Show me the prison. show me the jail. show me the prisoner whose life has gone stale. and I'll show you, young man,. with so many reasons why,. there but for fortune go you or I..
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In the state of Mississippi many years ago. A boy of 14 years got a taste of southern law. He saw his friend a hanging and his color was his crime. And the blood upon his jacket, left a brand upon his mind.
Show me a prison, show me a jail. Show me a prisoner, man, whose face is growin' pale. And I'll show you a young man with many reasons why. And there but for fortune, may go you or I.
Silent soldiers on a silver screen. Framed in fantasies and dragged in dream. Unpaid actors of the mystery. The mad director knows that freedom will not make you free.
In Portsmouth town. On the eastern shore. Where many a fine ship was born. . The Thresher was built. And the Thresher was launched. And the crew of the Thresher was sworn.
Finger pick the verses, strum chorus. Sailors climb the tree, up the terrible tree. Where are my shipmates have they sunk beneath the sea?. I do not know much, but I know this cannot be.
I've seen rivers red with blood. I've seen valleys filled with mud. I've seen stormy seas that pound upon the shore. I've seen mountains strewn with bones.
The fire-breathing rebels arrive at the party early. Their khaki coats are hung in the closet near the fur. Asking handouts from the ladies, while they criticize the Lords.
From the flat plains of Ohio we drifted out one day. For the southern part of a journey. Underneath the bridge, the Ohio River sang. As we headed for the hills of West Virginia.
Pre>d g d. Lost in the valley of vaults/dolls/oz(? ). G d g d. Fell from the path, it was nobody's fault. Bm a. That I was alone.. D g d. Time dripped from the trees.
Hear the sledges with the bells. Silver bells. What a world of merriment. Their melody foretells. . How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. In the icy air of night.
This is the ballad of Alferd Packer. An infamous guy to the old west. . In the state of Colorado in the year of seventy-four. They crossed the San Juan Mountains growing hungry to the core.
Oh, you tell me that your last good dollar is gone. And you say that your pockets are bare. And you tell me that your clothes are tattered and torn. And nobody seems to care.
If you say all the good times are gone. If you say this rain will keep rainin' on. I'll walk along with my head held high. I'll find a song and I'll sing it to the sky.
It was a used car dealer's election. And the choice was rather small. The boys agreed, "It's the war we need. So there's no president at all". . Here's to Nixon and Agnew.
Who's that coming down the road. A sailor from the sea. He looks a lot like me. I'd know him anywhere, had to stare. . Feathers at his fingertips. A halo 'round his spine.
Sailing over to Vietnam. Southeast Asian Birmingham. Well training is the word we use. Nice word to have in case we lose. Training a million Vietnamese.
It was just a little while ago, I glued my ears to the radio. The announcer was sayin' we'd better beware. A crisis was hanging, a wave up in the air.
Walkin' down to Birmingham. Way down south in Dixie Land. Oh, I thought that I would stop awhile. Take a vacation southern style. . Got some southern hospitality.