The Song Collector
The Folk Society meet on Thursday nights
Clear their throats and put their coughs to flight
To sing the dusty cobwebs from the room
A repertoire both in and out of tune
Don't assume a singalong, or worse
This history in song and countless verse
Pays homage to the man who, long ago
Collected all the songs the singers know
Collected all the songs the singers know
Edward Alexander, man of action
Armed only with his reel-to-reel contraption
One hundred years ago in mac and boots
Set out to faithfully preserve the region's roots
And every night in some small village inn
Fortified with fortitude and gin
Mr Alexander, for a shilling
Would thus record your song, if you were willing
Would thus record your song, if you were willing
So word got round, and soon there formed a queue
And the line of willing singers grew and grew
Brass for oohs and aahs? You can't go wrong
When there's someone paying a shilling for a song
When all his tapes are filled up, Edward leaves
There's a history preserved, so he believes
But all the so-called singers back inside
They know they took a city scholar for a ride
They know they took a city scholar for a ride
For they shook the man for every coin he'd got
With words and tunes all made up on the spot
Invented tales not twenty minutes old
So history, like ale, is bought and sold.
The old contraption's packed away and boxed
And a century is marked upon the clock
So tradition holds that Edward's great collection
Is honoured with a weekly resurrection
Honoured with a weekly resurrection
And now the old Society sing the songs
Word for word, and kept where they belong
As once again, they eulogise the past
You can hear the ghosts of history laughing last
You can hear the ghosts of history laughing last
Похожие новости.
Никто Не Сможет Меня Остановить
Настрой крепкий как костюм Тони Старка Так-то, игра в 16 тактов только факты Только так без дешёвых интриг и мата Для меня бодряк как для Папая шпинаты Восемь утра примерно, Нокиа верная Меня будит голосом
S.T.R.E.S.S.
Southern Smoke!!! [Intro: Drake Talking] Yeah. Ren. M.O.F. Haha. It's Drake man. It's Drake man.Yeah Ayo Ren this that gritty shit here man I'ma half to tell them about I been through on this know
Congratulations
[VERSE 1] Black Hearts on my card again At da crib tellin ya girl that we should order in And tell Gee to put his feet up on the automin We jus up against
New Angels Of Promise
New angels of promise (do do do do) We despair We are the dead dreams (oh ho ho ho) We take the blame Take us to the edge of time Take us to the edge
Pure Smokey
Throughout my lifetimes I'd hesitate I'd feel some joy But before I'd show my thanks it became too late But now all the way I want to find the time Stop and say I thank