<\/a><\/p>\n Be My Friend <\/strong> Be my friend, that’s how I want it to be Be my friend, that’s all she said to me Oh, I understand the reasons why you want to be free Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Caught in a Heatwave in Chadron, Nebraska<\/strong> Here we go again on another adventure Caught in a heatwave in Chadron, Nebraska Well, I\u2019m thinking of wintertime back up in Brandon, Caught in a heatwave in Chadron, Nebraska Caught in a heatwave in Chadron, Nebraska When you\u2019re caught in a heatwave in Chadron, Nebraska Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Child of the Buffalo Plain <\/strong> He don’t say much, but it really doesn’t matter (chorus) Furthermore, just in case you might be wondrin’ I’d like to clarify a few things for you right now Don’t make no mistake, he’s a genuine winner Ridin’ high on a dream, it’s a strange way to see the land (chorus)<\/p>\n Top<\/a><\/p>\n Christmas Morning, Bang! Bang! <\/strong> Time has come again this year when Christmas magic fills the air And they’ll celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace on earth The stockings hung by the chimney base hold candy and cans And we’ll celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace on earth You see no cause for false alarm, seems it can’t do When he can celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace on earth Deck the halls with cannon balls and hang them from the tree Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Come on up to Canadian Studies<\/strong> (Chorus) (Repeat)<\/p>\n You can study public policy, and post-coloniality, So (Chorus)<\/p>\n You can study conservation, and Quebec conciliation Really? (Chorus)<\/p>\n You can study immigration, and the colours of the nation So (Chorus)<\/p>\n And now for all the grad students: I\u2019m goin\u2019 up to the tower in the sky (Recited) So-o-o-o-o, Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n Crawfish Well I went to the bayou late last night Top<\/a><\/p>\n Daisy Sugarhead<\/strong> Well, I came across your name late yesterday mornin\u2019 Daisy, Daisy Sugarhead, Daisy woncha be my girl Well, I feel that I already know you (break)<\/p>\n I really do feel that I know you Daisy, Daisy Sugarhead, my heart is all in a whirl Top<\/a><\/p>\n David’s Song (Come For a Walk With Ely and Me)* <\/strong> Oh, I don’t rightly know where he came from (chorus) Well, in no time at all he was leavin’ (chorus)<\/p>\n Now the lady is still out in Idaho (chorus)<\/p>\n * When Ely married Rheanon, he and his mother, Molly, danced to <\/em>David\u2019s Song at the wedding reception as a way of including\u00a0<\/em>David in the celebration. <\/em><\/p>\n Top<\/a><\/p>\n Foggy Bottom Waterbed<\/strong> Well you seem to be a painter or a man of the arts (Chorus) I was taken by surprise and unduly alarmed (chorus)<\/p>\n Like a stranger in the centre of a beautiful dream (Chorus)<\/p>\n Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n For You To Know Me <\/strong> I never dated the carnival queen, I was much too shy Nobody said “I love you” out loud when I lived at home For you to know me you would have to throw away I’ll never fit in your sociology patterns of a man Top<\/a><\/p>\n Gift of Love <\/strong> Summer shadows find their way across my autumn skies Hallowe’en came by in time to celebrate the dream When the winter wind has fallen captive to the spring *performed by the groom at the wedding of Allan J. Ryan and Rae Alexandra Sellar, April 28, 1973<\/p>\n Top<\/a><\/p>\n Green Velvet and Fine White Lace <\/strong> Green velvet and fine white lace And I know it\u2019s not becoming of a man And it’s been the better part of a year And you’d like me to stay for a while Green velvet and fine white lace Green velvet and fine white lace Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n Grey Rain <\/strong> Shinin’ star fell down from my heaven Whatever became of sweet summer showers A bit melancholy but, oh, it\u2019s such a pleasin’ pain Won’t be long before it\u2019s October Top<\/a><\/p>\n Haggadah <\/strong> Standing in the subway station, searchin’ for a place to crash (chorus) I am no gypsy woman, with gypsy magic ways (chorus)<\/p>\n Stay with us awhile she did now, turning on the summer sun (chorus)<\/p>\n Shadow of another season, angel of another dawn (chorus)<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Top<\/a><\/p>\n Harlequin Haven <\/strong> In Harlequin Haven And its parsley and sage and Rosemary’s time for a baby, In Harlequin Haven And the carriage is on fire as it rumbles down the street In Harlequin Haven In Harlequin Haven Top<\/a><\/p>\n Here<\/strong> Here, I\u2019m standing here where you left me, girl Here, the winter cold unfolds around the moon And I hold onto the hourglass my eyes have found Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n Honeymoon Darlin’ <\/strong> Honeymoon darlin’ carry me down again Sailin’ down to the sunny Caribbean islands Honeymoon darlin’ carry me down again Early mornin’, walkin’ together by the water Honeymoon darlin’ carry me down again Top<\/a><\/p>\n I’m Goin’ Back To University When I Die <\/strong> Got to thinkin’ a lot just the other day It may seem perverse to be so ill-bred If you been fixin’ my grave you’ll have to cover it in Top<\/a><\/p>\n Is That All I Get? <\/strong> Drivin’ down the road on a Friday afternoon Is that all I get?, is that all I get? She said, is that all I get?, is that all I get? Saturday night was somethin’ else again I said, is that all I get?, is that all I get? Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Lady Caroline<\/strong> She comes in the evening and you open the door You\u2019re not sure what it is but the feeling\u2019s the same Then the room is filled with party faces The candle flickers and the darkness is cold She comes in the evening and you open the door Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n Leapin’ Lily <\/strong> My grandmother died a short time back at the age of seventy-eight. She was a large and most impressive woman — one of my biggest fans. But you know, in the last few years of her life she suffered a lot from arthritis in her legs — could hardly move about. It was during this time in a moment of ironic compassion my younger brother renamed her “Leapin’ Lily” — Leapin’ Lily, on account of the fact that she could hardly move. I’d like to dedicate the following song to my grandma, Leapin’ Lily. Alright!<\/p>\n She was a portly woman, make good Yorkshire puddin’ Leapin’ Lily comin’ cross the bog I was a first-born boy, had my own room Leapin’ Lily comin’ cross the bog Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Living in the Days of the Second Creation We have not always been so kind to each other Within the sanctuary walls of our separate altar calls Once upon an emptiness Well, I would like to make it clear Top<\/a><\/p>\n Michigan Wind <\/strong> Sayin’ my prayers in the Michigan wind Movin’ on down to the border town Been lookin’ for a lover in the afternoon Well I heard tell that this motel (refrain) (repeat first verse and refrain)<\/p>\n Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Mom I Wanna War Toy <\/strong> Mom I wanna war toy, wanna be a big boy Santa woncha hurry, are you comin’ on the run Mom I wanna war toy, wanna be a big boy Ah, but Santa woncha hurry, we’ve been waitin’ so long For soon I’ll be a big boy and I should know how Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Midian <\/strong> It’s a weird and most peculiar (chorus) Been sittin’ in the sun by the farmhouse (chorus)<\/p>\n Such a fine oak tree on the front lawn (chorus)<\/p>\n And Melanie, oh can you see now (chorus)<\/p>\n Top<\/a><\/p>\n Midnight<\/strong> (Intro recitation) Uptight with Midnight, read it with a flashlight If your habits are sadistic and your hobbies masochistic (chorus)<\/p>\n You can check the morning papers, you can read (chorus)<\/p>\n For the young and uninitiated we do all we can (chorus)<\/p>\n If you\u2019re twisted and perverted we\u2019ve got just the thing for you (chorus)<\/p>\n In the back of every issue where the advertising starts (chorus)<\/p>\n You understand the need for such a vital publication Top<\/a><\/p>\n My Canadian Maid <\/strong> Well, I been sittin’ in the park by the edge of the lake (chorus) Do you ever get to thinkin’ on me little girl (chorus)<\/p>\n Hey, but well I heard you got married in a town down in Oregon (chorus)<\/p>\n (recited) (chorus)<\/p>\n Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n My Judy LaMarshmellow Doll Judy, Judy, Judy, it\u2019s my patriotic duty Judy, Judy, Judy, my sweet judicial cutie Judy, Judy, Judy, you’ve a special kind of beauty Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n Nighthawk <\/strong> Some people wake in the mornin’ Cause I’m a nighthawk, baby, that’s what I am Meanwhile back home in the evenin’ Cause I’m a nighthawk, baby, and I pay my dues Top<\/a><\/p>\n Number Nine for Caroline<\/strong> You gave to me a candle I used to send you funny greeting cards And I made for you a song of love Hey girl, I can see you\u2019re goin\u2019 Hey girl, I can see you\u2019re goin\u2019 Hey girl, I can see you\u2019re goin\u2019 And you gave to me a candle Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Pablum<\/strong> Not the other night but the night before Well, I\u2019m on a mission to deliver Quicker than a wink in a blinkin\u2019 eye And there to meet me by the moonlight (Chorus) Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n PM Pierre <\/strong> There’s a new infatuation that’s been sweepin’ the nation PM Pierre, with the ladies, racin’ a Mercedes In the new administration there’s an open situation PM Pierre, diplomatic in the press when he says Punchin’ Judy’s kinda moody like a big mama bear… PM Pierre, in the Commons with a new pair of sandals *Winner of the 1968 Lloyd E. Moffat Memorial Award for “Best Originality and Creativity” in Canadian recording.<\/p>\n Top<\/a><\/p>\n Sometimes I Wish I Could Find Another Face <\/strong> Sometimes I wish I could find another face Well, everybody keeps sendin’ me cards and sympathy letters Oh, sometimes I wish I could rent another face Sometimes I wish I could find another face Ah, but now most of the time I feel pretty well Oh, sometimes I wish I could rent another face Sometimes I wish I could find another face Ah, but now most of the time I feel pretty well Oh, sometimes I wish I could rent another face Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Suite: Son of Man<\/strong> Round and round the aging artist rides upon the colour wheel And he\u2019ll carve himself a eulogy biography in stone I gotta find out for me am I not the one And the neon deceptive politician by the doorway he is leaning And he feels that he\u2019s a prophet in a land without a reason I gotta find out for me could I be the same And the priest who\u2019s in the pulpit tells the waiting congregation And the Holy See is turning from revolt within the walls The hawkeyed pushers and the hungry hookers offer bargains But still the hustlers they continue to provide and to procure I gotta find out for me could I be the same Round and round about the garden gate the rhododendron grow When the faded plastic soldiers mount the march upon the sky Oh well I gotta find out for me am I not the one Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Summer Girl <\/strong> Summer girl with Spanish eyes Skipping down the streets of town Ah, but summer girl I still think of you Oh my summer girl, angelica <\/p>\n Se\u00f1orita del Verano (Summer Girl)<\/strong><\/p>\n Se\u00f1orita del verano con ojos espa\u00f1oles Brincando por las calles del pueblo, como buf\u00f3n pintado Ahh pero se\u00f1orita del verano pienso todav\u00eda en ti Senorita del verano con los ojos relumbrantes Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Gravediggers’ Strike on New York <\/strong> I remember the night, I remember the year In the dim funeral parlour the curtains were closed The bewildered mortician was trying to smile In the midst of confusion and general alarm When the gravediggers struck on New York Top<\/a><\/p>\n The House With The Mandarin Doorway <\/strong> If you’re ever in this part of town In the house with the Mandarin doorway Take your boots off in the hall but In the house with the Mandarin doorway Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n The Rise and Fall of Charles De Gaulle<\/strong> Recently our land was blessed with royalty, they say The bells did ring, the birds did sing, the flags were all unfurled Tourists from the USA held high the tricolor (to the tune of the Marseillaise) It wasn\u2019t long til Montreal soon knew you had arrived While Ottawa was trying to decide just how to say (To the tune of “Don\u2019t Sleep in the Subway”) It was clear the time was near for you to end the show So now we hope your meaning\u2019s clear of fran\u04abais-canadien Top<\/a><\/p>\n The Russian Circus <\/strong> On a silent summer morning, still before the dawn Occupation advertising, the carnival had come Good King Wenceslaus looked out upon the festive square Sunshine highway, crimson midway banners in the breeze From the forum find the phantom Polish puppet show Nine o’clock the lights go out, fireworks display Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n Thoughts of You <\/strong> Mornin’ comin’ through to open my eyes Sun come creepin’ up and over my day I’m prepared to believe what I’m sayin’ For you lighten my life (*recorded as a duet with Elaine Overholt)<\/p>\n Top<\/a><\/p>\n <\/a><\/p>\n True Fine Virginia<\/strong> Smokestack woman stay away from my door True fine Virginia ain’t the kind of love I need Sweet menthol mama you done messed up my head True fine Virginia ain’t the kind of love I need
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nBe my friend, it just can’t be the way it used to be
\nWhen I went away in search of me I had no idea you were
\nsettin’ me free
\nOn a bus from New York all the way to Chicago
\nDown the Indiana turnpike lookin’ out the window
\nChicago’s so lonely in the drizzlin’ rain
\nGoin’ down to the station, gettin’ on the train goin’ home
\nI’m goin’ home<\/p>\n
\nBe my friend, you just can’t put your claim on me
\nAh, but you don’t have to tell me when I sing my songs
\nThat the sparkle that was there, well it’s all gone
\nCause I know that it’s true and I’m wonderin’ when
\nI’ll look across the room, your eyes will tell me again
\nBe my friend, just be my friend<\/p>\n
\nBut the way it is now girl it just can’t be
\nOh, I’ve tried and I’ve tried to fight it inside
\nLord knows I’ve prayed but I keep hearin’ you say
\nThat whatever we had before I went away had to end
\nOh, it just had to end
\nBe my friend, be my friend
\nJust be my friend<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nYou\u2019d think we\u2019d nothing better to do
\nThan to drive from Manitoba to Tucson, Arizona
\nJust to make another dream come true
\nBut this hot summer sun is nearly cookin\u2019 my car
\nAnd the rad looks about to explode
\nWe better stop in this town and let the motor cool down
\nBefore movin\u2019 on down the road<\/p>\n
\nIt must be a hundred and eight
\nIt\u2019s sticky and wet and there\u2019s nobody gettin\u2019
\nMuch business today on the street
\nIt\u2019s never before been this hot in Nebraska
\nThey said on the car radio
\nWhen you\u2019re caught in a heatwave in Chadron, Nebraska
\nLord, how you wish it would snow<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019m thinkin\u2019 of friends far away
\nAnd I\u2019m searchin\u2019 for somewhere to park here in Chadron
\nI\u2019d sure like a drink in the shade
\nNow, I know that it\u2019s hot on the southwestern desert
\nBut they tell me the air there is dry
\nOh, I\u2019m rarin\u2019 to go but I can\u2019t see the road
\nFor the sweat and the salt in my eyes<\/p>\n
\nIt must be a hundred and nine
\nIt\u2019s sticky and wet and there\u2019s no one expectin\u2019
\nTo get where he\u2019s goin\u2019 on time
\nIt\u2019s never before been this hot in Nebraska
\nAccording to those who should know
\nWhen you\u2019re caught in a heatwave in Chadron, Nebraska
\nLord, how you wish it would snow<\/p>\n
\nIt must be a hundred and ten
\nIt\u2019s sticky and wet and I\u2019m willing to bet
\nAll my clothes have been glued to my skin
\nIt\u2019s never before been this hot in Nebraska
\nPeople are movin\u2019 so slow
\nWhen you\u2019re caught in a heatwave in Chadron, Nebraska
\nLord, how you wish it would snow<\/p>\n
\nLord, how you wish it would snow.<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nCause it seems like such a long time now
\nwe’ve been workin’ together
\nEver since that day we met when I said Billy I got a dream
\nto share
\nCause I’ve come to that place in my life where I need a friend
\nTo help me put it in the air
\nAnd you can have a piece of that dream all your own
\nIf you could come to care
\nIf you could learn to care
\nIf you think that’s fair
\nAnd he said, yes I do believe I like the sound of your music
\nAnd the words you been layin’ on my mind, I believe
\nthat they do fit
\nCause you see now if there’s just one thing in this whole wide world I can tell you that I know for sure
\nIt\u2019s that as long as I can play for somebody somewhere
\nI’d be so self-assured, and so secure
\nI’d be so satisfied, and at peace inside
\nInside a dream that wide<\/p>\n
\nHe’s a child of the buffalo plain
\nGot a sun-shaggy buffalo mane
\nFlowin’ down and all around
\nIn the colours of corn, I said, corn in the fall
\nAnd you can feel him movin’
\nLike a shadowy thunder
\nDrivin’ deep in your soul
\nAnd rollin’ out from under the rain
\nWhoaa, like a child, like a child
\nLike a child of the buffalo plain<\/p>\n
\nAnd tell you somethin’…<\/p>\n
\nIn a buckskin jacket, kinda hard to figure
\nOn a concrete corner he can set you back a pace
\nAnd do a little soft shoe right in front of your face
\nRace you to the bar, shuffle you the cards
\nAnd take your port wine cigars
\nWell a man like that, he’s just gotta go far<\/p>\n
\nBut he’s still here beside me now, why,
\nsometimes I’ll never understand
\nEver since that day we met when I said Billy I got a dream
\nto share
\nCause I’ve come to that place in my life where I need a friend
\nTo help me put it in the air
\nAnd you can have a piece of that dream all your own
\nIf you could come to care, if you could learn to care
\nAnd I know you care<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nAnd music rings with festive cheer and gay felicity
\nWhen children wait with anxious eyes to see if Santa
\ncan surprise them
\nwith a toy they’d not imagined in their wildest dreams
\nWhen shoppers crowd the stores and streets to look for gifts
\nthat can’t be beat
\nand that promise more than anything they’ve had the year before
\nAnd they come home with a laser gun, and a one-man-army,
\nlots of fun
\nAnd they wrap them up so carefully and lay them \u2018neath the tree<\/p>\n
\nChristmas morning, bang! bang!
\nWithout a warning, bang! bang!
\nShoot your brother in the head, get your sister out of bed
\nFirst one up’s the first one dead
\nChristmas morning, bang!, bang!<\/p>\n
\nof chemical mace
\nJust to keep the neighbour’s kids in place, and you think that
\ntimes have changed
\nAh, but Johnny wants an aeroplane too, from the good old days
\nof World War II
\n\u2013 now those were the days my friend \u2013
\nAnd a hundred tubes of aeroplane glue, just in case he loses a
\nfew, or uses a few
\nAnd your son gets high in the sky with his aeroplane too
\nAnd you think that things have changed, ah, but something sure
\nis strange
\nWe’ve come a long way from the manger, now we’re gunning
\ndown the stranger whose in town, look around<\/p>\n
\nChristmas morning, bang! bang!
\nWithout a warning, bang! bang!
\nShoot your brother in the head, fill the family full of lead
\nTurn your mother crimson red
\nChristmas morning, bang!, bang!<\/p>\n
\nany more harm
\nThan a diesel truck, or a plastic farm, or a clock to tell the time
\nFor its just a stage of make-believe, when he’s of age he’s bound
\nto leave
\nThe battle and the boys, and the rattle of the toys will fall behind
\nAnd it’s a silent and a holy night as you sit alone by the firelight
\nAnd you think of all the thoughts that might be racing
\nthrough his mind
\nAnd I’m sure that he’s elated at the world that we’ve created
\nAnd to know his dreams of Christmas Eve
\nmay someday all come true<\/p>\n
\nChristmas morning, bang!, bang!
\nWithout a warning, bang!, bang!
\nShoot his brothers in the head, fill the future full of lead
\nTurn the country crimson red
\nChristmas morning, bang!, bang!<\/p>\n
\nThere’ll be silver bells and mortar shells enough for you and me.<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music \u00a9 Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nCome on up to Canadian Studies,
\nCome on up, you can do it here
\nCome on up to Canadian Studies
\nCome on up, you can do it here<\/p>\n
\nMusic from the Maritimes, and branding on the web
\nYou can theorize identity, and say \u201cepistemology\u201d
\nand scrutinize the leadership of people who are dead<\/p>\n
\nand women in the media, and gender-bendin\u2019 folk
\nLook at regional disparity, and theatre as therapy
\nAnd deconstruct the humour in a hundred Newfie jokes<\/p>\n
\nand the spread of population over home and Native land
\nYou can even do a practicum on paintings in the atrium
\nand party up in parliament with members of the band<\/p>\n
\n(to the tune of \u2018Spirit in the Sky\u2019)<\/p>\n
\nThat\u2019s where I\u2019m gonna go when I write
\nMy comprehensive exams in Canadian Studies<\/p>\n
\nWith fifty years of history, we\u2019ve built a lasting legacy
\nOf scholarship and leadership, the two go hand in hand<\/p>\n
\nCome on up to Canadian Studies,
\nCome on up, you can do it here
\nCome on up to Canadian Studies
\nCome on up, you can do it here<\/p>\n
\n
\n<\/strong>Words and music by Fred Wise and Ben Wiseman<\/p>\n
\nThe moon was full and the stars were bright
\nPut a big long line on a big long pole
\nAnd I pulled Mr. Crawfish out of his hole
\nSee I got em, see the size
\nStripped and cleaned before your eyes
\nSee the way he looks, stripped and ready to cook
\nWell you take Mr. Crawfish in your hand
\nHe\u2019s gonna look good in your fryin\u2019 pan
\nIf you boil him deep or you fry him right
\nHe\u2019ll be sweeter than sugar by tomorrow night
\nCrawfish, crawfish
\nSee I got em, see the size
\nStripped and cleaned before your eyes
\nSee the way he looks, stripped and ready to cook<\/p>\n
\n<\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nSortin\u2019 through some confidential files
\nAh but you don\u2019t have to worry, I\u2019m not about to talk about
\nAnything you \u2018been doin\u2019 out in the wild
\nBut I need to confess to somebody, yes
\nAnd I swear by the Queen that it\u2019s true
\nThe sound of your name rings bells in my brain
\nAnd I\u2019m strangely attracted to you<\/p>\n
\nDaisy, Daisy Sugarhead, well it\u2019s got to be the sweetest
\nname in the world
\nNo, not Nancy or Heidi Marie
\nCould ever shake up the bells in me like
\nDaisy, Daisy Sugarhead, with the sweetest name in the world<\/p>\n
\nAnd that deep down inside we\u2019re a pair
\nAnd I\u2019m not meanin\u2019 to throw you a curve
\nBut I\u2019ve got to convince you I care
\nSomehow, I hope you can hear me
\nWherever you happen to be
\n\u2018Cause somethin\u2019 is missin\u2019 that should be in your life
\nAnd Daisy that somethin\u2019 is me<\/p>\n
\nI can picture you here in my mind
\nAnd Daisy I\u2019m ready to show you good lovin\u2019
\nAnd prove that we\u2019re two of a kind
\nSomehow I hope you can hear me,
\nWherever you happen to be
\n\u2018Cause somethin\u2019 is critically missin\u2019 in your life
\nAnd Daisy, that somethin\u2019 is me<\/p>\n
\nDaisy, Daisy Sugarhead, I need you Daisy to be my girl
\nNo not Nancy or Holly Noelle
\nCould ever manage to ring them bells
\nLike Daisy, and I\u2019m crazy
\nFor that girl with the sweetest name in the world
\nDaisy, woncha be my girl.<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nBut I surely remember his smile
\nAnd the love for his lady and Ely their baby
\nThat was so much a part of his style
\nDavid, he knew how to savour
\nThe pleasure and joy in each day
\nAnd I knew when he’d come
\nTo my door with his son on his shoulder
\nWhat he’d always say…<\/p>\n
\nCome for a walk with Ely and me
\nIt’s a beautiful night to go walkin’ and we could
\nTake in the sun goin’ down on the river
\nTalk for a while about nothin’ that matters
\nCome for a walk in the cool autumn breeze
\nWe could shuffle our feet in the new fallen leaves
\nAnd maybe go down see the sun on the river
\nAnd sing an old song about livin’ forever<\/p>\n
\nWith his family and dreams well in hand
\nTo find a new home out in old Idaho
\nWhere the mountains grow wild on the land
\nBut in less than a year came a letter
\nSayin’ David had died in the snow
\nAnd I stared into space
\nWith a tear on my face
\nAs I tried to remember once more
\nWhen he’d say…<\/p>\n
\nWith a son growin’ taller each day
\nAnd I’m standin’ here with the wind in my hair
\nThe trees have gone gold and there’s a chill in the air
\nAnd I think I can hear David say…<\/p>\n
\n<\/h4>\n
\nWords by Allan J. Ryan, music by Allan J. Ryan, Bill Prosser, and Don Horsburgh<\/p>\n
\nSo I said, well on occasion I\u2019ve been known to take part
\nIn a purely academic appraisal of the form
\nAnd she said, well on occasion I can be very warm
\nIt was then that she invited me on up to her room
\nTo view her latest etchings and to sample her loom
\nAnd although her exhibition was indeed a delight
\nLyin\u2019 over in the corner like a favourite toy
\nWas the biggest, and the meanest piece of ever lovin\u2019 joy<\/p>\n
\nShe had a foggy bottom waterbed
\nI said a foggy bottom waterbed
\nShe said, jump right in and rest your head
\nOn my foggy bottom waterbed
\nI\u2019m gonna rock you in the ocean, roll you in the sea
\nMove you with a motion you never knew could be
\nHoney, hold on to me
\nHoney hold on to me<\/p>\n
\nBy the gleam I her eye, the display of her charms
\nFor in all of my encounters with creative design
\nThere was nothing I could think of approaching her kind
\nOf appeal, she was eager to continue to press me for more
\nInformation about my particular store
\nhouse of knowledge in the field of my degree
\nSo I said, you now, I\u2019m not so sure if I should still be here
\nAnd she whispered, well I think it\u2019s time to wash away your fear<\/p>\n
\nI was sailin\u2019 into places I would never have seen
\nIf I\u2019d ever been a singer in a travelin\u2019 band
\nRacin\u2019 for the station on a one night stand
\nI was high, gettin\u2019 higher, risin\u2019 with the tide
\nOf feelin\u2019, floatin\u2019 down a river inside
\nOf the darkness, I was driftin\u2019 off to some enchanted isle
\nWhen she smiled and said I hope you have enjoyed my gallery
\nAnd I whispered, well I must commend your hospitality<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nI never made the football team, I didn’t even try
\nAnd now for you to know me you must understand why
\nThe world I knew was the one that I drew
\nAnd it helped to pass the time
\nMy friends were few, my guitar was new
\nAnd it helped to pass the time<\/p>\n
\nEverything was kept inside and I stayed on my own
\nAnd now for you to know me you must find me alone
\nThat’s the only way that I can prove to you I’ve grown
\nThat’s the only way I can sing all the songs that I’ve become<\/p>\n
\nAll the painted preconceptions of the words that I should say
\nLittle girl, woman child, pardon me can I buy you a smile
\nWould you wear it for me with all your burgundy beads
\nFor a while<\/p>\n
\nAnd if you class me please don’t ask me to tell you who I am
\nBut if you’d like to know me I will give you what I can
\nAnd lead you through the quietness of loving in my land
\nAnd lead you to the quietness of loving in my land.<\/p>\n
\n<\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nAnd like the leaves the change in me is there before your eyes
\nDo not take me for another lover from your past
\nFor today I dare to say your man has come at last
\nIn the hour of thanksgiving and forgiving won’t you please
\nAllow me to confess to you the love that I would give to thee
\nIn the presence of the Father, through the Spirit and the Son
\nAccept I pray this silver treasure
\nSymbol of what has been done<\/p>\n
\nAnd on the altar of the night the jack-o-lantern beamed
\nWake my love in the morn and early, please me to receive
\nMy gift of precious oils in colours you might not believe
\nAnd like the liquid velvet water cast in patterns of delight
\nI swear that I would share with you the many varied shades of life
\nUntil the final bell has spoken in the presence of the Son
\nAccept I pray this gift of colour
\nSymbol of what has begun<\/p>\n
\nThen I would but run to you and bring to you my ring
\nWrapped around in webs of wonder like the ones of old
\nGilded into gypsy splendour from the finest gold
\nAnd as a token of my solemn pledge I promise to be true
\nUpon the words and the music of this simple song I sing to you
\nIn the presence of the Father, through the Spirit and the Son
\nAccept I pray this love forever
\nAnd forever<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nI would buy for you if you wanted me to
\nGolden bracelets and silvery things
\nAnd a bright amber jewel just to be your fool
\nOn the stage
\nEvery song that I sing is for you
\nI could change all the words and the music, it’s true
\nBut the meaning comes through, it\u2019s still for you<\/p>\n
\nTo be the way that I am
\nFeelin’ like I do, hung up on you
\nFeelin’ like I do, hung up on you<\/p>\n
\nThat you’ve appeared in the streets of my mind
\nAnd you tell me it\u2019s all very clear
\nAnd that the love that we’re sharin’, it’s a different kind
\nIt\u2019s not what I hoped I would find<\/p>\n
\nPlay your games and continue to smile
\nBut the sound of the poundin’ rain on my brain
\nSays no, no no no, no no no
\nNo no no, you’ll never know<\/p>\n
\nGreen velvet and fine white lace
\nI’ll continue to wait for the lady who walks
\nThrough my dreams in velvet and lace<\/p>\n
\nGreen velvet and fine white lace
\nGreen velvet and fine white lace
\nGreen velvet and fine white lace<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords by Allan J. Ryan, music by Allan J. Ryan , Bill Prosser and Don Horsburgh<\/p>\n
\nBut Lord knows the glory won’t be laid to rest
\nI swear I’ve seen more dark clouds in these last few months
\nin the northeast
\nThan I can recall in all of two years in the southwest
\nAh, but don’t think that I complain’
\nI’m just takin’ stock of my days
\nStarin’ through a dirty window
\nSearchin’ for a sign of sunlight somewhere
\nSomewhere behind this grey rain<\/p>\n
\nWhen fine grains of sparkle seemed to blow so free
\nNow all I can see is autumn climbin’ down from a white sky
\nDark and brooding he’s trying’ to cast his spell on me
\nAh, but don’t think that I’m feelin’ lonely<\/p>\n
\nStarin’ through a dirty window
\nSearchin\u2019 for a sign of sunlight somewhere
\nSomewhere behind this grey rain<\/p>\n
\nAlready the tall trees have begun to blaze
\nBut gold leaves and crimson lie so cold and black in the alley
\nUnder a solemn and unsympathetic haze
\nAh, but don’t think I’m gettin’ discouraged
\nI’m just reflecting on the day
\nStarin’ through a dirty window
\nSearchin’ for a sign of sunlight somewhere
\nSomewhere behind this grey rain<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nWith everything she had in a sleepin’ bag
\nwith eighty-seven cents in cash
\nCheckin’ out the changin’ faces movin’ through the metal doors
\nWaitin’ for a friend to open the end
\nOf something that had come before<\/p>\n
\nHaggadah – the Lord has given
\nHaggadah – testament
\nHaggadah – unto the living
\nHaggadah – the word was sent
\nHaggadah, Haggadah, Haggadah<\/p>\n
\nBut I would like to spend a while with you
\nAnd share with you the days
\nAnd the dances of King David, and the wisdom I have learned
\nFrom the lips of every martyr who
\nWas ever set to burn<\/p>\n
\nOffering much, stopping to touch
\nPart of each and everyone
\nFeeling what there was to know now, knowing all there is to feel
\nWandering cloud, whispering loud
\nResting on the love revealed<\/p>\n
\nSoftly she came and soft as the rain
\nIn the morning she was gone
\nLeaving only prayers and pictures, gifts of holy prophecy
\nBlessings of light left in the night
\nSecrets of eternity<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nColoured clowns walk the backstreets all around you
\nOne may stop you and pretend that he’s found you
\nIn Harlequin Haven, Harlequin Haven
\nAnd you say that it’s a shame, I don’t even have a name
\nIt’s a theatre game, and everyone’s the same
\nIn Harlequin Haven, Harlequin Haven<\/p>\n
\nbecome a lady
\nAnd you’re burning the page and you’ve turned all the wine
\nInto gravy, you must be crazy, the sky is hazy
\nIn Harlequin Haven, Harlequin Haven<\/p>\n
\nYou have buried your dreams in a black coffin cradle
\nAnd you’re sipping your tea from a blue velvet ladle
\nAnd the witches are wending their way to the crypt in the park
\nSomeone slipped in the dark, strike a match, find the spark
\nIn your eyes, in your eyes
\nSurprise, surprise!
\nSurprise, surprise!<\/p>\n
\nAnd the hooded figure driving has you laughing at the heat
\nBut you’re standing on your feet and you’re looking very neat
\nOutside of heaven
\nIn Harlequin Haven, Harlequin Haven<\/p>\n
\nThe cobblestones are sinking in the road not far ahead
\nAnd the cobbler he is thinking of the words that would be said
\nIf he were dead and gone, his hair was long,
\nHe never knew the tune to any happy song, the papers read
\nIn Harlequin Haven, Harlequin Haven
\nAnd it’s a northeastern town in the midwestern state
\nOf your mind, it\u2019s not hard to find
\nFollow the signs
\nTo Harlequin Haven, Harlequin Haven<\/p>\n
\nThe local gentry have been startled by a stranger on the grass
\nAnother guest all dressed in violet, and you know he’s not the last
\nFor he looks a proper dandy in his silken cape and lace
\nAnd you offer him some candy as you reach out for his face
\nTo see a man again, a faded mannequin
\nAnother charlatan, another harlequin
\nIn Harlequin Haven
\nPut on your mask again, you needn’t ask again
\nIn Harlequin Haven, Harlequin Haven<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nBut here to you is another world apart
\nIn a galaxy of fantasy
\nWhere expectation of being free
\nWill never allow you ever to see
\nYour way
\nYour way back here<\/p>\n
\nBut here to you is a sun summer afternoon
\nBy the swirling, surging California foam
\nI wonder if you ever think of home
\nWill I ever get used to being alone
\nBack here
\nAlone back here<\/p>\n
\nI watch the future tumble down into the past
\nIt falls, it falls, it falls so very fast
\nDescending from the crystal rim
\nThe sand is shattered from within
\nTomorrow flows into yesterday
\nAnd I search the grains of time
\nIn vain I try to find
\nAgain the days when you were mine
\nWhen you were here
\nWhen you were here, girl
\nOh, when you were here
\nWhen you were
\nHere<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nTake me on board and fly me away
\nOver the clouds and then gather me round
\nIn the light of the lovin’ that can brighten my day
\nShow me the lovin’ that can brighten my day<\/p>\n
\nOn a lavender jet trailin’ colour through the sky
\nDown below, you know the ocean waves were smilin’
\nAnd sparklin’ like the lovin’ in my lady’s eyes
\nIt was a time to grow and to gather brand new memories
\nThat were there to find like the shells upon the shore
\nIt was a time for shared adventure
\nand for daring unspoken dreams
\nTo chart the way and to lead us where we’d never been before<\/p>\n
\nTake me on board and fly me away
\nOpen your arms and then gather me round in them
\nShow me the lovin’ that can brighten my day
\nShow me the lovin’ that can brighten my day<\/p>\n
\nWhere the people would say ghostly pirate ships
\nmight soon appear
\nClimbin’ high above the town and gazin’ on the harbour
\nWe had kisses to share and orchids so rare
\nto pick and place in your hair
\nI can still recall the Rain, and hitchin’ in the afternoon
\nThrough the green banana groves we’d ride in friendly cars
\nUntil the evening sun descended like the chords
\nin a beautiful tune
\nThen we’d steal away to a shady bay and love beneath the stars<\/p>\n
\nTake me on board and fly me away
\nOpen your arms and then gather me round
\nIn the light of the lovin’ that can brighten my day
\nShow me the lovin’ that can brighten my night
\nShine down and colour my day<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nOf the cost of a plot for to put me away
\nAnd the price of a box to keep me unbelievably dry
\nSo I’ve decided after checkin’ around about
\nReincarnation, incineration, cut-rate cremation
\nI’m goin’ back to university when I die
\nWhen I die, when die
\nWhen I die, when I die
\nWell, you can swing down a chariot in search of me
\nBut there’ll be no real tellin’ where I’ll be
\nFor the Lord’s gonna understand
\nWhen they bottle me up all over the land
\nI’m goin’ back to university when I die
\nWhen I die<\/p>\n
\nTo refuse the hearse when I’m finally dead
\nBut I’d rather not play the centre of a flower display today
\nSo I’m gettin’ my hands into higher education
\nDon’t talk to me of self-degradation
\nI’m goin’ back to university when I die
\nWhen I die, when I die
\nWhen I die, when I die
\nWell in the monumental matter of layin’ to rest
\nI’d like to leave my bladder in a medicine chest
\nFor the Lord’s gonna save my soul
\nAnd there’s no way I’m stayin’ in a six foot hole
\nI’m goin’ back to university when I die
\nWhen I die<\/p>\n
\nCause I’ll be makin’ the grade while all the rest of my friends
\nAre under the grass, I’ll be at the head of the class
\nIn a glass
\nAnd if somebody’s pokin’ up in my cranium
\nNobody will be out plantin’ geraniums
\nI’m goin’ back to university when I die
\nWhen I die, when I die
\nWhen I die, when I die
\nWell I can feel it in my bones and the back of my knees
\nI’m gonna maintain so many degrees
\nI know the Lord loves a cheerful giver
\nSo I’m givin’ my heart and my lungs and my liver
\nI am goin’ back to university when I die
\nWhen I die
\nWhen I die, when I die
\nGlory hallelujah, when I die
\nHear me talkin’ to ya, when I die
\nWhen I die, brothers and sisters
\nWhen I die, praisin’ the Lord God
\nWhen I die<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nHeadin’ for a small country town
\nWe had speakers and guitars hangin’ out of the trunk
\nWhen we pulled up to this hotel lounge
\nAnd as we started unloadin’ all the clothes and equipment
\nI inquired where the band was to play
\nAnd when the manager pointed to a tiny red platform
\nIn the corner, I proceeded to say<\/p>\n
\nIt’s not exactly what I was led to expect
\nI said is that all I get? Is that all I get?
\nIts got to be the smallest stage I’ve ever seen yet
\nEvenin’ arrived and we began to play
\nStandin’ closer than a sweet harmony
\nOh, we were doin’ alright but really goin’ over
\nWith the girl by the pinball machine
\nShe was barely a woman but drinkin’ like a trooper
\nAnd tryin’ so hard to be cool
\nAnd when I gave her a picture instead of goin’ later
\nTo her place, she started to drool<\/p>\n
\nIts not exactly what I was led to expect
\nShe said is that all I get?, is that all I get?
\nYou know, I really love your music
\nBut is that all I get? (And I said, …yes)<\/p>\n
\nWith a rougher kind of crowd in the room
\nYellin’ give us some more of that good rock and roll
\nAnd skip your original tunes
\nAnd to top it all off I could see how the hotel
\nPatrons got in free at the door
\nSo by the end of the evenin’ I was slightly uptight
\nWhen the manager brought the reward<\/p>\n
\nIts not exactly what I was led to expect
\nI said, is that all I get?, is that all I get?
\nYou know I love to play my music
\nBut is that all I get?
\nI said, is that all I get?, is that all I get?
\nMy shirt is torn and tattered and my mind is a mess
\nI said, is that all I get?, is that all I get?
\nI’m sippin’ tea and honey and my throat is a wreck
\nIs that all I get?, is that all I get?
\nThirty-seven fifty and your deepest regrets
\nIs that all I get?, is that all I get?
\nYou call this makin’ a livin’?
\nIs that all I get?, is that all I get?
\nHow’m I gonna pay for my new home?
\nIs that all I get?, is that all I get?
\nThirty-seven fifty, I can’t believe it!
\nIs that all I get?, is that all I get?
\nWhat am I gonna tell my wife when I get home?
\nIs that all I get?, is that all I get?
\nYou know I love to play my music
\nBut is that all I get?<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nThen she looks in your eyes and she takes you once more
\nAnd you fly away but you\u2019re lost in the land
\nOf a make believe dream for you know
\nshe won\u2019t even touch your hand
\nTouch your hand
\nAnd she\u2019s all within your mind, within your mind
\nWithin your mind
\nShe\u2019s all within your mind, Lady Caroline<\/p>\n
\nYes, you\u2019ve felt it before and it\u2019s come back again
\nBut love knows no reason when the game has no name
\nAnd amid the confusion you\u2019re trapped in a magnificent delusion
\nIllusion
\nAnd it\u2019s all within your mind, within your mind
\nWithin your mind
\nShe\u2019s all within your mind, Lady Caroline<\/p>\n
\nAnd the laughter and the music and the fire soon erases
\nAll the idle conversation that has faded into time
\nAll except within the mind of Lady Caroline<\/p>\n
\nFor the hour is lonely and the night has grown old
\nBut the free phantom pixie still plays to deceive
\nHer perception is stronger, she knows
\nshe won\u2019t be here much longer
\nMuch longer
\nAnd she\u2019s all within your mind, within your mind
\nWithin your mind
\nShe\u2019s all within your mind, Lady Caroline<\/p>\n
\nThen she looks in your eyes and she takes you once more
\nAnd you fly away but you\u2019re lost in the land
\nOf a make believe dream for you know
\nshe won\u2019t even touch your hand
\nTouch your hand, ohh…<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nChicken fried in wine, it taste might fine
\nShe bake shortbread and rumballs anytime that I call
\nDay or night it was sure to be more than alright
\nI can tell ya she was
\nProud and handsome and fond of talkin’
\nBout her number one grandson, I was spoiled rotten
\nDown through the years she would send me a smile
\nOn a card or letter from over the miles
\nAnd then the good Lord came to carry her home
\nWhen she could hardly walk, stand on her own
\nBut I believe
\nAnd you know I believe I see my grandma<\/p>\n
\nLeapin’ Lily runnin’ home with God
\nLeapin’ Lily high above the trees
\nGreat Leapin’ Lily from Leeds
\nAnd I can see her now
\nLeapin’ Lily puttin’ down the pain, and uh huh
\nLeapin’ Lily throwin’ off the cane, and uh huh
\nLeapin’ Lily skippin’ through the sky
\nGreat Leapin’ Lily now you can fly<\/p>\n
\nAnd she used to come and hum that toora-loora tune
\nSay, sit by my bed, and we’d sing it in time
\nAnd I’d fall of to sleep with that good-lovin’ sound on my mind
\nWell I can tell ya, til the sun went down on the space between
\nThe big rockin’ chair and the TV screen
\nShe was still hummin’, singin’ along
\nTo the record machine, she was diggin’ my songs
\nAnd then the good Lord came to carry her home
\nWhen she could hardly walk, stand on her own
\nBut I believe, Great God I believe
\nI see my grandma<\/p>\n
\nLeapin’ Lily runnin’ home with God
\nLeapin’ Lily high above the trees
\nGreat Leapin’ Lily from Leeds
\nAnd I can see her now
\nLeapin’ Lily at the Jordan River
\nGonna jump for joy when the Lord deliver
\nPut down your pain, throw away the cane
\nWe’re gonna promenade and do it again
\nSpread your wings out upon the sky
\nGreat Leapin’ Lily, now you can fly
\nNow you can fly
\nWell no need to worry Lily, hey hey
\nNow you can fly
\nWell, now you can dance, I said run, you can jump, I said skip,
\nYou can fly
\nYou can fly<\/p>\n
\n
\n(Song For Creation 2) <\/strong>
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nI remind you now my friend
\nWe have battled well and often in the past
\nPoison words and empty prayers were all we ever
\nseemed to share
\nbut somehow through the grace of God I find
\nI love you now at last
\nO, ribbons of pure light have come
\nStreaming from the midnight sun
\nLike snowflakes fallin’ through my eyes
\nFill my heart with wild surprise
\nAnd it\u2019s such a new sensation
\nLiving in the days of the second creation<\/p>\n
\nThere exists a common space for us to stand upon
\nA solid rock forever warm, a living stage as you perform
\nplease remember me as I know I’ll remember you
\nO, drummers and dancers and actors abound
\nPoets appear to rejoice in the sound
\nOf snowflakes fallin’ through my eyes
\nFill my heart with wild surprise
\nAnd its such a new sensation
\nLiving in the days of the second creation<\/p>\n
\nThe Lord created and he blessed
\nAll things above and those below
\nMan was made and the world did grow
\nFurther on, on down the line
\nIn the back of a barn where the sun don’t shine
\nBoy child born and the birth divine
\nGreat glory and the birth divine
\nGreat glory and the birth divine
\nGreat glory and the birth divine
\nSuch a new sensation
\nProclaim the days of the second creation<\/p>\n
\nbefore we scatter through the years
\nthat I’m proud to say today we are a family
\nAnd I’d like to thank you now, the only way that I know how
\nI will play for just the pleasure of your company
\nO, brothers and sisters and angels abound
\nPoets appear to rejoice in the sound
\nOf snowflakes fallin’ through my eyes
\nFill my heart with wild surprise
\nAnd it\u2019s such a new sensation
\nLiving in the days of the second creation
\nO, and it\u2019s such a new sensation
\nLiving in the days of the second creation<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nWords by Allan J. Ryan, music by Allan J. Ryan and Bill Prosser<\/p>\n
\nAnd you know they do get dusty
\nFlyin’ so high in the Michigan sky
\nMy words get old and rusty
\nAnd when the rain come down to turn you around
\nYou will find it hard to walk now
\nAnd when I’m gone and I’m travellin’ on
\nI will leave you hear to talk now<\/p>\n
\nI come sailin’ into Southfield
\nSlippin’ on by the highway signs
\nI come down the line to Greenfield
\nPlay for the raven, play for the dove now
\nDon’t you know, well it’s alright
\nBeen singin’ my song for the Lord above now
\nEvery day and all night<\/p>\n
\nKickin’ rocks along the roadside
\nWith Billy the Kid in a flat top lid
\nKickin’ along by my side
\nNothin’ to see, well hey, nothin’ to do
\nBut to hum a little tune without words
\nAnd to wait for the man to come round again
\nDeliver us up to the blackbird<\/p>\n
\nHad a fair size reputation
\nFor dark delight but I feel the lights
\nHave all gone on vacation
\nToo bad for me for I’m bound to be
\nAll alone again in the mornin’
\nIn the afterglow of the late late show
\nWhen the night turns into dawnin’<\/p>\n
\nMichigan wind away, take me away
\nBack to where I belong
\nWhere the pale north moon
\nAnd the wild black loon
\nAre waitin’ to welcome me home
\nWaitin’ to welcome me home<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nGunnin’ down the alleyway, shootin’ up the street
\nI’ve seen \u2018em in the movies and the six \u2018o clock news
\nAnd it doesn’t seem to matter if you win or if you lose
\nFor the fun is in the fightin’ but you gotta do it right
\nMom I need a war toy, wanna be a real boy
\nWanna have the real joy of knowin’ how to fight<\/p>\n
\nI wouldn’t have to worry if I had another gun
\nBut mom I need war toy, wanna be a real boy
\nWanna have the real joy of knowin’ how to fight<\/p>\n
\nSmokin’ up the sewer main, breakin’ up the block
\nAh, the kids are all excited and they’re wishin’ pretty hard
\nFor the National Guard in their own backyard
\nAnd we’re gonna have a riot, at least we’re gonna try it
\nBut mom I need war toy, wanna be a real boy
\nWanna have the real joy of knowin’ how to fight<\/p>\n
\nFor a tommy gun for Billy, and a billy club for Tom
\nSo mom I need a war toy, wanna be a real boy
\nWanna have the real joy of knowin’ how to fight<\/p>\n
\nTo get out of trouble if I get in a row
\nSo Santa I’ll be waitin’ here anticipatin’
\nAll the goodies and guns, so much fun
\nWould you believe
\nComin’ Christmas Eve
\nLa n dada, la n da n dada, la n da n dada, la n da da da daaa<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nVision I’ve come to see
\nPleasure boats ride on the old canal
\nWhere the roadway seemed to be
\nAnd I fantasize within my eyes
\nAnd I watch the yachts go by
\nTakin’ my dreams upon that stream
\nThat flows into the sky<\/p>\n
\nGoin’ on up, goin’ up to Midian
\nTo get myself together
\nComin’ on back, back like Moses
\nFrom across the river
\nGoin’ on up, goin’ up to Midian
\nTo get myself together
\nComin’ on back like Moses
\nFrom across the river<\/p>\n
\nThinkin’ \u2018bout the heavenly dove
\nGivin’ up glory to the hollyhock
\nIn a hundred shades of love
\nAnd not so far above my head
\nThe barn swallows on the line
\nRehearse their private lives
\nAnd more than likely mention mine<\/p>\n
\nLike a holy sword in blossom
\nWould you cradle my song in the boughs of Abraham
\nNever more forgotten
\nAnd lead me to rest in the shady nest
\nOf that old rugged wedding cross
\nTil I finally find that peace of mind
\nI’m afraid got a little bit lost<\/p>\n
\nHow the sheep run down by the fence
\nTo watch the cornfields bow to one another
\nSayin, hey, hello, shall we dance
\nTil the night come down in harmony
\nWith a mean devil dobro friend
\nJust pickin’ and singin’ for the children
\nPlay a story that has no end<\/p>\n
\n<\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nThere was a lot of discontent throughout the nation
\nFrom a lack of any real communication
\nSo we went to press to find if we could come up with the kind
\nOf periodical to edify and stimulate your mind…
\nWe took a lively look at LIFE and the Atlantic Monthly too
\n(or the Police Gazette Review)
\nAnd now we\u2019ve found the perfect remedy for people such as you<\/p>\n
\nSin and vice, very nice, read it with a flashlight
\nScandals in the neighbourhood that no one else can find
\nWe guarantee to even take the time to warp your mind<\/p>\n
\nBe sure that we would like to have you on our mailing list
\nSend your name and your address and your approximate IQ
\nIf it\u2019s anywhere within the range of twelve to thirty two<\/p>\n
\nthe evening news
\nBut we\u2019re way ahead of all of them with what will interest you
\nWe\u2019ve got pornographic pictures by an Oriental monk
\nOf your brother\u2019s other mother slowly dying in a trunk<\/p>\n
\nTo help suggest the little things to prove you are a man
\nA little rude, a little crude, a little lewd, a little nude
\nYou can\u2019t run a weekly paper if you\u2019re going to be a prude<\/p>\n
\nClassified and confidential, shows you what to do
\nIf your fornication education\u2019s getting kind of cruddy
\nWrite to Sergeant Sickly\u2019s Lonely Hearts for a sexy bosom buddy<\/p>\n
\nWe\u2019ve a section for the culture buff who dabbles in the arts
\nSilent movies, really groovy, and unexpurgated goodies
\nYou can wallow in the Passion Pit and share it with your buddies<\/p>\n
\nTo appease the growing hunger for a healthy deviation
\nWhere else can you get love for sale at such a modest fee
\nEsoteric and erotic, satisfaction guaranteed.<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nTryin’ to write a letter to you
\nWell, doncha know I been pickin’ my brain
\nBlowin’ my mind in the breeze
\nMessin’ my feet through the leaves
\nAnd not quite knowin’ just where to begin
\nBut lovin’ the thought of you bein’ my friend
\nSayin’ your name and then feelin’ the pain
\nWishin’ I could see you again<\/p>\n
\nMy Canadian Maid
\nWell, I wish you had stayed with me
\nMy Canadian maid, I wish you had stayed
\nAnd we could have played pretty music together
\nBut it don’t matter wherever you go
\nI’ll still be waitin’ in southern Ontario
\nWaitin’ for you just to bring it on home now
\nMy Canadian maid<\/p>\n
\nIn the middle of the day or the night
\nWhen the rain is fallin’ and the wind is callin’
\nFrom the northeast corner of the moonlight
\nWould you ever stop and wonder if
\nI might be somewhere adrift
\nUpon a log, and within a fog
\nSingin’ a sweet song to you now<\/p>\n
\nCity by the sea, do you remember me anymore
\nWell, I was thinkin’ if you ever thought of leavin’
\nTown for a while, I would give you a smile
\nAnd a one-way ticket on a passenger plane
\nAll you gotta do is just mention my name
\nAnd then I’ll come arunnin’, I won’t stop for nothin’
\nBaby, just to see you again<\/p>\n
\nI don’t give up easy, girl
\nIt don’t matter to me that you’re a married woman now
\nWhy don’t you come home for the weekend
\nVisit the folks
\nI’m sure they’d like to see you
\nTime to go north young lady, go north
\nHead for the border
\nWhy, you could be here in no time and
\nWe could have a good time
\nWadaya say? Wadaya say?<\/p>\n
\n
\n<\/strong>Words and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nTo send you my heart in the mail
\nI couldn’t think of nothin’ better
\nThan to write a love letter
\nTo my local MP at the CBC
\nA lippy kinda hippy with a runaway tongue
\nBut a psychedelic swingin’ butterball
\nYou’re the biggest and the best
\nthat’s ever come from Osgood Hall
\nYou’re my Judy LaMarshmellow Doll<\/p>\n
\nI love you and I always will
\nNow you tell me that you’re quittin’
\nBut next to Charlotte Whitten
\nYou could be the Great Pumpkin on Parliament Hill
\nLavishly admired like a Hollywood queen
\nBut you’re an all round Canadian dream
\nYou’re a credit to the country
\nAnd the nation’s hallowed halls
\nYou’re my Judy LaMarshmellow Doll<\/p>\n
\nThat sets you apart from the start
\nI wouldn’t doubt that you could pass
\nFor another Mama Cass
\nSuch a cultured Aphrodite and a goddess of the arts
\nA legendary lady on the social carousel
\nAnd a temperamental governmental belle
\nYou’re the hostess with the mostest
\nOn the diplomatic ball
\nYou’re my Judy La Marshmellow Doll
\nThe belle of Niagara Falls
\nMy Judy LaMarshmellow Doll<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords by Allan J. Ryan, music by Allan J. Ryan and Bill Prosser<\/p>\n
\nWhen the dew is still fresh on the ground
\nThey get up, they get dressed makin’ breakfast
\nFind time to gobble it down
\nDash out the door to the office
\nWhere they sit and shuffle papers all day
\nStop and go home in the late afternoon
\nAh, but I couldn’t live that way<\/p>\n
\nI was never meant to be a good mornin’ man
\nI need to see my shadow in the blue moonlight
\nTo free my spirit and to bring me to life
\nSaid I’m a nighthawk, from the day I was born
\nI was never meant to rise up and shine in the mornin’
\nWith the sun, and the subway riders on the run
\nI’m a nighthawk and this is a nighthawk song<\/p>\n
\nAfter supper all the energy’s gone
\nSo they sit and they stare at the TV
\nWatchin’ whatever comes on
\nAll their life has been programmed
\nWith commercials and short coffee breaks
\nThey might be perfectly happy, I know
\nBut I guess I don’t have what it takes<\/p>\n
\nAs a full blood brother to the midnight muse
\nI need to see my shadow in the blue moonlight
\nTo free my spirit and to bring me to life
\nSaid I’m a nighthawk, from the day I was born
\nI was never meant to rise up and shine in the mornin’
\nWith the sun, and the subway riders on the run
\nI’m a nighthawk and this is a nighthawk song
\nI’m a nighthawk and this is a nighthawk song
\nI’m a nighthawk and this is a genuine nighthawk song<\/p>\n
\n
\nwords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nFor my birthday once in May
\nIt burned so brightly green and gold
\nI scarce could find the day
\nBut you kept your distance carefully
\nand you never slipped at all
\nThough we both knew there was no danger
\nYou could ever fall
\nYou could ever fall<\/p>\n
\nFrom every town I\u2019d seen
\nTo help you smile a time or two
\nAt every clown I\u2019d been
\nBut you kept your distance carefully
\nnow my cards have all been spent
\nI wonder if you ever knew
\nWhat any of them meant
\nWhat any of them meant<\/p>\n
\nFrom the teachings of St. Paul
\nIn shades of blue I framed it too
\nFor to hang upon your wall
\nBut you kept your distance carefully
\nWhen we sang the words aloud
\nBest you hide my dreams away
\nFrom an unsuspecting crowd
\nThey might think I\u2019m all too proud<\/p>\n
\nWon\u2019t ya turn around, say goodbye to me
\nI won\u2019t be cryin\u2019 and I won\u2019t be callin\u2019
\nIf the sun starts dyin\u2019 and the stars are fallin\u2019 in the sea
\nI will be free to be me, to be me<\/p>\n
\nWon\u2019t ya turn around, wave goodbye to me
\nIf the North Wind is burnin\u2019 and the skies run red
\nI will still be learnin\u2019 how to use my head
\nBut I\u2019ll be free to be me, to be me<\/p>\n
\nWon\u2019t ya turn around, wave goodbye to me
\nIf the trees stop growin\u2019 and the weeds unwind
\nOut across the clouds I won\u2019t be far behind
\nBut I\u2019ll be free to be me, to be me
\nto be me, me, me, me, me, mmmmmme<\/p>\n
\nFor my birthday once in May
\nBut now it seems oh so long ago,
\nI scarce can find the day
\nBut you kept your distance carefully
\nWhile the wax was movin\u2019 down
\nI wonder how I\u2019ll feel this year
\nWhen my birthday comes around
\nWhen my birthday comes around<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords by Allan J. Ryan, music by Allan J. Ryan and Bill Prosser<\/p>\n
\nI was workin\u2019 late, you see
\nWhen a knock, a knock came to my door
\nAnd a voice called out for me
\nAre you home or are you not
\nThe voice to me did say
\nAnd if you are, then unlock the door
\nBefore I\u2019m gone away<\/p>\n
\nTo yourself alone
\nAn invitation of a nature
\nMan has rarely known
\nAn invitation from the kitchen
\nOf your friend Malloy
\nWho would like for you to come at once
\nAnd dine with him, my boy<\/p>\n
\nI was down the stairs and gone
\nWith a moon, a Halloween moon on high,
\nShowin\u2019 me the way to get on
\nThrough the backyards and the gardens
\nOf the mansions fine
\nTo the backdoor and the kitchen
\nOf this friend of mine<\/p>\n
\nWas my friend Malloy
\nHe smiled and said, I\u2019m glad to see you
\nStep inside, my boy
\nAnd as I did directly
\nWell, unto my great surprise
\nA dozen faces at the table
\nSang to me this rhyme<\/p>\n
\nPablum, pablum, pull up a bowl and have some
\nBarley, rice and protein too
\nGot apple cinnamon, something new
\nMixed and oatmeal just for you
\nIn the colour co-ordinated box
\nWith the smilin\u2019 baby on the box
\nSlap my feet, gonna have a little treat
\nGonna get me a bowl of pablum<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nShakin’ the roots in the ground
\nOf an old generation, a new inspiration
\nTakin’ a new look around
\nBut he’s quickly disarming and utterly charming
\nQuite enough to make you let down your hair
\nIn a Society Just, a society must
\nCheck out PM Pierre<\/p>\n
\nPierre, in the money, find him with a bunny
\nPierre, a little brighter than the northern lights
\nHe oughta add a lotta colour to the Ottawa nights
\nCharismatic and dynamic with a trans-Atlantic flare
\nRegardez PM Pierre<\/p>\n
\nFor a slightly more exciting regime
\nFor a bachelor pad doesn’t seem half that bad
\nFor making the Parliament scene
\nBut can a party attender become party mender
\nAnd clear all the dust from the air
\nIn a Society Just, a society must
\nCheck out PM Pierre<\/p>\n
\nYou can quote him in English or en fran\u04abais
\nPierre, very stubborn with an iron will
\nSock it to me Trudy from Parliament Hill<\/p>\n
\n(recited) Because according to Miss LaMarsh there’s room in the capitol city for only one eligible swinger, and unfortunately for her this seems destined to be…PM Pierre<\/p>\n
\nWell, its better than a new pair of scandals
\nPierre, everybody sittin’ wonderin’ whether
\nHe’ll show up any day in a suit of Spanish leather
\nIf the adoration adulation of the Trudeau generation
\nFills your lovin’ heart with despair
\nIn a Society Just, a society must
\nCheck out PM Pierre, Pierre
\nCheck out PM Pierre, Pierre
\nCheck out PM, hey! Sock it to me Trudy from Parliament Hill!<\/p>\n
\n<\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nOne with a little more smile
\nOne I could wear with a natural grace
\nOne with a little more style
\nSometimes I wish I could have another face
\nOne with a little more grin
\nOne I could wear with a natural grace
\nOne to look out and not in<\/p>\n
\nHopin’ that tomorrow will be a bit better
\nPeople been prayin’ about my condition
\nTryin’ to relieve my solemn apparition<\/p>\n
\nTo paste on the front of my head
\nOne I could wear with a natural grace
\nOne that would never look dead<\/p>\n
\nOne I could learn to respect
\nOne I could wear with a natural grace
\nPerched on the top of my neck
\nSometimes I wish I could have another face
\nOne I could train to be free
\nFree to connect, reject, reflect
\nOne that could really be me<\/p>\n
\nBut to look at my face, you never can tell
\nAnd it gets kind of heavy when I gotta explain
\nTo some stranger again about the state of my pain<\/p>\n
\nTo paste on the front of my head
\nOne I could wear with a natural grace
\nOne that would never look dead<\/p>\n
\nOne with a little more laugh
\nOne I could wear with a natural grace
\nOne I could scrub in the bath
\nSometimes I wish I could have another face
\nOne that would grin a whole bunch
\nOne I could bundle in ruffles and lace
\nOne that would take me to lunch<\/p>\n
\nBut to look at my face, you never can tell
\nAnd it gets kinda heavy when your friends all say
\nHow long has it been since you passed away<\/p>\n
\nTo paste on the front of my head
\nOne I could wear with a natural grace
\nOne that would never look dead
\nI said dead, I mean dead<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nRusted from revolving now it has become unreal
\nAnd he tears apart the spectrum in his search for something new
\nTrying to define the line between the green and blue
\nBut the rainbow has long outlived the rain<\/p>\n
\nAn epitaph, an empty laugh, the only things he\u2019d known
\nThis side of Jordan where the waves of indignation
\nWashed away the genius of his rich imagination
\nDestroyed his dedication and the essence of creation in his soul
\nAnd doncha know<\/p>\n
\nLost upon the sea, left without the son
\nSon of Man, can you tell me who I am
\nWho I am<\/p>\n
\nVictim of the make believe in his visions of redeeming
\nAnd he\u2019s handing out his thoughts in a paperback edition
\nTo the barmaid and the barber and the busboy in the kitchen
\nAnd he holds a big cigar for any Indian brave who\u2019s well behaved<\/p>\n
\nCome to bring the message to the multitude of heathens
\nAnd he\u2019d autograph the baby of the lady down the block
\nAnd he\u2019d like to spend the night with her but if ever
\nhe were caught
\nHis career would all be shot and he\u2019d have to smile a lot
\nIn Idaho-ho-ho-ho-ho, and doncha know<\/p>\n
\nLost upon the sea, and left without a name
\nSon of Man, can you tell me who I am
\nWho I am<\/p>\n
\nSay your prayers again for there will be no dispensation
\nSay a word for me my friend along the highway home
\nFor I have found myself a woman and I can\u2019t go on alone
\nAnymore, anymore, anymore<\/p>\n
\nOf the cloisters and cathedrals and the golden chapel halls
\n\u2018Keep the faith\u2019 I\u2019ve heard it said to those about to die
\nThe Lord will solve the population problem by and by
\nAnd I wonder when Jesus left for the Vatican from Jerusalem<\/p>\n
\nafter one
\nTo the underprivileged patrons of the economic slums
\nWhere the merchants of the mainline supply the daily means
\nOf surviving on the sidelines of a hundred wasted dreams
\nFrom the marketplace of the underground it\u2019s a hard way back
\nAnd it\u2019s farther down than it seems<\/p>\n
\nFor the need that is within you they\u2019ll pretend to have the cure
\nWhile you\u2019re burning in the bedroom they\u2019ll be standing
\non the stairs
\nEver ready to impress you with the poison of their wares
\nBut the price you\u2019ll have to pay will be much more
\nThan any price you\u2019ve paid before, and oh my Lord<\/p>\n
\nLost upon the street, left without a name
\nSon of Man, can you tell me who I am<\/p>\n
\nAnd they blossom while the child he waits on the battlefield below
\nIn the artificial silence of imaginary war
\nThere is no need for violence, no need to count the score
\nFor tomorrow well may be another day<\/p>\n
\nMasquerading as the holders of the only way to die
\nAnd the only way to live within the confines of the game
\nWhere the object is to give without reflecting on the pain
\nBut the golden calf is on the prowl, and the campus cats
\nbegin to howl again
\nInside my brain<\/p>\n
\nFalling to be free, dying in the son
\nSon of Man
\nCould you take me
\nWould you take me
\nWill you take me as I am
\nAs I am….
\n……..
\nBehold the Lamb.<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan
\n(memories of Expo 67)<\/p>\n
\nThat laughed in the night at the morning skies
\nA vision of music played on the haze
\nOf a misty blue dream lost in far away days
\nSummer girl dressed in Spanish lace
\nCatch the midnight air, let it kiss your face
\nSummer girl, I’ll remember you<\/p>\n
\nLike a painted clown
\nIn the dark
\nOnly shadows of the avenue
\nIn the quiet park
\nWhere we played on the grass
\nVelvet with the evening dew
\nIt was new and so were you
\nNow you’re gone
\nNow you’re gone<\/p>\n
\nIn sunflower yellow and cornflower blue
\nReflections in faces and giant balloons
\nCrowded the fair on that late afternoon
\nSummer girl with flashing eyes
\nThat lingered in traces of unspoken sighs
\nSummer girl, as you coloured the room
\nWith kaleidoscope glances and Spanish perfume
\nSummer girl, I’ll remember you<\/p>\n
\nMuy hermosa, chica linda
\nSummer girl, I’ll remember you<\/p>\n
\nQue re\u00edan en la noche a los cielos de la ma\u00f1ana
\nUna visi\u00f3n de musica tocada en la neblina
\nDe un sue\u00f1o nublado y azul perdido en dias lejanos
\nSe\u00f1orita del verano, vestida de encaje espa\u00f1ol
\nCoge el aire del medianoche, d\u00e9jalo besar tu cara
\nSe\u00f1orita del verano, de ti me acordar\u00e9<\/p>\n
\nEn el oscuro, solamente las sombras de la avenida en el parque quieto
\nAdonde jugabamos en la yerba, terciopelo con roc\u00edo vespertino
\nEra nuevo y tambien era tu
\nAhora has partido, ahora has partido<\/p>\n
\nEn amarillo de girasol y azul del flor de maiz
\nReflexiones en las caras y globos gigantes
\nEstrujada la fiesta en la tarde tarde<\/p>\n
\nQue tardaban en vestigios de suspiros indecidos
\nSe\u00f1norita del verano, como tu colorabas el cuarto
\nCon mirados del kaleidascope y perfume espanol
\nSe\u00f1orita del verano, de ti me acordar\u00e9
\nOhh mi se\u00f1orita del verano, angelica
\nMuy hermosa, chica linda
\nSe\u00f1orita del verano, de ti me acordar\u00e9.<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nWhen the gravediggers struck on New York
\nAll of Manhattan was trembling with fear
\nWhen the gravediggers struck on New York
\nEveryone hoping their time hadn’t come
\nNot wanting to rest by the road in the sun
\nAnd everyone wishing it hadn’t begun
\nThe gravediggers’ strike on New York<\/p>\n
\nAnd the flowers were fixin’ to die
\nWhile the anxious director was twitching his nose
\nAnd wondering if he were high
\nThe caskets were left by the chimney with care
\nIn hopes that the gravediggers soon would be there
\nBut nobody came to collect any wares
\nWhen the gravediggers struck on New York<\/p>\n
\nAt the desperate state of affairs
\nWhile most of his clients were starting to pile
\nIn the freezer out back of the stairs
\nThe markers were silent, the shovels were still
\nIn the midwinter cold up on Monument Hill
\nFor nobody’d left any holes to be filled
\nWhen the gravediggers struck on New York<\/p>\n
\nThe clergy proceeded to cry
\nThat the wages of sin were the wages of men
\nIf even the dead were denied
\nFor the dearly departed who’d recently passed
\nInto the realm of the requiem mass
\nHad to be left at the edge of the grass<\/p>\n
\nI remember the night, I remember the year
\nWhen the gravediggers struck on New York
\nAll of Manhattan was trembling with fear
\nWhen the gravediggers struck on New York
\nEveryone hoping their time hadn’t come
\nNot wanting to rest by the road in the sun
\nAnd everyone wishing it hadn’t begun
\nThe gravediggers’ strike on New York<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nAnd your hopes are up but your dreams are down
\nDon’t despair there are friends that can be found
\nAll around
\nThere are people you can meet
\nRound the corner down the street
\nPast the neon signs and the faded blinds
\nThey’re not very hard to find<\/p>\n
\nUnderneath the stairway
\nThat leads up to the tenements above
\nIt’s a house that’s filled with love
\nIt’s a house that’s filled with love<\/p>\n
\ndon’t miss the writing that’s on the wall
\nAnd winds around the flowers
\nIn profusion and for hours
\nYou can wander in the wonder
\nOf the Lord’s whole creation
\nSit down by the fireplace
\nThere’s a welcome smile on every face
\nYou know the reason why
\nYou don’t even have to try
\nAnd it\u2019s very clear that there’s something here
\nAll your money just can’t buy<\/p>\n
\nUnderneath the stairway
\nThat leads up to the tenements above
\nIt’s a house that’s filled with love
\nIt’s a house that’s filled with love<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and (most of the) music by Allan J. Ryan
\n(memories of Montreal, 1967)<\/p>\n
\nWhen Le Grand Charles came to call but decided not to stay
\nThey greeted him with cheers and shouts
\nand cries of Charlemagne
\nLes Quebecois turned out to meet the lost king of Lorraine<\/p>\n
\nIn honour of the self-proclaimed advisor to the world
\nQuebec City, La Nouvelle France, ten thousand fleur-de-lis
\nBut not a maple leaf in sight as far as you could see<\/p>\n
\nThat someone had just given them, but why they were not sure
\nAround the Plains of Abraham they lined the King\u2019s Highway
\nWhile Uncle Charlie promised their Emancipation Day<\/p>\n
\nWait til you hit Montreal, De Gaulle
\nThey\u2019re tried and true, red white and blue
\nYou\u2019ll have them all before the fall, De Gaulle
\nWell anyway, that\u2019s what they say<\/p>\n
\n\u201cQuebec libre!\u201d, RIN, that was the battle cry
\nA majestic hand they say you raised in answer to the shouts
\nThen you put your majestic foot in your majestic mouth<\/p>\n
\nYour words are unacceptable, do you still plan to stay?
\nYou rode the Metro, went to Expo, smiling through the pain
\nOf having Liberation Day float quickly down the drain.<\/p>\n
\nDon\u2019t sleep in the Metro, Charlie
\nIt\u2019s not your Parisian train
\nDon\u2019t sleep in the Metro, Charlie
\nIt\u2019s best you find some other place…
\nPreferably your own plane<\/p>\n
\nSince Mr. Pearson rated your performance rather low
\nIt took a man like Mayor Drapeau to show you where it\u2019s at
\nWhile Premier Johnson hid his face and crawled under the mat<\/p>\n
\nOr canadien-fran\u04abais monsieur, if you come back again
\nYou did more good while you were here
\nThan you\u2019d have us expect
\nFor now they sing “O Canada” much louder in Quebec.<\/p>\n
\n<\/a><\/h4>\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan
\n(commemorating the 1968 Russian invasion of Czechoslovakia)<\/p>\n
\nShadows moved without a warning, caravans pushed on
\nUndetected, unexpected, two hundred thousand strong
\nAnd the Russian circus came to town
\nAnd we watched the dancing bear
\nAs it paraded all around<\/p>\n
\nAnticipation not surprising, the crowds came on the run
\nTents were mounted, heads were counted,
\nThe big show had begun
\nAnd in the centre ring fine performing dogs
\nAnd we watched the bright red clowns
\nAs they marched all over Prague<\/p>\n
\nSmiling down on revellers rejoicing everywhere
\nBreak the kegs and spill the wine aged for thirty years
\nAnd with the bloody taste of memories
\nAnd the smell of sweat and tears<\/p>\n
\nDown the side street check the sideshow shooting galleries
\nGames of chance you bet your life,
\nAnd you ask the magician why
\nAs he clouds his crystal cannonball
\nAnd you watch the human fireball
\nAs it climbs into the sky<\/p>\n
\nPrecision drilling gets top billing every place they go
\nMotorcycle majesty famed from sea to sea
\nAnd with no restrictions and free admission
\nTo see the exhibition of Inquisition pageantry<\/p>\n
\nVery pretty, night in the city never seemed so gay
\nBurn the eyes from the midnight skies on the eve of a dying day
\nWhen the Russian Circus came to town
\nAnd still the dancing bear is parading all around<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords by Allan J. Ryan, music by Allan J. Ryan and Bill Prosser<\/p>\n
\nAnd from my pillow I can see the skies
\nOffer me another day and already I’m into
\nThoughts of you
\nFrom the moment I rise til I finally rest
\nThere’s a feelin’ of you
\nFor you lighten my life
\nYou shine into my life
\nSpread your love on everything I do<\/p>\n
\nStay for supper then he rolls away
\nLike the sun I move around but I’m only movin’ to
\nThoughts of you
\nMore and more I’m amazed at the way
\nYou’ve been takin’ ahold of my mind
\nFor you lighten my life
\nYou shine into my life
\nSpread your lovin’ out across my time<\/p>\n
\nMight come to you as quite a surprise
\nTakin’ note of the fact that I seldom admit
\nWhat I’m feelin’ inside
\nBut with your help I’ve been learnin’ to give
\nNow I’m givin’ this song to you
\nFor you lighten my life
\nYou shine into my life
\nSpread your love on everything I do<\/p>\n
\nYou shine into my life
\nSpread your love on everything I do<\/p>\n
\n
\nWords and music by Allan J. Ryan<\/p>\n
\nI just don’t want to have you hangin’ round me anymore
\nBurnin’ up the air with all your flamin’ filter tips
\nAnd well I’ve had it up to here with kisses from your lava lips
\nAnd you may be fine Virginia but I swear I’ve had enough
\nOf the flavour of your favours and the poison in your puff<\/p>\n
\nI gotta have a woman who will give me room to breathe
\nCause I can’t cut the carbon and I can’t hack the weed
\nHey, true fine Virginia girl it’s time for you to leave<\/p>\n
\nWith your big black cloud hangin’ over my bed
\nYou know I love to love you but I get no relief
\nFrom the butts upon my blanket, powder burns upon my sheets
\nHoles in my pillow, girl, well it\u2019s such a heavy load
\nPack up your cigarillo, head on down Tobacco Road<\/p>\n
\nI gotta have a woman who will give me room to breathe
\nCause I can’t cut the carbon and I can’t hack the weed
\nHey, true fine Virginia girl it’s time for you to leave
\nHey, true fine Virginia girl it’s time for you to leave
\nHey, true fine Virginia girl it’s time for you to leave<\/p>\n