1. |
La Migra Viene
04:05
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The mornings were chilly
The air was crisp
As a Striped or a Red
Or a Golden Delicious
A couple of tortillas
Coffee with rum
By the time the sun came up
You’d have half a bin done
The trees were like temples
Was a holiness to ‘em
You’d pick out the bottoms
& Then all the way through ‘em
Up on a ladder
Out on a limb
The trees were like temples
I liked being in ‘em
Fernando amazed me
He was the quickest
18 bins
In a day he could do
I got 9 once
But that was with big fruit
I worked only as hard as
I needed to
Sometimes, though
On the nicest of days
Somebody would whistle
And my friends would run away
They were yelling...
La Migra, La Migra
La Migra viene
Andele! Andele!
Run! Run!
They leapt from their ladders
To the next nearest orchard
Spreading the word
That La Migra was coming
My Spanish was stiff
A little too formal
I cracked ‘em up
& They taught me to cuss
And you can bet I was cussing
When they all went a’ running
You can bet I was cussing
At the big yellow bus
The vans brought ‘em in ‘till the
Bus was all loaded
Sometimes whole families
At least you’d have thought...
They’d be back the next week
Up on their ladders
Giving new names
The next time they got caught
Sometimes, though
On the nicest of days
Somebody would whistle
And my friends would run away
They were yelling...
La Migra La Migra
La Migra viene
Andele! Andele!
Run! Run!
They leapt from their ladders
To the next nearest orchard
Spreading the word
That La Migra was coming
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2. |
Moe Berg: The Song
04:16
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Moe Berg the catcher - good field and no hit
Somehow he lasted 19 years - ‘till his knees made him quit
He never really played much & he never really cared
He was happy just to hang around with a uniform to wear
Moe Berg the Princeton graduate - went on to study law
Got his degree from Columbia - all the while playing ball
He caught the eye of the Dodgers - who were trying to sign a Jew
Who might help ‘em sell some tickets - in The Bronx & Yonkers too
Moe Berg the professor of the bullpen joked with pitchers
Reading them the newspapers he used to have delivered
He spoke to ‘em in Russian, Japanese & French
He was the greatest scholar that ever rode the bench
Moe Berg & The Babe, they went over to Japan
With a team of touring all-stars giving clinics for the fans
This was back in the 30’s as the world prepared for war
Moe took a lot of pictures - nobody knew what for
Moe Berg the secret agent - never even told his mom
Of his mission to determine if the Germans had the bomb
He learned to speak good physics - without hardly a lisp
He infiltrated lectures with the German scientists
Moe Berg the walking riddle would put his fingers to his lips
If you recognized him on the street - he’d nod & whisper “shhhh”
He kept a lot of secrets - no one will ever know
He knew a lot of people - but nobody ever knew Moe
Moe Berg the beloved - he had the gift of gab
The moocher, the celebrity - he never paid the tab
He could get in at the ballpark - with his lifetime player’s pass
He could eat up in the press box - someone always filled his glass
Moe Berg son of an immigrant - brought his father shame
All that education - then to play a child’s game
Moe made it to the Majors - but his dad would never go see him
Moe’s baseball card is on display at the CIA museum.
Long after he’d retired - there was still Moe Berg the myth
He rode into the sunset hanging sadly onto it
Appearing on a game show - as the mystery guest
Some say disappearing - might be what Moe did best
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3. |
Bad Whiskey
03:29
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Bad whiskey killed young Tom Greene
Bad whiskey from the still
From out behind the chicken shack
Just atop the hill
His friends were coming over
Like they would to quench their thirst
Before any of ‘em showed up
Tom thought he’d taste some first
Tom Greene, he was well liked
Even by the law
Oh sure, he had his run ins
But no real character flaws
The sherif kept the keys
To the lockup on the table
Where a sober man could reach ‘em
Just as soon as he was able
Bad whiskey killed young Tom Greene
He cooked the stuff himself
He’d gotten into bottling it
For everybody else
They don’t know what got into it
Or how long it took to die
His thirsty friends, they found him
When they came for their supply
Tom Greene’s whiskey
Put a good shine on the moon
They kept some underneath the counter
In all the reputable saloons
Some nights there’ll be a light on
In Tom Greene’s old little shack
Smoke comes from the chimney
The snow won’t have any tracks
There’s been no investigation
The sherif, he won’t step inside
They say the man went sober
The day young Tom Greene died
Bad whiskey killed young Tom Greene
Though his was usually good
People’d come from miles around
To get some if they could
But ever since Tom left us
Most folks have dumped their stash
The odd bottle that might turn up
Will still fetch a bunch of cash
Tom Green’s whiskey
Put a good shine on the moon
They kept some underneath the counter
In all the reputable saloons
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4. |
Our Gods
03:58
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We worship our gods - we buy souvenirs
Admire our trinkets - in front of our mirrors
A hat with a cross - a shirt with a star
The names of our teams - tattooed on our arms
We’re given our gods at the moment of birth
The gods of our fathers- all others be cursed
At the earliest age - we memorize verse
The gospel - as it is written
We swear at our gods - curse our rotten luck
From the side of the road - when we self-destruct
We ask them to save us - to get us unstuck
From the muck we get ourselves into
Temples of stained glass - hand cut stones
We build for our gods - such magnificent homes
We visit sometimes - but we don’t stay long
Not when the football games are on
We make deals with our gods - to win back what we’ve lost
In our pants pockets - our fingers are crossed
Lord, give us this day - make these prosperous times
Help us - to cover our crimes
We go to the seers - say, “Show us the script
That our gods have left for us - stashed in some crypt”
“Ah, secrets,” they say - “what has never been told...
Yours...for a pile of your gold”
We kill for our gods - we wage holy wars
Assassinate presidents - burn down bookstores
Massacre children to - settle old scores
Yelling, “Our gods are great!”
Our gods must be proud - of the blood on our hands
And the way we go conquering - far away lands
In the names of our gods - may the glory be theirs
Let the spoils & the plunders be ours
We serve our gods - in such humorless ways
Rituals we do - laws we obey
Sometimes in between we pray
But how often do we say “I love you?”
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5. |
Creepsville
03:50
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I was low on gas - I was ready to stop
Get a room for the night - exit 13 coming up
Sign said Creepsville...
Gas, food, lodging, and a hospital
Out of state plates - that’s probable cause
They’ll stop you on the exit ramp - start making up the laws
Creepsville - whatcha doing in Creepsville, boy?
Creepsville Motel - I was checking in
“You want the room with the peep hole?”
The clerk asked with a grin
Creepsville - clean sheets & a place to lay your head
...uh huh...your head
There’s a topless pawnshop - next to a topless church
Next to a topless casino - where you can lose your shirt
Creepsville - bottoms up at the topless club in Creepsville
Rest rooms in Creepsville - there’s nothing you should touch
You’ve got to hold your breath - got to use your shoes to flush
Creepsville - you’re in a hurry to get in but to get out you’re in a rush
Seen black-eyed children with their black-eyed ma
Learning family values from their red-knuckled pa
Creepsville
Bought my gas in the morning - I was leaving town
Left my wallet at the filling station - some guy flagged me down
He said, “Hey buddy...you forgot this”
When I opened it up... there was nothing missing
Creepsville - if there be one good soul in Creepsville...
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6. |
Radio
04:55
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Anderson, South Carolina - TL Hanna High
The people there will tell you - ask any passerby
About the kid who speaks in gibberish - folks’ll tell you, “Shoot...
Wasn’t nothing but a little love and attention gave voice to a mute”
Who stood with his transistor - pressed against his ear
Picking up certain frequencies that only he could hear
There was this little man inside it - perhaps his only friend
The only one who’d talk to him - the only one back then
Coach Jones barked, “Come here, boy!” to this kid up in the stands
Who was mimicking him loudly - making gestures with his hands
The players on the football team exchanged uneasy glances
You jumped when Coach said to jump - but oh, how slow the boy was advancing
Coach Jones was pulling on the drawstrings on his hood
The kid, he spoke in gibberish -Coach, he understood
Lamb imitating lion - it sure looked like easy prey
But this is not what happened - no, it went the other way
This kid they nicknamed Radio was 18 going on 6
The team needed a water boy - and so the job was his
Coach convinced the principal to bend a couple rules
He’d pick up Radio every day - on his way to school
Everywhere that Coach Jones went his lamb was sure to go
They tried him out in Special Ed but his marks were too low
The kid’s now in his 50’s - his hair is sprinkled white
For 30 years he’s come to school - he cannot read or write
Come Football Fridays - they let Radio be the star
He falls in with the marching band and then with the color guard
He jumps when the cheerleaders jump - with pom poms on his hands
He cusses like the coaches do & he high fives with the fans
They give Radio report cards & they give him varsity letters
They let him wander freely in his TL Hanna sweater
He visits all the classrooms - and whenever there’s a test
He whips out his box of crayons - he tries his very best
Everyone knows Radio - the townspeople adore him
The students pat his head just like their parents did before them
Anderson, South Carolina...folks’ll tell you, “Shoot...
It wasn’t nothing but a little love and attention - gave voice to a mute
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7. |
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My family never roasted chestnuts - on an open fire
Never went around the neighborhood - singing carols with a choir
Never went to Midnight Mass & sat on cold hard pews
My family - we had different views
I never had to be good - just for goodness sake
On Christmas Eve I didn’t try to keep myself awake
Listening for sleigh bells - or looking for a mouse
Santa always skipped over our house
Jimmy got a train set with a shiny new caboose
Billy, an erector set, with nuts & bolts & screws
Tammy got a kit for making cheese fondues
But on Christmas I got nothing - ‘cause we were Jews
We never put up trimmings ‘cause we never had a tree
I wouldn’t know a mistletoe from a torpedo’s knee
I never sat on Santa’s lap - but hey, if Jesus was a Jew...
Wouldn’t that make Santa be one too?
I used to hate when it was cold enough for Christmas to be white
Never hung a wreath of holly - or strung the yard with lights
Those other houses looked so pretty - but the electricity they must’ve used!
We lit candles - ‘cause we were Jews
Annie got a bright red pair of kangaroo shoes
Kathy got some soaps & an assortment of shampoos
Even Buffy’s dingo got some brand new rawhide chews
But on Christmas I got nothing - ‘cause we were Jews
Sometimes we ate chicken - and sometimes we ate lamb
Sometimes we ate turkey - but we never had a ham
I never did like eggnog - or those wine & cider brews
We drank Mogen David - ‘cause we were Jews
Jenny got a bike she had to wait ‘till Spring to use
Tommy from across the street - he got his front tooth
Joshua got a horn so he could learn to play the blues
But I already had some...
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8. |
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Every morning I commute
Mild mannered man in a business suit
I want to get home at the end of my day
But there are all these other cars in my way
I pull up behind one...pull out my pistol...
And I blow ‘em away
I’m driving my car & I want to go fast
But there’s a slow car...won’t let me pass
I flash my lights & I honk my horn
I have to consider him warned
I pull up behind him...pull out my pistol...
And I blow ‘em away
Jesse James behind the wheel
It’s high noon in my automobile
You can call me crazy...you can call me sick
Just let me get where I’m going to quick
Son-of-a-bitch...he cut me off
Three whole lanes he cut across
Made me mad...made me swerve
Son-of-a-bitch, he got what he deserved
I pulled up behind him...pulled out my pistol...
I blew him away
Motorcycle driving between
The backed up traffic...right between the lanes
Y’know, to me...that’s an act of war
I saw him coming...I opened my door
Knocked him over...pulled out my pistol...
And I blew him away
Jesse James behind the wheel
It’s high noon in my automobile
You can call me crazy...you can call me sick
Just let me get where I’m going to quick
Little red sports car...flying past
Made me jealous...he went so fast
I gave him the finger...I thumbed my nose
Took me fifty miles for me to get close enough
To pull up behind him...pull out my pistol...
And blow ‘em away
Little old lady...bless her heart
Walking her poodle across the boulevard
It was wearing a red knitted sweater and a red knitted hat
Its name was Fifi...or something stupid like that
I said, “Here Fifi”...pulled out my pistol...
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9. |
Hockey Fight Song
02:12
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I’m going down to the Garden - with a couple of my buds
Gonna sit up in the cheap seats - I wanna see a little blood
I wanna get my money’s worth - eat some dogs & drink some beers
Yell all night at the referee - “Go on you bum, get outta here!”
I wanna see a hockey fight - a donnybrook, a little brouhaha
And if our team should score tonight - we all can yell “Hoorah! Hoorah!”
I didn’t come to see Gretzky - I didn’t come to see Lemieux
Or any of those other pretty boys - and all that fancy stuff they do
I came to see the Hanson Brothers - take on Dave “The Hammer” Schultz
Drop their gloves & do the tango - beat each other to a bloody pulp
I wanna see a hockey fight - a donnybrook, a little brouhaha
And if our team should score tonight - we all can yell “Hoorah! Hoorah!”
Send in the goons, coach - c’mon, get rid of these clowns
Let’s kick some ass, team - hey you, in front, yeah you, sit down!
I wanna see the benches empty - garbage raining from the stands
Wanna see ‘em climb the glass - start a little something with the fans
I wanna see a hockey fight - a donnybrook, a little brouhaha
And if our team should score tonight - we all can yell “Hoorah! Hoorah!”
My boy’s a hockey player - my boy, he’s pretty tough
I’m awfully proud of my boy - he ain’t afraid to mix it up
You shoulda seen him whup that Nichols kid - gave that boy a bloody nose
Shoot, by the time he’s ten years old - my boy’ll be ready for the pros
I wanna see a hockey fight - a donnybrook, a little brouhaha
And if our team should score tonight - we all can yell “Hoorah! Hoorah!”
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10. |
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The come heres and the been heres - they don’t get along
I’d been there 15 minutes - and I knew something was wrong
The waitress wasn’t friendly - and neither was the cook
Until I asked how far it was - to the town of Stony Brook
The come heres live in cabins - the been heres live in shacks
They’ll say hello in passing - talk behind each others’ backs
White collars versus rednecks - horses versus mules
The city kids they come here - make the teachers look like fools
The come heres come with laptops, Wii, and DVR’s
Some of them have GPS’s - inside their hybrid cars
They want to make no smoking zones in all the public places
They want to pass an ordinance outlawing turkey races
The ancestors of been heres - they came here early on
When there were just the Indians - and once they were gone
They claimed themselves the new world - there was lots to go around
Carved up a bunch of properties & they built this little town
Now the come heres nearly have the votes to make one of ‘em mayor
In the last election they won half the council chairs
They took over the school board and outlawed the morning prayers
They’re teaching evolution and sex education there
The come heres have their pussycats and their little white french poodles
The been heres have their hound dogs - with names like Yankee Doodle
The come heres like to watch the ducks and sometimes they will feed ‘em
The been heres like to shotgun ‘em & take ‘em home & eat ‘em
The been heres do their drinking in a been here owned saloon
But in that brand new micro-brewery there’s a separate dining room
Only at the K-mart or the Wal-mart do they mix
They think of one another as carrot nibblers & hicks
The come heres keep a coming - new ones every day
They come for second chances - the new world, as they say
They buy & sell these properties - for unheard of amounts
The come heres keep a’ coming - building up this little town
The come heres and the been heres - two towns that overlap
You wouldn’t even see it - by just looking at a map
I was there at Christmas time - when a tree was just a tree
And you couldn’t tell whose kids were who’s - sitting there on Santa’s knee
The come heres & the been heres - there’s talk about a fence
The whole town is divided - half for and half against
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11. |
Circle (by Annie Gallup)
03:00
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I don't mind sleeping in the straw
Or washing in the pony's trough
And I don't miss the life I left
I've no regrets for running off
There's endless work behind the scenes
It's dirty and it's hard
I spend far more time in ripped up jeans
Than in my sequined leotard
But nights when everything goes right
I stand in a circle of heat and light
And I have the power to change the dreams
Of everyone in this shabby tent
Make them believe, if not in magic,
In money well spent
I'm not the best in the business
But I earn my applause
There are risks you know, these tigers have teeth
But no claws
And right away I was so good with them
I never thought of going back
I could smell the anger in their sweat
I could coax them to attack
And nights when everything goes right
They leap through a circle of heat and light
With the power to change the dreams
Of everyone in this shabby tent
Make them believe, if not in magic,
In money well spent
We were driven out of Beaumont
When the Lazy "J" complained
And we tore her down, packed her up
In a stubborn Texas rain
And standing by the trailers
While the dogs and roosters load
I think about a dark-eyed poet
I met along the road
But nights when everything goes right
I stand in a circle of heat & light
I have the power to change the dreams
Of everyone in this shabby tent
Make them believe
In magic
©1998 Annie Gallup
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Chuck Brodsky Asheville, North Carolina
See bio at www.chuckbrodsky.com/bio. If you'd like to support me further, you can do so through my paypal address - chuck@chuckbrodsky.com. Thanks.
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