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THE BAND lyrics

The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down

Original and similar lyrics
Virgil Caine is the name, and I served on the Danville train, 'Til Stoneman's cavalry came and tore up the tracks again. In the winter of '65, We were hungry, just barely alive. By May the tenth, Richmond had fell, it's a time I remember, oh so well, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, and the bells were ringing, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, and all the people were singin', They went Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na Back with my wife in Tennessee, When one day she called to me, Virgil, quick, come and see, there goes Robert E. Lee! Now I don't mind choppin' wood, and I don't care if the money's no good. Ya take what ya need and ya leave the rest, But they should never have taken the very best. The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, and the bells were ringing, The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down, and all the people were singin', They went Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na Like my father before me, I will work the land, Like my brother above me, who took a rebel stand. He was just eighteen, proud and brave, But a Yankee laid him in his grave, I swear by the mud below my feet, You can't raise a Caine back up when he's in defeat.

Do It Again

EPMD "Back in Business"
[Erick Sermon] As I proceed to rock y'all and shock y'all Cold clubbin, some might say I'm buggin I'm the back lifted, checkin out folts I see girls trickin, lookin for a victim Yeah they spot me, but I'm the wrong nigga Cause ain't nuttin changed since days of +Golddigger+ They walk right past me like I'm invincible Don't trust em, the first principle [Parrish Smith] Yo pass that here and cheers, celebrate like the new year Honies front to rear, party over here So get your groove on as we move on bust the new song Once again, it's on, pop the cham' Dom Bustin those when we pull up in the chrome Party til Daylight, just like Stallone Rollin with the players, sportin Timbs and the gators Cell and pagers, fat whips quick to blaze ya .. [Erick Sermon] I be coolin, doin my thing, I'm slight jig Sometimes I be Down Low, like Mr. Big The Green-Eyed Bandit, what? Yea is he the dark skin packs a mack-10 who gets busy? I stay tight, keep the vibe right I could pull a Rampage and Wild For Da Night I'm lethal, I still do it for my people I break it down for em, it's hard to ignore em [Parrish Smith] The time is right, and tonight's the night, we in the hype We got my game type shorties excited, I'm feelin nice We roll the dice, shot of vodka and ice People on the dancefloor, doin it right Cristal for the profile, money spenders and pretenders and V.I.P. rollin with the winners You know how it go, Heinekens and the Mo' The pen and the pad and a dimepiece to go


ANDRE NICKATINA "Hell's Kitchen"
OK... got some for me? [San Quinn:] Yeah, yeah, listen to the story I'm about to tell Another tale about that yayo Little girl once innocent and sweet 14 introduced to the street Started from weed, big smoke outs Before you could exhale, blunt in your mouth Sham, Nay, blew you blew Now you need something else to do A new high to try, a new place to go Introduced to the yay to the yo House full of girls, old and young Playin it on the table takin one on ones Use dollar bills just to snort the lines You see the big girls do it so of course it's fine Cocaine enforced on your mind Now blow, then they blowin ya time Let's go [Chorus: x2] Ayo for yayo Walk around with yayo, all in my nasal I must have been craze yo [San Quinn:] Chompin and compin kicks Supplyin people with they fix Where you fit? Fillmore Street is where you sit Don't go in the house till you move a zip Worked a day and night shift To stay awake, a nigga might sniff Not too much cause you might slip Instead of 28, you cookin 26 Keep a gat in the pack in the sock Take a couple of tubes, then it's back to the block Back to the service out the sack Experimentin with that salt, what about that crack, huh? One try, another try without a doubt Papered out, always at the Powder house Day time, night time, nigga powdered out Coulda been a papered up power house [Chorus x2] [San Quinn:] Like you and I, super high, like superfly One more line, one more rhyme like Peruvian Fine I can keep you down, and get you high You like to blow? like Boston George You want some more, for you and your whores? I kick off wars, and get behind walls And corporate doors, executive nose sore Rich man, high, eight balls and quarters They call me, placin they orders Bring me across the border, buyin the case Before I'm sold, they take the case Snortin habit, not with affordin Some use me, strictly out of boredom I hooked people before man, I warned them I took many people out before them Doin my job, connected with the mob Got President Bush, Whitney, and Bob Many others all walks of life have one on ones with me every night [Chorus x4] That's some good coke

In The City

Well it's a close one, a real close one And no-one gets hurt, but she's got twice the fun But now they kiss in the rain And did someone call out someone's name From a white cadillac on a wide wind To her white dress across the great divide Into the warm moonlight And she's been reading Bukowski for days And she leans over, spits her name in my face And says 'Well now you know how it feels' Well now you know how it feels And I was looking for you Looking for you Looking for you in the city last night The boys in the band steal a kiss in the mystery of the night 11:59 to zero, live a blonde hair in jeans, holds her tight Turns on the heat and starts to fight and sayin' 'that's my man' Well the myth of love must have been there The spirit of possession was there And the boys over at the bar Yeah they're mixing up their medicine The girls were on their mobile trying to get reception Johnny's shadow's getting long but he keeps on singing His shadow getting long but he keeps on singing: And I was looking for you Looking for you Looking for you in the city last night And people so strange People so strange People just keep talking in the city last night Take off your shades and scroll down to number nine You're living on the guest list, up against the big rack Head back, hand highs, it's getting loud in here Think you're going to have to shout And she's tearing off her clothes He's stirring all his drinks, oh yeah Streets divide them It's an empire of signs Honey say she can read And it looks like trouble And it tastes like chocolate if you want it It looks like trouble And it tastes like chocolate if you want it Still I was looking for you Looking for you Looking for you in the city last night And people so strange People so strange People just keep talking in the city last night And I was looking for you And I was looking for you And I was looking for you in the city last night And I was looking for you Yeah I was looking for you Yeah I was looking for you in the city last night It's alright! It's alright! If you say my name It's alright!

Where Are You Now, My Son?

JOAN BAEZ "Where Are You Now, My Son?"
It's walking to the battleground that always makes me cry I've met so few folks in my time who weren't afraid to die But dawn bleeds with the people here and morning skies are red As young girls load up bicycles with flowers for the dead An aging woman picks along the craters and the rubble A piece of cloth, a bit of shoe, a whole lifetime of trouble A sobbing chant comes from her throat and splits the morning air The single son she had last night is buried under her They say that the war is done Where are you now, my son? An old man with unsteady gait and beard of ancient white Bent to the ground with arms outstretched faltering in his plight I took his hand to steady him, he stood and did not turn But smiled and wept and bowed and mumbled softly, "Danke shoen" The children on the roadsides of the villages and towns Would stand around us laughing as we stood like giant clowns The mourning bands told whom they'd lost by last night's phantom messenger And they spoke their only words in English, "Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger" Now that the war's being won Where are you now, my son? The siren gives a running break to those who live in town Take the children and the blankets to the concrete underground Sometimes we'd sing and joke and paint bright pictures on the wall And wonder if we would die well and if we'd loved at all The helmetless defiant ones sit on the curb and stare At tracers flashing through the sky and planes bursting in air But way out in the villages no warning comes before a blast That means a sleeping child will never make it to the door The days of our youth were fun Where are you now, my son? From the distant cabins in the sky where no man hears the sound Of death on earth from his own bombs, six pilots were shot down Next day six hulking bandaged men were dazzled by a room Of newsmen. Sally keep the faith, let's hope this war ends soon In a damaged prison camp where they no longer had command They shook their heads, what irony, we thought peace was at hand The preacher read a Christmas prayer and the men kneeled on the ground Then sheepishly asked me to sing "They Drove Old Dixie Down" Yours was the righteous gun Where are you now, my son? We gathered in the lobby celebrating Chrismas Eve The French, the Poles, the Indians, Cubans and Vietnamese The tiny tree our host had fixed sweetened familiar psalms But the most sacred of Christmas prayers was shattered by the bombs So back into the shelter where two lovely women rose And with a brilliance and a fierceness and a gentleness which froze The rest of us to silence as their voices soared with joy Outshining every bomb that fell that night upon Hanoi With bravery we have sun But where are you now, my son? Oh people of the shelters what a gift you've given me To smile at me and quietly let me share your agony And I can only bow in utter humbleness and ask Forgiveness and forgiveness for the things we've brought to pass The black pyjama'd culture that we tried to kill with pellet holes And rows of tiny coffins we've paid for with our souls Have built a spirit seldom seen in women and in men And the white flower of Bac Mai will surely blossom once again I've heard that the war is done Then where are you now, my son?

Juan De La Cruz

Once again the workers rise with the lark There's a mass going on in the people's park Silent and determined they set to embark On a three day fast and a five mile march For a man's been shot on the picket line Sixty years of strength was young for dying His family is here with eyes of red His wife steps down with feet of lead And the sun shines down upon The old man whose days are done For a martyr has been taken He is old Juan de la Cruz And a century of women pray At the casket before them laid And the Virgin of Guadalupe Watches over de la Cruz As the heat poured down on the field below The lead came a-flying from the vineyard row De la Cruz and his wife never ducked or ran Union folks since the fight began People scattered out laying low to the ground And slowly arose as the dust died down Birds fluttered soft in his sweet wife's breast As the bullets sank deep in the old man's chest The tears fell as Cesar read The eulogy for the dead And the Bishop broke the people's bread Over old Juan de la Cruz In the pitch of night a deal was made The deck's oldest card was played And the devil watched someone get paid For the death of de la Cruz Thirty years ago in the same damn spot The people who ordered the workers shot Fought as the poor for the same damn right Of their children to sleep well fed at night Oh Children of Brotherhood how you've grown But the seeds of hate were early sown I see that your souls have long since flown To the river of greed where angels moan Midst flowered veils and weathered graves And flags where the great black eagle waves Nosotros Venceremos plays For old Juan de la Cruz There's work today that must be done Pray for the man who held the gun And with sightless eyes shot down the one Called old Juan de la Cruz The rest of our story now soft and clear How half our daily bread appears Picked through the summer by young and old Whose earnings must last through the winter's cold By children who have stood with their backs bent down To scrape the roots from the grower's ground And mothers who have wept the night away For a child born dead on a rainy day Well it's true that blessed are the poor Through an iron mist - I can't be sure - It looks like I see heaven's door Swinging wide for de la Cruz The nuns, the priests and the workers sing Through a valley of blood their voices ring Hallelujah, he is risen, and thank you, Lord For old Juan de la Cruz Hallelujah, he is risen, and thank you, Lord For old Juan de la Cruz

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