the Downtrodden Landlord . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
Peat Bog Soldiers . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35
Poor Ellen Smith . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Power and the Glory, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Pretty Little Baby . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
Pretty Saro . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
Private Enterprise Forever . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Pull Your Shades Down, Marianne. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Puttin’ On the Style . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
Quaker Lover. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Respect . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
Riddle Song (I Gave My Love a Cherry) . . . . . . . . . . 88
Ringing of Revolution, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
Rock Island Line . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Roll On, Columbia . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 26
Rose, Rose, Rose . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
St. James Inrmary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Sacred Seal of Phi Kappa Phi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Scotland’s Burning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Shalom Chaverim . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Shenandoah . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
She’ll Be Comin’ ‘Round the Mountain . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81
Ship Titanic, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
Show Me the Way to Go Home . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Si Me Quieres Escribir . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
Sloop John B . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90
So Long, It’s Been Good to Know Yuh . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Solidarity Forever . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37
Stars of Evening . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
Stepstone . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Stewball . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Streets of Laredo (Cowboy’s Lament) . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Swing Low, Sweet Chariot . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Swingin’ on a Scab . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
Take This Hammer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20
Tell Me Why . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12
Thaïs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92
Theory Boys . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10
There But for Fortune . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
There Is a Tavern in the Town . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
This Land Is Your Land . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
This Little Light of Mine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . 58
This Train Is Bound for Glory . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
Times They Are a-Changin’ , The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
Today . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92
Turn, Turn, Turn . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
Turtle Dove . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
Twelve Gates to the City . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
Union Maid . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . 29
Venezuela . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14
Viva la Quince Brigada . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40
Wabash Cannonball . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
Waist Deep in the Big Muddy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39
Walt Whitman’s Niece . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
Waltzing Matilda . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
Waltzing St. Anselm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
War Story . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
Wasn’t That a Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
Water Is Wide, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
We Shall Not Be Moved . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 58, 96
We Shall Overcome . . . . ‘ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . , . . . . . 41
What’s That I Hear? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
When I First Came to This Land . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
When I’m Gone . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
When the Saints Go Marching In . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
When the Ship Comes In . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98
Where Have All the Flowers Gone . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
Which Side Are You On? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
White Coral Bells . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Wimoweh . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Woke Up This Morning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58
Wraggle Taggle Gypsies, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
Yea, Morals Matter . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
You Are My Sunshine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98
Swarthmore Folk -110- Alumni Songbook
Subscribing to the Swarthmore Folk
On-line Discussion Group
The Oce of Alumni and Parent Engagement maintains electronic discussion groups for
various class years, geographic areas, and anity groups. The Swarthmore Folk discussion
group is one of those anity groups, for alumni interested in folk music and dance and
related activities.
To subscribe, write to Caitlin Halloran Edwards <challor2@swarthmore.edu> in the
Oce of Alumni and Parent Engagement. She will add you to the group and send you
a Welcome message. You may then send messages to the group by addressing them to
<SwarthmoreFolk@swarthmore.edu>.
Please join us on line! We encourage new members of the Swarthmore Folk
discussion group to introduce themselves on line, with a description of their
background and interests related to folk music or dance.
Before March 1, 2016, a Folk Festivals discussion group facilitated communication among
members of Swarthmore Folk. All alumni discussion groups were shut down on March
1, when the vendor of the “Online Community” system went out of business. The new
Swarthmore Folk discussion group was activated on May 9, 2016.
For general information about alumni discussion groups, go to:
<swarthmore.edu/alumni/discussion-groups>
