A Very Good Year
Anne Infante (© 2010)
They say love is blind and maybe it’s true
Because I’ve been blind since I met you
Blind to hate and blind to fear
And it’s going to be a very good year
As the winter wind blows from the south
I will find my warmth in the touch of your mouth
Warm like the sun when the summer is here
And it’s going to be a very good year
They say love will soon die and turn to despair
But there’s no going back to before you were there
You with your eyes of amethyst clear
And it’s going to be a very good year
I was free of love and thought it was fine
Till you came like the sun burning into my mind
You pierced my heart like the thrust of a spear
And it’s going to be a very good year
They say love is for fools and maybe it’s so
Because only a fool has the wisdom to know
Love is the only hope for us here
And it’s going to be a very good year
Yes, it’s going to be a very good year
Bahama Mama
Anne Infante (© 2010)
Who is that lady there, hair like strands of silver?
Sitting back in her chair; music flows from her fingers
As the couples take the floor, as they calling out for more
Who is the lady they are looking to make their dreams come true?
Chorus:
Bahama Mama, Bahama Mama,
Smile as warm as the island sun
Though her work is never done
She still has time for everyone - Bahama Mama
Her concertina sweetly sounds with the bass and fiddle
Keeping time as the waltz goes round to her own Silver Wattle
Girls smiling, dresses flowing, gentlemen bowing, to-ing, fro-ing
There is magic in the air from the lady playing there
Chorus
Taking up her old guitar, now she starts to singing
Voice like honey in the jar; deep and true it’s ringing
And as she sings her song, and as we sing along
We join together in harmony, joyous and free
Chorus
And as the years go by in sun and shadow
We all have had our share of joy and sorrow
But as the dance of our life goes on, we can be sure it flows with song
She keeps the beat and we dance along - Bahama Mama
Chorus
Last Chorus:
Bahama Mama, Bahama Mama,
Smile as warm as the island sun
Though her work is never done
She still has time for everyone - Bahama Mama
Bahama Mama, Bahama Mama
The Silver Wattle Waltz
June Nichols (© 1998)
I’d like to be the lady in her spangled tights
Soaring through the air in the Big Top circus lights
Catching the trapeze and smiling all around
But I always end up as a clown
I’d like to be the girl in the pretty sequinned dress
Up on a big white horse – but my hair’s in a mess
And if I stood up on a horse I’d probably fall down
And I’d end up again as a clown
Chorus:
But I’ve looked around and I’ve come to the conclusion
There are more clowns per head of population
Than circus stars or heroes in the Game of Life
And that’s right!
I’d like to twirl the baton at the head of the band
Stepping in my high-heeled boots and waving at the stands
But if I dropped the baton and it fell to the ground
Well, I’d end up again as a clown
I’d like to be Miss Fifi with her pink poodle pups
With ribbons and bows and my hair all piled up
But if the poodles missed the hoops and fell to the ground
I’d end up again as a clown
Chorus
Clowns are quite important on the journey of Life
So being a clown is probably all right
They can help you to laugh; they can help you to cry
And then wipe away the tear from your eye
They pick you up when you fall over stones in your path
Then tell you it’s not serious and have a good laugh
And if your heart is lighter when you get up off the ground
Well, you just might want to end up a clown
Chorus
Yes, I’ve looked around and I’ve come to the conclusion
There are more clowns per head of population
Than circus stars or heroes in the Game of Life
And that’s right!
So be a circus clown, not a hero in the Game of Life- all right?
A happy circus clown, not a hero in the Game of Life- all right?
A crazy circus clown, not a hero in the Game of Life
Good Cleaning Man
Anne Infante (© 2010)
When Monday morning comes around I get the vacuum cleaner out
And start on my house-cleaning round, and push the mops and brooms about
And dust and clean, and clean and dust, ’cause dusting really is a must
But house-work is an awful bore when what I’m really longing for
Is a good cleaning man to sweep away my cobwebs
Just a good cleaning man, not some silly “bob-a-job” kid
With his dustpan and his brushes, oh, well really, spare my blushes!
A master of the cleaning art, he’d make a clean sweep right into my heart
My good cleaning man would be marvellous at the mopping
He’d have energy to burn and with him there’d be no stopping
With his great big vacuum cleaner, there’d be nobody keener
I’d really raise a ruction for a fellow with good suction
I want a good cleaning man to dust in every corner
And my good cleaning man would be bigger, stronger, brawnier
There’d be nothing left undone and my cleaning would be so much fun
There’s nothing I would need to teach ’cause he’d polish all the places that I just can’t reach
Oh, my good cleaning man, when he’d clean my little window
For my good cleaning man I’d just have to shout out ‘Bingo!’
With his scraper and his duster he would give me such a lustre
He’d know just how to make me shine, I wish that cleaning man was mine
My good cleaning man would be dazzling with the dishes
For my good cleaning man I’d do anything he wishes
And his motion would be urgent as he poured in the detergent
When his dish mop went in action it would give me so much satisfaction
Oh, my good cleaning man would clean every nook and cranny
’Cause my good cleaning man would be meticulous and canny
He’d have me all the keener with his comprehensive range of cleaners
That big strong man who’d mop my floors, my personal assistant with the household chores
Yes, I’m longing for a good clean – I’m just longing for a real good clean –
Oh, I am longing for a good cleaning man
(Spoken) Come on over to my place, honey and mop my floors!
Sheepskin Creek
Anne Infante (© 2010)
My love is a shearer and he has gone roaming
Down Sheepskin Creek for many a long day
He has left me broken-hearted since the sad day we parted
On Sheepskin banks I will wait my life away
It was early one morning I heard the horses riding
And with haste he rose up from my bed
With pride my heart was swelling all the while my tears were falling
For he is the ringer of Donaldson’s shed
The long nights are lonely, the mopoke’s cry mournful
And my only protection the gun by the door
I fear the night’s noises and the sorrow in me rises
Alone and defenceless; it grieves me full sore
Before I was married, I had friends a-plenty
For parties and dancing myself would adorn
But in my wild bush home neighbours I have none
My thoughts go unspoken, my finery unworn
Up from the waterhole the buckets are heavy
And the yoke cuts my shoulders and chafes at my skin
My hands are rough and blistered from the axe and hoe and shovel
An ugly, stained setting for my gold wedding ring
It’s hard for a woman when her husband goes shearing
And children I have none to brighten my day
But the joy of his returning will be more than all my pining
So by Sheepskin Creek I will wait my life away
The Devil’s On St Helena
Anne Infante (© 2010)
The devil’s on St Helena if the devil is anywhere
In the rotten food and the clothing crude and the chains that we must wear
In the pain and the monotony of this boring, endless life
The devil’s on St Helena, all right
The devil’s on St Helena in the evil of the lash
For a lousy fight or a word not right he’ll put stripes across your back
When the flogger smiles and wields the cat, when the thongs begin to bite
The devil’s on St Helena, all right
The devil’s on St Helena in the treadmill and the pit
In the quarry where he breaks your back on blocks of bluestone grit
In the sudden brutal savagery that stalks our cursed lives
The devil’s on St Helena, all right
The devil’s on St Helena in the shot drill and the gag
In the thousand petty torments he dispenses to the lags
In the soul-destroying darkness of the cells as black as night
The devil’s on St Helena, all right
The devil’s on St Helena in the warders and the screws
Our idle, drunken gaolers who revile us and abuse
But hold your tongue and bide your time to pay him back the slight
The devil’s on St Helena, all right
The devil’s on St Helena and I see him every day
In the sad despairing faces of the lags of Moreton Bay
Torn from their loving families, a sweetheart or a wife
The devil’s on St Helena, all right
The devil’s on St Helena and he must take the blame
For the poor demented prisoners that he has turned insane
For the tragedy of desperate men who ended their own lives
The devil’s on St Helena, all right
The devil’s on St Helena, there’s nowhere you can hide
He’s given you your sentence and it’s here you must reside
And God have mercy on your soul if that sentence is for life
The devil’s on St Helena
The devil’s on St Helena
The devil’s on St Helena, all right
Peaceful
Anne Infante (© 2010)
There is only one way to peace
Marching won’t do it
Fighting won’t do it
There is only one way to peace – be peaceful
There is only one way to peace
Praying won’t do it
Crying won’t do it
There is only one way to peace – be peaceful
And women in the name of peace
Place flowers in the barrels of the guns
And women, in the name of peace
Twine roses around the helmets of the soldiers
There is only one way to peace
Anger won’t do it
Dying won’t do it
There is only one way to peace – be peaceful
Come, people, in the name of peace
Place flowers in the barrels of the guns
Come, people, in the name of peace
Twine roses around the helmets of the soldiers
For if you have peace within
Your homes will be peaceful
Your children be peaceful
And if your children have peace
They will not make war
They will find peaceful ways
There is only one way to peace
You are the answer
You always have been
There is only one way to peace – be peaceful
And all of us, in the name of peace
Place flowers in the barrels of the guns
And all of us, in the name of peace
Twine roses around the helmets of the soldiers
There is only one way to peace
Know that you’re right
Then let everyone be right
There is only one way to peace – be peaceful
Be peaceful. Be peaceful.
Real Time
Anne Infante (© 2010)
I’m going to the store to buy some Danish
Custard, apple, apricot – or p’raps just planish
Put on a pot of coffee, set my deck chair to “recline”
I’m going to spend an hour or two in real time
I’ll take a pen and write my friend a letter
I don’t know when she’ll get it – she’s a real jetsetter
She won’t know what to do with it – Skyping’s more her line
She’ll have to take a trip into real time
I’d rather take a walk and smell a rose
Feel the breeze, hug the trees, watch the grass as it grows
Linger by the timeless river as it flows to the bay
Watch the river ferries gliding up and down all day
Perhaps I’ll read a book or magazine
Or maybe one of each, if I’m feeling really keen
I’ll just turn the pages over, one at a time
’Cause that’s the way it goes in real time
I’d rather stroll with my dog down by a stream
Than scroll with my mouse down a monitor screen
I’ll leave my virtually real-ish friends out there in cyberspace
Take real life as it comes at its own gentle pace
I think I’ll phone a friend and just say, ‘Hi!’
Hold a real life conversation, let the day drift by
Take my chair into the garden and sit in the sunshine
And spend the day relaxing in real time
Because the information super-highway’s too fast for me
I want to take life easy, the way it’s meant to be
Take a drive into the country; find a little place to dine
Sit out underneath a starry sky and sip a glass of wine
So don’t wait for me in e-space, for I really must decline
I’m going to while my life away in real time
I’m going to while my life away in real time
’Cause that’s the way it goes in real time
Why don’t you come and visit me in real time
The Maybe Waltz
Anne Infante (© 2010)
Take me in your arms as the fiddles are playing
And waltz me around the floor
Let me dream for a while in the warmth of your smile
So I won’t feel alone anymore
Chorus:
Maybe we’ll win and maybe we’ll lose
Playing the game of romance
But we’ll never find out what love is all about
If we don’t join in the dance
Maybe we’ll part at the end of the evening
And go off on our separate ways
Or maybe we’ll stay together this way
For all of the rest of our days
Chorus
We both came alone as the night was just beginning
Dreaming of what might be
So, dear, hold me tight while the stars are shining bright
And dance the Maybe Waltz with me
Chorus
So, take me in your arms as the fiddles are playing
And waltz me around the floor
Let me dream for a while in the warmth of your smile
So I won’t feel alone anymore
Chorus
Last Chorus:
Maybe we’ll win and maybe we’ll lose
Playing the game of romance
But we’ll never find out what love is all about
If we don’t join in the dance
If we don’t join in the dance
Said King Willie’s Mum
Anne Infante (© 2010)
‘Men!’ said Alison Grose. ‘Why don’t they make up their minds?
‘They say we should be more assertive, but when we are, what do we find?’
‘Don’t tell me,’ said Lady Randall. ‘You think you’ve got a problem?
‘You try raising a son, dear. They’re more trouble than they’re worth’
‘That’s right!’ said King Willie’s mum
‘Men!’ said Alison Grose. ‘So, you try taking the lead
‘You offer them gold and jewels but do they pay any heed?’
‘Sons!’ said Lady Randall. ‘They take the best years of your life
‘You raise them the best way you can. Do you get any thanks? I don’t think so!’
‘That’s right!’ said King Willie’s mum
‘Men!’ said the Queen of Elfin. ‘They fall off their horse right outside your green hill
‘You give CPR and revive them and set them up just like a prince
‘Then they’re off with some silly cow in the woods, and they get her pregnant
‘Then make out you’re holding them prisoner and ruin your reputation!’
‘That’s right!’ said Alison Grose
‘Men!’ said Alison Grose. ‘They simply can’t take a hint
‘And if you stand by and do nothing you’ll end up dead, like that poor low country lass’
‘Sons!’ said Lady Randall. ‘They waltz off into the woods
‘Spend the day with some two-timing bitch who looks like butter won’t melt’
‘Or some foreign blonde bimbo!’ said King Willie’s mum
‘Men!’ said Alison Grose. ‘They call you names and reject you
‘He told me right to my face I was ugly! Turning him into a worm was too good for him!’
‘Sons!’ said Lady Randall. ‘They spend the day out feeding their faces
‘Then come home and say they’ve been poisoned and expect you to do something about it’
‘Thaa’s right!’ said King Willie’s mum
‘Sons!’ said King Willie’s mum. ‘They go off over the ocean
‘Then with never a thought for their mothers, they marry some tart with a flashy gold girdle
‘And when you’ve got her just where you want her (and they were my best spells, you’d better believe it!)
‘She figures out how to trick you and turns your boy right against you’
‘That’s right!’ said Lady Randall
‘Men!’ said the Queen of Elfin. ‘They go and blab all your secrets
‘Then she makes you look stupid in front of your whole tribe! Now, girls, what are you having?’
‘No,’ said Lady Randall. ‘I said I’d get the next round
‘Same again, Innkeeper, please. Drink up, ladies, the night is still young’
‘Thash right!’ said King Willie’s mum
‘Men!’ said the innkeeper’s daughter. ‘They’ve got us just where they want us
‘You can’t win, whatever you do, girls. You can’t live with ’em, you can’t live without ’em!’
‘That’s right!’ said Alison Grose
‘That’s right!’ said Lady Randall
‘That’s right!’ said the Queen of Elfin
‘Th-a-a-ash r-r-r-right!’ said King Willie’s mum
The Lass From the Low Country
John Jacob Niles
Oh, she was a lass from the low country
And she loved a lord of high degree
And she loved his lordship so tenderly
Chorus:
Sing sorrow, sing sorrow,
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod
And no one knew that she loved him but herself and God
One day when the snow lay on the mead
He passed her door on a milk white steed
She spoke to him low, but he paid no heed
Chorus
So, if you be a lass from the low country
Don’t love you no lord of high degree
For they ain’t got no heart and no sympathy
Chorus
I’m Obviously Well Out Of That!
Anne Infante (© 2010)
You obviously don’t know when you’re well off
If you did you’d still be here with me
Strolling in the park and kissing in the dark
And rolling in my arms the way we used to be
It seems to me you’re mentally deficient
With the morals of an old tom cat
But please don’t think I’m bitter, unhappy or upset
’Cause I’m obviously well out of that!
You don’t know a good thing when you see one
If you did we’d be together now
And you would not have gone to the pub with your friend Don
And let yourself get picked up by that randy cow
You never were the world’s greatest lover
And lately you’ve been putting on some fat
So please don’t think I’m pining and wishing you were here
’Cause I’m obviously well out of that!
You shouldn’t be let out without a keeper
If you hadn’t been we never would have met
And I’d be with a man with more flair and more élan
And he’d give me a better life than you, I’ll bet
If you had another brain it would be lonely
Rattling round all underneath your hat
But please don’t think I’m desperate and want you back again
’Cause I’m obviously well out of that!
I saw you at our favourite pub last Friday
You were snogging with your new love in the bar
If I’d known that you were there I would have gone elsewhere
But I completely failed to recognise your car
Please don’t think that I was spying on you
I just dropped in for drinks and a chat – with my friends!
And please don’t think I went there in the hope of seeing you
’Cause I’m obviously well out of that!
You ought to know you’re quite beneath my notice
I’ve got more pride than that in myself
So I didn’t care at all when you had the bleeding gall
To bugger off and leave me all alone on the shelf
You’re a little boy who thinks you are a big man
But you’re not a man at all, you’re a rat
So please don’t think I’d have you back at any price at all
’Cause I’m obviously well out of that! Do you hear me?
I’m obviously well out of that! So, well, good riddance!
’Cause I’m obviously well out of that!
Women Do
Andrea Baldwin (© 2006)
Teach your children right from wrong - sow and weave and sing your song
When you can only watch and pray - you tend to fight in ugly ways
It’s ugly how the women war; stick a white feather to the conchie’s door
It’s hard to think of him safe in bed when your sons and lovers are coming home dead
We tend the soil, we tend the wounds; hope that the war will be over soon
And if I were a man I’d cover you but I only fight like women do
Women do, women do; I only fight like women do
Women do, women do; I only fight like women do
It’s ugly how the women strike; spit on the scab from the picket line
Hurl a rock; you can rant and rail, but who’ll mind the kids when their mamma’s in gaol?
It’s cold in winter, not much fun; wolf’s at the door till the strike is done
And if I were a man, they’d arrest me too, but I only fight like women do
Women do, women do; I only fight like women do
Women do, women do; I only fight like women do
It’s ugly how the women stand and face the machines that rape the land
Scream abuse while chained to trees dragged to the paddy wagons on their knees
Camped in the bush on a Daintree track; once it’s gone it’ll never come back
And if I were a man they’d hear my view, but I fight to be heard like women do
Women do, women do; I only fight like women do
Women do, women do; I only fight like women do
It’s ugly how the women wait for dicks in power to direct their fate
Cocks in the barnyard strut and pace; they can’t give ground and they won’t lose face
Women talk, listen and learn; men grab guns and the villages burn
And if I were a man, would I burn them too, or fight for life like women do?
Women do, women do; I only fight like women do
Women do, women do; I only fight like women do
Teach your children all you know - love and hope and don’t let go
Think and feel and sing and write - win or lose, it’s how we fight
And we all have a heart, and a mind and soul
So why do we have to fight at all?