Dad's Recitations (2006)

This was sent to me in an email in Wordperfect format. The emails for part of the archives.

Dads Recitations

This booklet is dedicated to Dads memory

I tried to remember what I could but if you can help me with anything you can remember that would be fantastic. I added the poem (The Cremation of Sam McGee). It isn't the version Dad always recited but I would appreciate any feedback on that too. I don't want us to ever forget the laughter - That was his legacy. Just like his obituary said - He was the greatest story teller of all time.

GRANDMA'S IN THE CELLAR
Grandma's in the cellar
Can't you smell her can't you smell her
She's cooking on that goddamned dirty stove
From her nose is dripping matter
it's a headin for the batter
She's cooking on that goddamned dirty stove

I'm drinking whiskey down down down down
It makes my head go round round round round
I'll be drinking whiskey down
when I meet that bully of the town

The Shitwagon

The night was dark the sky was blue
when down the alley the shit wagon flew
a bump was hit a cry was heard
a man was kilt by a flying turd

Christopher Columbo

The year was fourteen ninety two.
A dego from I-tali-orunning around the streets of Spain
shitting in every alley
He went unto the queen of Spain and said
give me ships and cargoand hang me up by the nuts
If I don't bring back Chicago
Three little ships set out to sea,
each one a double-decker.
The queen she waved the royal flag,
Columbo waved his pecker.
Columbo paced upon the deck,
he knew it was his duty.
He took his whang into his hand and said,
"Ain't that a beauty!"
Columbo had a cabin boy,
A dirty little nipper.
He stuffed his ass with broken glass
And circumcised the skipper
Columbo Columbo
He thought the earth was round O
That Fornicating Masterbating
Son of a Bitch Columbo

The Ballad of Old Nell and Piss Pot Pete

Now listen close and I will tell
A story about this whore, name Nel
lNow It was known for miles around
that no one could poontang old Nell down
now Nell was a school marm from way out west
and it was said she loved her poontang best

When over the hill came a bare ass Greek
Who said his name was Piss Pot Pete.
He laid his cock across the bar,
I'll swear it stretched from thar to thar.
Now Nell she knew she had met her fate,
But to back out then it was to late.
So they choose a spot beside the mill,
Inside the shit house up on the hill

First they went at it with an ease
and shook the leaves right off the trees
then they went at it with a will
and shook the trees clean off that hill
they went at it for hours and hours
Until they had killed all the trees and flowers,
There's hills and hollars and valleys yet
where old Nell's ass and the ground it met
and all that's left of that there whore
is a dirty brassiere on the shit house floor

Bye bye Blackbird

My girl don't wear no underwear
I don't care if she goes bare Bye, Bye, Blackbird,
I stuck my hand beneath her dress,
and there I found a blackbirds nest
Bye bye black bird
She took me out into the wildwood
twas there she helped me loose my childhood
I come once she come twice
Holly jumping jesus christ
Blackbird by bye

The Ballad of Moby Dick

Now this is the ballad of Moby Dick
the Man who was born with a corkscrew prick
Of his life he made an endless hunt
trying to find a woman with a spiral cunt
and when he found her he fell over dead
cause the son of a bitch had a left hand thread

The Martins and the Coys

Gather round me children, while I tell a story
Of the mountains in the days when guns was law.
When two families got disputin'
It was sure to end in shootin'
So just listen close, I'll tell you what I saw.
Oh, the Martins and the Coys,
They was reckless mountain boys,
And they took up family feudin' when they'd meet.
They would shoot each other quicker
Than it took your eye to flicker;
They could knock a squirrel's eye out at ninety feet.
All their fightin' started one bright Sunday morning,
When old Grandpa Coy was full of mountain dew;
Just as quiet as a church-mouse
He stole in the Martin's hen-house,
'Cause the Coys they needed eggs for breakfast too.
Oh, the Martins and the Coys,
They was reckless mountain boys,
And old Grandpa Coy has gone where angels live.
When they found him on the mountain
He was bleedin' like a fountain,
For they punctured him till he looked like a sieve.
So the Coys started right out to avenge him,
And they didn't even take time out to mourn.
They went out to do some killin'
Where the Martins was distillin',
And they found old Abel Martin makin' corn.
Oh, the Martins and the Coys,
They was reckless mountain boys,
And old Abel Martin was the next to go.
Though he saw the Coys a-comin'
He had hardly started runnin'
When a volley shook the hills and laid him low

After that they started out to fight in earnest,
And they scarred the mountains up with shot and shell.
There was uncles, brothers, cousins -
Sure, they bumped 'em off by dozens;
Just how many bit the dust it's hard to tell.
Oh, the Martins and the Coys,
They was reckless mountain boys;
At the art of killin' they became quite deft.
Though they knowed they shouldn't do it,
Still before they hardly knew it
On each side they only had one person left.
Now, the one remaining Martin was a maiden,
And as pretty as a picture was this Grace,
While the one survivin' boy
Was the handsome Henry Coy -
And the folks all knew they'd soon meet face to face.
Oh, the Martins and the Coys,
They was reckless mountain boys,
And their shootin' and their killin' sure played hob.
For it didn't bring no joy
To know that Grace and Henry Coy
Both had sworn that they would finish up the job.
So at last they met upon a mountain pathway,
And Henry Coy he aimed his gun at Grace.
He was set to pull the trigger
When he saw her pretty figger -
You could tell that love had kicked him in the face.
Oh, the Martins and the Coys,
They was reckless mountain boys,
And they say their ghostly cussin' gives you chills,
For the hatchet sure was buried
When sweet Grace and Henry married
It broke up the best dern feud in these here hills.

Now you may think this is where the story ended,
But I'm tellin' you them ghosts don't cuss no more,
For since Grace and Henry wedded
They fight worse than all the rest did,
And they've carried on the feud just like before.

The Goddamned Dutch

When I'm drunk, I'm as happy as can be
For I am a member of the Souse family,
Oh, the Souse family, is the best family,
That ever came over from old Germany,
There's the highland Dutch and the lowland Dutch,
The Rotterdam Dutch and the goddamned Dutch.
Oh, glorious, glorious, one keg of beer for the four of us,
Damn good thing there are no more of us,
For one of us could drink it all alone
When god made the Irish, he didn't make much,
But they're a damn site better than the goddamned Dutch.
It' glorious,glorious, one keg of beer for the four of us
It's a damn good thing that there are no more of us,
Because one of us could drink it all alone.

The Cremation of Sam McGee

There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell.
"On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.
And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request.
"Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
"It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
Yet 'taint being dead--it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains.
"A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.
There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains.
"Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
Howled out their woes to the homeless snows—O God! how I loathed the thing.
And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.
Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May.
"And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum.
"Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
The flames just soared, and the furnace roared—such a blaze you seldom see;
And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.
Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.
I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked;" . . . then the door I opened wide.
And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm—
Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."