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 The Wrong Lyrics.... Only for those of a strong disposition

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Cal

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Join date : 2015-11-11

20170408
PostThe Wrong Lyrics.... Only for those of a strong disposition

I do this from time to time....can't help myself... sorry... Calx


#1
A challenge entry....The Wrong Envelope

I apologise.... a lot ...they put me up to it...    



To the tune of Home on the range….

In the bunk house one night, to stave off a fight
Wheat Carlson was once heard to say
I got me a plan, from a railroad man
It’s a train job, and we’ll make good pay.
Down, down in the hole
Where the outlaws of Devils Hole play (Poker that is)
Where never is heard, an encouraging word
And the guys can drink whiskey all day.

It’s money for old rope, it’s in this here envelope
I done wrote down, the times, an’ the loads
If it’s right, what I’m told, they’re plannin’ to ship GOLD
Coz of outlaws, they won’t risk the roads. (hehehehhehhe!)
Down, down in the hole
Where the outlaws of Devils Hole sway (it’s all the whiskey)
Where never is heard, an encou’(HIC UP)agin’ word
And the guys can drink whiskey all day.

I think that’s a good ideee, smiled Kyle with glee
I’ll bring me the good dynamite
Preacher said, tell me my friend, when does yonder train wend
I may have to sober up …. A might
DAUOWN, dauown in the hole
Where the outlaws of Devils Hole sway (even MORE whiskey)
Where never is heard, an eshhplutterinin’ word
And the guys can drink whiskey all dayyyyyyy aaaayyyyyyyyy. Hic up!

It’s…it’s written down here, I wrote it quite clear
Said Wheat, trying to focus his eyes
It got passed round the table but none of them was able
T’read it, no matter how they tried.
DAUOWN, dauown in the ‘ole
Where the outlaws of Devils Hole play (if they could see the cards)
Where never is heard, an en blah blah blah word
And the guys drink whiskey all dayyyyyyy all daaaayyyyyyyyy. Hahahaha!

Then Lobo came in, and hearing the din
Saw the envelope being passed about
He took out the note, and saw what was wrote
I LOVE A PARTY! He said with a shout.
DAUOWN, dauown in the ‘ole
Where the outlaws of Devils Hole pl…. sw… play (who cares!)
Where never is heard, an en blah blah blah word
And we drink whiskey all dayyyyyyy yeahhhh!…Hahahaha!

This notes from a girl, to her old aunty Merle
Tellin’ her she’s about to be wed
Ohhhh…what a pain, no gold and no train
But we can go to the party ….INSTEAD! Horrrraaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy!
DAUOooWN, dauoooooown in th ‘ole
Where the o’tlaws of Devvvvils ‘ole pl…. sw… play (aaaaayyyyy!)
Where n’ver is he’rd, an en lah lah lah….. word!
And we get t’ drink w’iskey ALLLLL DAAAAAAYAAAAAH!

(Someone fix me a drink….. grief!)



---oooOOOooo---


#2

Calico put me up to this one... so blame the cat

Quick Western version of Men of Harlech - go!..........    


Can't resist a challenge Calico

To be sung to the tune of Men of Harlech.....

Men of Devils Hole  

Men of Devils Hole ride to glory
Victory is hovin' o'er thee
The pay roll train runs right before ye
Hear ye not the Whistle!
All your dreams of larcenous wonder
Come true as Kyle blows the safe assunder
Let the explosions deaf'nin' thunder
Railroad owners appall.
Posses loudly chasing
O'er hill and valley racing
Till you split, and outwit
The sheriff by retracing
Your trail, and every trick assailing
to Devils Hole with heart unfailing
Till all the posses learn with quailing
The Hole will never yeild!



If they could just be word perfect by St Davids Day...I'll rehearse the rest of the gang....tell them to come as they are...I'm planning to get the rest of the gang in Stetsons and spurs!  

Calx




#3

This one was for a challenge.... Crossing the Border... I couldn't get Auden's Night Mail out of my head, so I just had to make it fit the Wild West....

Night Mail
With apologies to W H Auden

This is the night mail crossing the Border,
Bringing the gold and the Governor’s order,

Letters for the rich, letters for the poor,
The Big Spread owner, the girl next door.

Pulling up the slope, a steady climb:
The gradient's against her, but she's on time.

Past cotton-grass and Indian boulder
Shovelling white steam over her shoulder,

Snorting noisily as she passes
Silent miles of wind-bent grasses.

Outlaws turn their heads as she approaches,
Stare from hilltops at her blank-faced coaches.

Knowing they cannot turn her course;
They’ve charged the bridge she must cross.

In the homestead she passes no one wakes,
But a jug in a bedroom gently shakes.


Dawn freshens. Her climb is done.
Down towards the river she descends,
Towards the bridge set dark against white tossed waters.
Towards the apparatus, set to make the bridge a furnace.
Set in the dark plain like a gigantic snare.
All the outlaws wait for her:
In dark shadows, beside pale-green pines
Men long for news.


Letters of thanks, letters from banks,
Letters of joy from girl and boy,
Receipted bills and invitations
To inspect new stock or to visit relations,
And applications for situations,
And timid lovers' declarations,
And gossip, gossip from all the nations,
News circumstantial, news financial,
Letters with holiday photographs in,
Letters with ‘sorrys’ scrawled on the margin,
Letters from uncles, cousins, and aunts,
Letters to the Wild West from the civilised World,
Letters of condolence to the plains and the mountains
Written on paper of every hue,
The pink, the violet, the white and the blue,
The chatty, the catty, the boring, the adoring,
The cold and official and the heart's outpouring,
Clever, stupid, short and long,
The copperplate and printed and the spelt all wrong.

They are all still asleep,
Dreaming of terrifying occurrences
But none could foretell of the shriek and the squeal, of her breaks and her frozen wheels:

Asleep in town and unaware, asleep a Sheriff without a care,
As deft fingers slip around a dial, and Gold starts South, mile after mile.

They all continue in their dreams,
But shall wake soon and hope for letters,
And none will hear the postman's knock
For the night mail will not cross the river
And all that Gold is gone forever…..
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