Song Lyrics

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Slow Horses

1.  Chugging into Glory

1.  Chugging into Glory

He had a diamond ring in his pocket
Don't talk of diamonds son
This old ring has carried me over too many years
And if I speak of her in the present tense
It's just my form of self-defence
It's holding on to these little things that help to keep her here
And sometimes, usually late at night and half ways down a bottle
I hold this ring and I know she's somewhere near

She was feeding change to the juke box
That first time I saw her
Always loved the music, said it kept her sane
Here's a photograph I dug out today
That's her with Johnnie Ray
Always was her favourite, mine was Frankie Laine
How many nights ‘neath the porch light, I thought I would go crazy
The times she played “Just-a-Walking in the Rain”

There I go again, letting the memories flow again
Get my ticket at the station, put this ring in my right hand
If the train leaves on time
And if diamonds are forever
Providing there’s no cattle on the line
Tell her that I’m coming
I’ll be chugging into Glory right on time

Got a son living in Portland, Maine
Two kids and a great dane
And I get to see them sometimes, maybe once or twice a year
He was closer to his Mother
‘Cos his Dad was always working
And never gave him quite enough affection, I fear
But years can be a healer
And old flames never die
They just flicker into life two times a year
..
Is it a sign of getting older?
A sign of getting boring?
Or just an old fools crazy ramblings, on a life he used to know?
But he knows she’s up there somewhere
And he knows that soon he’ll find her
Playing Johnnie Ray to the angels where the good juke boxes go
And sometimes, usually late at night and half ways down a bottle
He holds this ring and he knows she's somewhere near

There I go again, letting the memories flow again
Get my ticket at the station, put this ring in my right hand
If the train leaves on time
And if Diamonds are forever
Providing there’s no cattle on the line
Tell her that I’m coming
I’ll be chugging into Glory right on time

There I go again, letting the memories flow again
Get my ticket at the station, put this ring in my right hand
So if the train leaves on time
And if Diamonds are forever
Providing there’s no cattle on the line
Tell her that I’m coming
I’ll be chugging into Glory right on time
I’ll be chugging into Glory right on time

A theme I’ve carried round with me for some years. This is the third and “final” version. And yes, I was a fan of Frankie Laine. “Move ‘em on, head ‘em up!”

2.  Arlington Park

2.  Arlington Park

Cool jazz from a hot tenor sax
Carried you to heaven on ascending sharps and flats
Took you to the summit, flipped you on your back
You know I never knew a guitar player get to me like that

Drinking cool beer out of frozen Raven glassware
Paint a kiss in the mist, blow smoke rings in the night air
It was a gift, a something special, he gave it all away
For an armful of paradise and a heart full of pain

At the least it was a meal ticket to the swishest place in town
The arm of any lady you may choose
It was a wardrobe straight from Paris, France
Any limousine that takes your glance
A million miles from hand me downs, the ghettos and the blues

And it was old smoky bar rooms and it sure took you back
Heard the ghost of Charlie Parker, saw the young Kerouac
It was pure nineteen fifties, as pure as the snow
That drifts through the body and buries the soul

At the least it was a meal ticket to the swishest place in town
It was music from the heart, the very core
It was the whistle of an old freight train
Sad cafes in the rain
The look in any mothers eyes as she sends him off to war

And it was cool jazz from a hot tenor sax
Carried you to heaven on ascending sharps and flats
If he reached out he could have grabbed it
Watched it slip away
Like a well fancied quadruped
Five furlong thoroughbred
Who lost out in a photograph…at Arlington Park

A song inspired by Jack Kerouac’s “beat” novel, “On the Road”. His descriptions of jazz were incredible, you could hear the notes coming off the page. “Arlington Park” doesn’t try to match the energy and free blowing crescendos of Kerouac’s narrative, but does nod in that direction.

3.  The Gathering of Crows

3.  The Gathering of Crows

I’d gone out for the hunting
Took my coney gun
Conies are a plenty at the setting of the sun
But I didn’t get no conies
And I wish I understood
How I came to shoot a crow instead, simply cos I could

Now some say crows are vengeful
And I would not disagree
Crows began appearing, the like I’d never seen
Pecking at my window
Scratching at my door
Put a fear of God in me, I never known before

I cursed the moment’s madness
And my stupidity
I cursed the coney rifle, that had brought this misery
Crows upon the front porch
Crows out by the shed
When I climbed the stairs there was a crow at my behead

One for the money
It’s two for the show
Three to get me ready for the gathering of crows
Four in the morning
It’s five if I’m too slow
Somewhere in the distance I can hear the whistle blow

I had to leave my home
And all I did possess
To make it to the goods yard for the overnight express
I had to leave that minute
I had no time to spare
Gambling my future on a wing and a prayer

I made it out the backdoor
And I ran the crooked mile
Swam the crooked river and I jumped the crooked stile
Saw the overnighter
But then my courage failed
Black crows were a lining up along the crooked rail

One for the money
It’s two for the show
Three to get me ready for the gathering of crows
Four in the morning
It’s five if I’m too slow
Somewhere in the distance I can hear the whistle blow

Now some say they’re intelligent
And some say they’re insane
Some say if they’re singing in the morning we’ll have rain
I don’t know the truth of it
But one thing I do know
It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird, but its death to kill a crow

One for the money
It’s two for the show
Three to get me ready for the gathering of crows
Four in the morning
It’s five if I’m too slow
Somewhere in the distance I can hear the whistle blow

One for the money
It’s two for the show
It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird, but its death to kill a crow

I read somewhere the line “The Gathering of Crows” and thought it would make a good song title. I then recalled that the collective noun for crows was “a murder”. Now I have always found crows to be sinister birds and decided to do some research. Turns out there are any amount of myths and legends surrounding them including “if they’re singing in the morning we’ll have rain”. There is also a story about a father who takes his son into the garden. There are many crows in the trees and the boy picks up a stone and throws it, hitting and killing one. Ever after, whenever the boy goes outside he is attacked by the crows, although they never harmed anyone else. “Some say crows are vengeful”

4.  Tijuana '38

4.  Tijuana '38

I was sitting alone in a God forsaken diner
Asking the waitress what I should choose
She said I'm sorry, but it's murder in the kitchen
We've got two on the sick list, and the chef's on the booze
Hey Mister, this ain't the place to eat tonight
And come to that, it's no better any night
You know I go home, put my feet up and escape
Searching for Nirvana in a bottle of Tijuana '38

So we ain't got no food, at least there's nothing worth the eating
And the juke box got busted so they took it away
I said I'm hungry, she stuffed some pizza in my pocket
"It's a little dried up, but it should be ok"
Hey listen Mister, what'd you say we get away
And ditch this place, I was leaving Friday anyway
Just hold on, while I change and fix my face
And we'll go searching for Nirvana in a bottle of Tijuana '38

Well I'm I lady if you like
But I never was made to sip a lemonade
Oh lover let me drink like a man tonight
Wherever you want to go

Lady you sure do remind me of someone
She said spare me the sweet talk just this one time
'Cos it's been spun out by a million better liars
And I rose to the bait and I fell for the line
Hey listen Mister, tonight is gonna feed us just
A handful of laughs, and a pocket full of parmesan
And tomorrow you'll be on some other date
While I'm still searching for Nirvana in a bottle of Tijuana '38
And tomorrow you'll be on some other date
While I'm still searching for Nirvana in a bottle of Tijuana '38
Bottle of Tijuana '38
Bottle of Tijuana '38

I remember playing around with a few “simple” jazz chords, some years back. On a shelf opposite was a dusty bottle of duty free Pakistani Tequila called something like “Tijuana Gold” it was 38° proof and so “Tijuana ‘38” was born.

5.  Pie in the Sky

5.  Pie in the Sky

Doctor said I should have kept taking my tablets
Judge said them tablets was turning my mind
Chaplain ask me if I wanted Salvation
Shrink diagnosed me as pie in the sky

This cigarette is my only companion
Wish it had a brother or two standing by
Wish I had a friend I could tap for a pony
Wishing my life wasn’t pie in the sky
Wishing my life wasn’t pie in the sky

Wish I had a woman I could take home to Mamma
Wish I had a woman I could take back to mine
Don’t mind if she’s plain, though I’d rather she was pretty
As long as she’s more than just pie in the sky

We could have eggs and we could have bacon
We could have coffee and strawberry pie
But the eggs got broke and the bacon got taken
So all I got to offer is pie in the sky

Wish I had a song I could sing to make me happy
Wish I had a whiskey, American Rye
Wish I had a friend I could tap for a pony
Wishing my life wasn’t pie in the sky
Wishing my life wasn’t pie in the sky

A certain fragility in this character. This song more or less wrote itself, which is slightly worrying.

6.  That’s what The Bogeyman is for

6.  That’s what The Bogeyman is for

Don’t spare a second thought for the kid that burnt your school report
The brat that squashed your fingers in the door
Don’t plan your retribution, there’s a far better solution
That’s what the bogeyman is for

Don’t cry, don’t you weep, just try to get some sleep
The pain should all be gone by mid-July
Don’t jump, I’m only kidding, it’s good to see you grinning
And laughter tonight’s in short supply

We won’t rise to the bait, we’ll just leave him to his fate
We won’t go nailing badgers to his door
So forget about your masterplan, leave it to the big man
That’s what the bogeyman is for

And it’s no use in running, when the Bogeyman is gunnin’ for you
He’s not just a figment of your dreams
And dreams are for dreamers, this kid’s got misdemeanours
That stretch from birth to breakfast time and all points in between

He’s a nasty piece of work, but then his old man was a jerk
He was always having run-ins with the law
So I wouldn’t worry tuppence, when he gets his comeuppance
That’s what the bogeyman is for

Perhaps we should be kinder, let me hasten to remind you
That he didn’t have the start in life you’ve had
That kid was born under a bad sign, strung out on a branch line
But what the hell he’s still three times bad

And it’s no use in running, when the Bogeyman is gunnin’ for you
He’s not just a figment of your dreams
And there’s no hiding place, when the big man’s on your case
No cubby holes, no carpet rolls, or sheets to crawl between

This weekend we’ll go fishing, if there’s favourable conditions
Or watch the ferry boats come into shore
We could see the autumn leaves fall, or kick a ball against the wall
I really don’t mind which, it’s your call

I’ll buy you French fries and a Big Mac, and a coke if you can manage that
But shush, remember not to tell your ma
You know how she disapproves of stuffing out on devils food
Hope she won’t be giving… the bogeyman a call

‘Cos it’s no use in running, when the Bogeyman is gunnin’ for you
He’s not just a figment of your dreams
You can say it’s just a burger, but it might as well be murder
You can plead the Fifth Amendment or just put the blame me

Your ma and I we’re just the same, we’re in it for the long game
We’re here to help you grow to be a man
Like the tattoo of an old flame, we’re here now, and we’ll remain
Through good times and the times you’re in a jam

So go to sleep my little friend, we’ll get there somehow in the end
Sometimes growing up can be a chore
So forget your antagonist, he’ll disappear into the mist
That’s what the bogeyman is for
That’s what the bogeyman is for

Not sure if this is comforting advice to a small boy or something that would scare the life out of him.

7.  Bobtail Morning

7.  Bobtail Morning

Running from the vigilante man
Cursed with the mark of Cain
Left my home on a bobtail morning
Skaddled on down to Spain
Left my home on a bobtail morning
Skaddled on down to Spain
Let the warm Sirocco wind
Blow away my pain
Let the warm Sirocco wind
Blow away my pain
Bury my knees at wounded heart
Bury my heart in shame

Lost my heart to a hometown girl
Stole away her pride
Left her with a baby coming
Left her no goodbyes
Left her with a baby coming
Left her no goodbyes
Her father tried to kneecap me
And plenty more besides
Her father tried to kneecap me
And plenty more besides
I wonder if she thinks of me
I wonder if she cries
I wonder if she thinks of me
I wonder if she cries
I wonder if my babies grown
Healthy, fair and wise

Running from the vigilante man
Cursed with the mark of Cain
Left my home on a bobtail morning
Skaddled on down to Spain
Left my home on a bobtail morning
Skaddled on down to Spain
Let the warm Sirocco wind
Blow away my pain
Let the warm Sirocco wind
Blow away my pain
Bury my knees at wounded heart
Bury my heart in shame
Left my home on a bobtail morning

A standard traditional folk theme, with a dark side (kneecapping) in the middle. Guitar riff is pinched from an old song I wrote many years ago about the American Indian, after reading “Bury my Heart at Wounded Knee” and was the sort of soundtrack Hollywood used to use when “Injuns” appeared.

8.  I’ve got a Mountain to Climb

8.  I’ve got a Mountain to Climb

Better get started, ‘cos I’m running out of time
I’ve got a mountain to climb

Cut me some slack now, nothings black and white
Things I’ve been doing, I know they ain’t right
Yes I’m a guilty one, but it’s mainly Jack to blame
Jack’s my alter ego, Jack’s my middle name
Jack’s like the moth, mesmerised by the flame
Dares you to touch, then he laughs at your pain
He’d sell you my soul for a spoonful of cocaine
I’ve got a mountain to climb

You see, I am Dr Jekyll while Jack is Mr Hyde
Jack’s the one to take you on that white knuckle ride
Jack is the Anti-Christ, Jack is the Devil
Jack is the wayward friend that keeps you off the level
Jack is the joker who never makes you laugh
Jack is the nuisance call that gets you out the bath
Jack twists your words and Jack twists your mind
I’ve got a mountain to climb

Tell my friends, I’ve got to get untwisted
Six months tops, I’ll be back on the scene
If the car still mine and the phone’s still listed
Tell ‘em to call me Mr Clean
Tell ‘em they can call me Mr Clean

Jack is the angel with the morals of a whore
Jack is the bogey man, behind your bedroom door
Jack throws the dice and lands you on a snake
Jack’s your wicked Uncle who feeds you poisoned cake
Jack is the jailer and Jack is the crime
Jack is the habit that you have to leave behind
So hand me an ice pick, ‘cos I’m running out of time
I’ve got a mountain to climb

But if Jack weren’t around, maybe I could get clean
Follow the advice in the women’s magazines
If Jack wasn’t here I could dare to believe
Pluck a new beginning from a conjurer’s sleeve
Kill him off and chop him up and turn him to a toad
Bury him tonight out beside the gravel road
Right now I can’t see beyond that next powder line
I’ve got a mountain to climb

Tell my friends, I’ve got to get untwisted
Six months tops, I’ll be back on the scene
If the car still mine and the phone’s still listed
Then they can call me Mr Clean
Tell ‘em they can call me Mr Clean

But if Jack’s still here, through the dog days of summer
If Jack’s still here, when there’s frost on the rose
If Jack’s still here when the jingle bells are jingling
Then they can call me Old Man Mose
Then they can call me Old Man Mose

Twenty-first century Jekyll & Hyde story. This is a song of addiction, schizophrenia, transference of blame and denial of responsibility, (another chart topper then) but mainly it is a song of hope. “Old Man Mose” was a song written in 1935 by Louis Armstrong. It was a big favourite of my father and was often played when I was young. It tells of “Mose” who lived alone in a shack and of someone peering through his window, seeing him motionless and presuming him to be dead.

9.  Cakes & Ale

9.  Cakes & Ale

Johnny’s so long at the fair
He’s saved up his pennies for the rifle range there
I’ll give him rifles and a bump in his hair
When he gets home to daddy and me

Johnny’s so long at the dance
Those Fitzalan girls ain’t got a ghost of a chance
They say it’s in aid of this war down in France
Sounds like nonsense to me

This is a song that grew in the singing
Here is a story with a sting in the tail
Funny old ways, and small town glories
Bring him home safe for the cakes and the ale

Johnny’s so long at the war
And I’ve grown old expecting his face at the door
Don’t understand what this waiting is for
France isn’t really that far

So why’s it all taking so long?
Those Fitzalan girls are all married and gone
Daddy resides in an old people’s home
And sits gazing out at the sea

This is a song that grew in the singing
Here is a story with a sting the tail
Funny old ways, and small town glories
Bring him home safe for the cakes and the ale

The telegram stands by the clock
Where it has stood all these years
And as long as I don’t open it, it’ll all be ok, you’ll see, you’ll see
You’ll see, you will see
When Johnny comes marching home
You’ll see, you will see
I’ll give him rifles and a bump in his hair
When my Johnny comes marching home

One of the few songs that I have written from a woman’s point of view, which doesn’t mean that I dressed up in a skirt and blouse to write it, tempting though that might have been. It tells of a mother’s pain and anguish that her son has not returned from the Great War. Many years later she is still hanging on to the hope of his face suddenly appearing at the door. This I have always felt has a touch of the H E Bates about it. Listen in black and white.

10.  Daydreamin’

10.  Daydreamin’

Woke up this morning, combed my teeth and shaved my tongue
Stepped in the shower with my t-shirt still on
Daydreamin’ as I live and breathe
If you don’t believe that then brother you don’t know me

Spend my mornings eating burgers, spend my nights drinking wine
Spend my cash on slow horses, my days on borrowed time
Daydreamin’ as I live and breathe
If you don’t believe that then brother you don’t know me

I had a woman, thought that she was mine
Told me she’d love me ‘till the stars ceased to shine
Daydreamin’ as I live and breathe
Either she was lying or the stars are taking gardening leave

She didn’t like my lifestyle, she said I had to choose
Left me in the middle of the six o’clock news
Scene stealing, as I live and breathe
She upstaged the weatherman and left a deep depression on me

So it’s no more burgers and it’s no more booze
Time to be strapping on my pedalling shoes
Freewheelin’ as I live and breathe
If you believe that, brother you don’t know me

Well I woke up this morning, combed my teeth and shaved my tongue
Stepped in the shower with my t-shirt still on
Daydreamin’ as I live and breathe
If you don’t believe that then brother you don’t know me

Daydreamin’, Daydreamin’
Daydreamin’, Daydreamin’
If you don’t believe that then brother you don’t know me

First song I wrote after an eleven year layoff (2007-2018). I always wanted to write a straight forward twelve bar blues, but couldn’t come up with a beginning other than “Woke up this morning”. And what did I eventually come up with?….. The guy, or gal who originally penned those four words should have made a fortune in royalties, but probably died poor.

11.  The Night that Ron Bacardi met up with Stella Artois

11.  The Night that Ron Bacardi met up with Stella Artois

She was a cool blonde in an out of town hotel
Someone muttered something about don't she go down well
About five-two or possibly five-three
Lager than life on the ABV

I sat with her all night, 'till she'd gone through all my cash
And left me with a headache and a slightly damp moustache
Stella was her name, sometimes Stella over here
Stella for the man who wants another cold beer

He was a short and he was trouble, and I should've seen it coming
A peacemaker from a piss taker, with whom I'd had a run in
And if Stella hadn't egged me on, I'd have called enough, enough
But Ron Bacardi didn't look the kind to cut up rough

And anyway he was full of coke right up to the highballs
That's just a little cocktail joke that occasionally stands revival
Come on you can take him, so I threw him down the hatch
And as he hit my throat I realised I'd met my match

Tell me something before I explode
Why can't I ever say no, no, no, no to that one for the road?
I opened up my eyes, and all I saw were stars
The night that Ron Bacardi met up with Stella Artois

And as Ron and Stella danced the Paso Doble in my head
I couldn't count the steps, I couldn't even count my legs
It said he came from cane, sugar on his label
I said you might be cane but I'm certainly not able

....to make it to my feet, so you can count me out this time
You surely pack a sweet, sweet punch, for one so unrefined
And if Stella hadn't egged me on, it would never have gone as far
As Sugar Ron Bacardi, champion of the bar

Tell me something before I explode
Why can't I ever say no, no, no, no to that one for the road?
I opened up my eyes, and all I saw were stars
The night that Ron Bacardi met up with Stella Artois

So if you’re out with Stella, or one of those German blondes
Play it straight and don't you let no shorty come on strong
And if likewise you're with Ron, be his buddy all the night
And don't you flirt with Stella, it'll end up in a fight

‘Cos taken in isolation they've got such angel faces
But together they possess a certain lack of social graces
So the next time you go nailing your machismo to the bar
Remember Ron Bacardi and Stella Artois

Tell me something before I explode
Why can't I ever say no, no, no, no to that one for the road?
I opened up my eyes, and all I saw were stars
The night that Ron Bacardi met up with Stella Artois

Don’t mix your drinks…you’ve been warned.

12.  Slow Horses

12.  Slow Horses

Once I built a railroad
Now its buddy can you spare the time
To talk about the old days
This old bar's as good as any to get warm in
I'll drink to your future health
And you can sit and drink the past with me

Once I had a house in Malibu
Contemporary Spanish style
And one just outside Paris
You know I never saw a winter in the thirties
Or the sun without a smile
And Paris was the place you had to be

Don't look at me now with pity in your eyes
I wouldn't change a thing if I could live again
Take a look around you.......
How many here can say I made a million?
And how many here can say I lived my dreams?
How many here knew Paris at that time?
It was the pride before the fall
Slow horses and fast women took it all

All the bright young things
With their pipe dreams of Hollywood
All stayed with me in Malibu
And through the gossip columns I followed their careers
Some made it as I knew they would
While some of them were casualties like me

Don't look at me now with pity in your eyes
I wouldn't change a thing if I could live again
Take a look around you.......
How many here can say I blew a million?
And how many here can say I talked with Garbo?
How many here saw Dempsey in his prime?
From these peaks we must descend
To slow horses and fast women in the end

I used to drink with Scott-Fitzgerald
And I do believe he called me friend
And I know he used my character
In a book he wrote on the French Riviera
Immortal by the pen
I guess he cleaned me up and changed my name

Once I built a railroad
Now its buddy can you spare the time
To talk about the old days
Son don't let 'em kid you, money can't buy happiness
It's always the same old line
Told by them ‘as never had a dime

But don't look at me now with pity in your eyes
I wouldn't change a thing if I could live again
Take a look around you.......
How many here can say I blew a million?
And how many here can say I talked with Garbo?
How many here saw Dempsey in his prime?
From these peaks we must descend
To slow horses and fast women in the end
Slow horses and fast women in the end
In the end
In the end

About a man who made a lot of money and then lost it. But, as he says in the song, “at least I had a lot of money”. This was written so long ago, that I remember having to walk two miles to the nearest library to check the Jack Dempsey dates. How times have changed.