Lyrics from Heartwood's first album...
Lyrics for some of the songs do not appear below. In these cases, there is a
living author from whom permission to post the lyrics has not yet been received.
(Lyrics can still be emailed to you on request.)
Never Been to Dixie
Slow Train through Georgia
The Warlike Lads of Russia
Flowers in the Snow
Fifty Miles of Elbow Room
Jamie Raeburn
When You and I Were Young, Maggie
The Log Driver's Song
My Nine to Fives Are Over
(Jay Stielstra)
I've never been to Dixie, it don't sound like much to me
Drinkin' too-sweet whiskey and eatin' black-eyed peas
The winters are so warm, they say, you can't tell when it's spring
I've never been to Dixie ‹ I don't think I've missed a thing
I've never seen the Swanee or the Tallahachee bridge
I don't know the Shennandoah or the old Blue Ridge
My home, it's in the northland with the winter ice and snow
I've never been to Dixie, and I don't plan to go
I've never been to Dixie, all I know's what I've been told
The snakes all carry poison and there's trash along the road
But I do like Jimmy Rogers and the old songs of the South
You can tell it by the melody that's slippin' from my mouth
And I will admit affection for the fiddle of Bob Wills...
But I've never been to Texas and I hope I never will
Now I've never seen a Georgia moon, Kentucky or Tennessee
The moon that shines on Michigan is good enough for me
From Maine to Minnesota, well it's not hard to know
Why I've never been to Dixie, and I don't plan to go
Slow Train through Georgia
(Norman Blake)
[permission to post not received]
The Warlike Lads of Russia
(Trad.)
It's when Napoleon Bonaparte to Moscow he went
To take the Russian country his mind was fully bent
To take the Russian country his men were full employed
But those Russians fought so valiantly that Bonie they destroyed
Those warlike lads o' Russia They fought all in one mind
Made Bonaparte to run and leave his troops behind
Those warlike lads o' Russia
They fought all in one mind
Made Bonaparte to run and leave his troops behind
Those Russian lads fought bravely and they drove Napoleon back
That bold Napoleon Bonaparte he soon was sent to pack
The fightin' bein' so fierce, left and right and front and rear
Oh, Damn you all, says Bonaparte, I'll stay no longer here
Away then went poor Bonaparte, as fast as he could run
His armies were surrounded, all his horses men and guns
His wagons and his cannons and his ammunition too
He left them all behind him, oh, what could poor Bony do?
And on then went poor Bonaparte, as fast as he could ride
The Frenchmen all looked after him, sayin' Oh, it hurts our pride
To think he'd lead us up here and then part in such a haste
We never thought we'd see the day when we were so disgraced
Says Bonie, Well it's of me troops there's eighty thousand taken
Ten thousand of me horses and two hundred of me cannon
No more among these Russian lads will I dare make advance
For if I do, I may be sure they'll teach me how to dance
Flowers in the Snow
(Bill Staines)
Who will walk her tonight out in the heather
And who will laugh away the teardrop in her eye
She wants someone to love her forever
But every new love only brings another lie
Empty winds you hear her say
Fickle winds, they shift away
I don't need him in my life for I can fly
But who will walk her tonight out in the heather
And who will laugh away the teardrop in her eye
Who will smile with him when photographs are yellow
And share his memories when they're flowers in the snow
Who will know his mind when all the words are hollow
And help him face the things he never seems to know
It's the road, you hear him say
It's the road and it's my way
I don't need you in my life, now let me go
But who will smile with him when photographs are yellow
And share his memories when they're flowers in the snow
Fifty Miles of Elbow Room
(F.W. McGee)
Twelve hundred miles, its length and breadth
That four-square city stands
Its gem-set walls of jasper shine
They're not made by human hands
One hundred miles its gates are wide
Abundant entrance there
With fifty miles of elbow room
On either side to spare
When the gates swing wide on the other side Just beyond the sunset sea
There'll be room to spare as we enter there
Room for you and room for me
For the gates are wide on the other side
Where the fairest flowers bloom
On the right hand and on the left hand
Fifty miles of elbow room
Sometimes I'm cramped and I'm crowded here
And I long for elbow room
I long to reach for altitude
Where the fairest flowers bloom
It won't be long before I pass
Into that city fair
With fifty miles of elbow room
On either side to spare
Jamie Raeburn
(trad.)
Oh me name is Jamie Raeburn, from Glasgow town I came
My place of habitation I'm forced to leave in shame
From my place of habitation I noo maun gang awa'
Far frae the bonnie hills and dales of Caledonia
It was early in the morning, before the break of day
We were wakkened by the turnkey, who unto us did say
Arise ye hapless convicts, arise ye ane and a'
This is the day ye are to stray from Caledonia
We all arose, put on our clothes, our hearts were filled wi' grief
The friends wha stood aboot the coach could grant us no relief
Our loved ones broken hearted to see us gang awa'
Far frae the bonnie hills and dales of Caledonia
Then farewell, me ain dear mother, I'm vexed for what I've done
I hope none will upcast on you the race that I have run
And I pray the Lord protect you when I am far awa'
For I maun leave the hills and dales o' Caledonia
And farewell, me aged faither, you are the best o' men
And likewise my ain sweetheart, it's Catherine is her name
Nae mair we'll walk by Clyde's clear streams, nor by the Broomielaw
A stranger tae the hills and dales o' Caledonia
But oh, perchance we'll meet again, 'twill only be above
Where hallelujahs will be sung tae Him wha reigns in love
No earthly judge will judge us there, but Him wha rules us a'
Far frae the bonny hills and dales o' Caledonia
When You and I Were Young, Maggie
(words: George W. Johnson;
music: James Austin Butterfield)
I wandered today to the hill, Maggie
To watch the scene below
The creek and the old rusty mill, Maggie
Where we sat in the long, long ago
The green grove is gone from the hill, Maggie Where first the daisies sprung
And the old rusty mill is still, Maggie
Since you and I were young
A city so silent and lone, Maggie
Where the young and the gay and the best
In polished white mansions of stone, Maggie
Have each found a place of rest
It's built where the birds used to play, Maggie And join in the songs that were sung
For we sang just as gay as they, Maggie
When you and I were young
They say I am feeble with age, Maggie
My steps are less spritely than then
My face is a well written page, Maggie
But time alone was the pen
They say I am aged and gray, Maggie The trials of life nearly done
Let us sing of the days that are gone, Maggie
When you and I were young
They say we are aged and gray, Maggie As spray from the white breakers flung
But to me you're as fair as you were, Maggie
When you and I were young
The Log Driver's Song
(Mac Beattie)
There's a valley I know where the tall timbers grow
Where the Ottawa River runs swiftly along
In the spring if you go where the headwaters flow
You can hear this old log driver's song
Yo hey, hip ho, keep the logs on the go Keep 'em rollin' and twistin' and send the spray high
Yo hey, hip ho, to the rapids we'll go
Where the Ottawa River flows by
In the long years gone by when the red pine grew high
Chippewa to Black River, the timber did fall
In the spring of the year when the big drive was near
You could hear the old log driver's call
It's a mighty long tow from De Swisha to Chenault
By Pembroke and Chapeau and then Campbell's Bay
At Portage du Fort we'd stop for a quart
And we'd tune up our fiddles to play
For the valley I yearn, someday I'll return
Where the Ottawa River runs swiftly along
And if I'm still alive, I'll go back on the drive
And I'll sing this old log driver's song
My Nine to Fives Are Over
(Charlie Cares, © 2000)
When I was a lad of seventeen I hired to make the dishes clean
At a little greasy spoon owned by a greasy Mr. B.
He paid just what he had to, but it's work and I was glad to
And the happiest young fool in all the world, why that was me
Six months of Mondays hence with not a change in recompense
And only then did I inquire when I might expect a raise
Well you might expect a million things, you might expect the King of Kings
Whatever you're expecting boy, the suds pays what it pays
I left those dishes dirty, when I left my hands were clean
I left him there just wondering at what these words might mean
I said...
My nine to fives are over, I'll be a ramblin' rover Contentment be my wages and delight my tax and tithe
And my heart will mind the ledger, no more the hours by measure
And to rise and greet the morning, come what may I will be blithe
When I'd reached the age of twenty-three I'd had my fill of poverty
With a higher education in philosophy and debt
And so in desperation I did phone solicitation
A more loathsome occupation's ne'er been conceived of yet
I wakened sleeping babies and received their mothers' curse
I interrupted lovers' trysts and quiet meals and worse
And said...
As a family man of thirty-nine I took to the assembly line
Toiling dawn 'til happy hour, like all the rivetheads
But I might have turned and found the door when they asked, "What are you in for?"
My job was turnin' nuts and that's exactly what I did
One day I called the foreman things that you would not repeat
They quite unceremoniously put me on the street
And I said...
I've haggled, hawked and brokered, acquiesced and mediocred
I've tried to sell my sorry soul when there was scarce demand
When I've hammered, hauled or tinkered I've been blind or I've been blinkered
If I haven't quit some lousy job, why then it's I've been canned
So I'd grab the old guitar and make my way to Church and Main
Where I'd be heard to sing my now habitual refrain
I'd sing...
Now at the age I'd be retiring there's one thing I'm desiring
Never more to punch a scornful clock or to quit the cozy bed
I've made my contribution, let the years be absolution
For the sin of singin' songs instead of sweatin' for my bread
So here's to sleepin' all night long and dreamin' all the day
Though you might be excused for being doubtful when I say
That...
... And to rise and greet the afternoon I will be blithe My nine to fives are over
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