Written by
Carl Sandburg |
BAND concert public square Nebraska city.
Flowing and circling dresses, summer-white dresses.
Faces, flesh tints flung like sprays of cherry blossoms.
And gigglers, God knows, gigglers, rivaling the pony whinnies of the Livery Stable Blues.
Cowboy rags and ****** rags.
And boys driving sorrel horses hurl a cornfield laughter at the girls in dresses, summer-white dresses.
Amid the cornet staccato and the tuba oompa, gigglers, God knows, gigglers daffy with life’s razzle dazzle.
Slow good-night melodies and Home Sweet Home.
And the snare drummer bookkeeper in a hardware store nods hello to the daughter of a railroad conductor—a giggler, God knows, a giggler—and the summer-white dresses filter fanwise out of the public square.
The crushed strawberries of ice cream soda places, the night wind in cottonwoods and willows, the lattice shadows of doorsteps and porches, these know more of the story.
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Written by
Andrew Barton Paterson |
I had spent the night in the watch-house --
My head was the size of three --
So I went and asked the chemist
To fix up a drink for me;
And he brewed it from various bottles
With soda and plenty of ice,
With something that smelt like lemon,
And something that seemed like spice.
It fell on my parching palate
Like the dew on a sunbaked plain,
And my system began to flourish
Like the grass in the soft spring rain;
It wandered throughout my being,
Suffusing my soul with rest,
And I felt as I "scoffed" that liquid
That life had a new-found zest.
I have been on the razzle-dazzle
Full many a time since then
But I never could get the chemist
To brew me that drink again.
He says he's forgotten the notion --
'Twas only by chance it came --
He's tried me with various liquids
But oh! they are not the same.
We have sought, but we sought it vainly,
That one lost drink divine;
We have sampled his various bottles,
But somehow they don't combine:
Yet I know when I cross the River
And stand on the Golden Shore
I shall meet with an angel chemist
To brew me that drink once more.
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Written by
Badger Clark |
Wrangle up your mouth-harps, drag your banjo out,
Tune your old guitarra till she twangs right stout,
For the snow is on the mountains and the wind is on the plain,
But we'll cut the chimney's moanin' with a livelier refrain.
_Shinin' 'dobe fireplace, shadows on the wall--_
_(See old Shorty's friv'lous toes a-twitchin' at the call:)_
_It's the best grand high that there is within the law_
_When seven jolly punchers tackle "Turkey in the Straw."_
Freezy was the day's ride, lengthy was the trail,
Ev'ry steer was haughty with a high arched tail,
But we held 'em and we shoved 'em, for our longin' hearts were tried
By a yearnin' for tobacker and our dear fireside.
_Swing 'er into stop-time, don't you let 'er droop!_
_(You're about as tuneful as a coyote with the croup!)_
_Ay, the cold wind bit when we drifted down the draw,_
_But we drifted on to comfort and to "Turkey in the Straw."_
Snarlin' when the rain whipped, cussin' at the ford--
Ev'ry mile of twenty was a long discord,
But the night is brimmin' music and its glory is complete
When the eye is razzle-dazzled by the flip o' Shorty's feet!
_Snappy for the dance, now, fill she up and shoots!_
_(Don't he beat the devil's wife for jiggin' in 'is boots?)_
_Shorty got throwed high and we laughed till he was raw,_
_But tonight he's done forgot it prancin' "Turkey in the Straw."_
Rainy dark or firelight, bacon rind or pie,
Livin' is a luxury that don't come high;
Oh, be happy and onruly while our years and luck allow,
For we all must die or marry less than forty years from now!
_Lively on the last turn! lope 'er to the death!_
_(Reddy's soul is willin' but he's gettin' short o' breath.)_
_Ay, the storm wind sings and old trouble sucks his paw_
_When we have an hour of firelight set to "Turkey in the Straw!"_
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