I got fleas
we got fleas
everybodys got fleas
even fleas have got fleas

hit it sue (thats me)

now everybody knows that i got fleas from the hair on my head to the hair on my knees (rapped)

i got fleas
we got fleas
everybodys got fleas
even fleas have got fleas

allthosegoddamnredneckhoeshavegot fleas!


funky eh?

she hasn't seen us do it, nor does she know any of the guys that i drank with at the time. well 1 she does, but other then that she only knows of the rest of the crew as it was before our time together. I haven't seen or talked to most of these guys in goingon 12 years now, so the likely hood of it happening again is slime to none. Saying that, on the off chance it ever does happen I will be sure to get it taped and send it off

Barret's Privateers

Words and Music : Stan Rogers

Oh the year was 1778,
How I wish I was in Sherbrook now,
When a letter of Marque came from the king,
To the scummiest vessel I've ever seen.

CHORUS:

God damn them all,
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold,
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears,
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier,
The last of Barret's privateers.

Well, Elcid Barret cried the town,
How I wish I was in Sherbrook now,
For twenty brave men, all fishermen who,
Would make for him the Antelope's crew.

CHORUS

Oh, the Antelope's sloop was a sickening sight,
How I wish I was in Sherbrook now,
She'd list to the port with her sails in rags,
And the cook and the scuppers with the staggers and jags.

CHORUS

On the king's birthday, we put to sea,
How I wish I was in Sherbrook now,
We were ninety-one days to Montego Bay,
Pumping like mad men all the way.

CHORUS

On the ninety-sixth day, we sailed again,
How I wish I was in Sherbrook now,
When a bloody great Yankee hove in sight,
With our cracked four-pounders we made to fight.

CHORUS

The Yankee lay low down with gold,
How I wish I was in Sherbrook now,
She was was broad and fat and loose in the stays,
But to catch her took the Antelope two whole days.

CHORUS

At length we stood two cables away,
How I wish I was in Sherbrook now,
Our cracked four-pounders made an awful din,
But with one fat ball, the Yank stove us in.

CHORUS

Oh, the Antelope shook and pitched on her side,
How I wish I was in Sherbrook now,
Barret was smashed like a bowl of eggs,
And the main trunk carried off both me legs.

CHORUS

Now here I lay in my twenty third year,
How I wish I was in Sherbrook now,
It's been six years since we sailed away,
And I just made Halifax yesterday.

CHORUS



In all honesty, I don't think the song has been written that a maritimer couldn't drink to.

I know it's not considered a song, but I sure could drink to Prime Minister Paul Martin last night! woot! That guy was sweating!

Yeah, he looked like he could use a drink or two himself.

haha, i dig that man, janis joplin couldnt have done it any better

I'll eat when I'm hungry,
I'll drink when l'm dry,
If the hard times don't kill me,
I'll lay down and die.


Rye whisky, rye whisky,
Rye whisky, I cry,
If you don't give me rye whisky,
I surely will die.


I'll tune up my fiddle,
And I'll rosin my bow,
I'll make myself welcome,
Wherever I go.


Beefsteak when I'm hungry,
Red liquor when I'm dry,
Greenbacks when I'm hard up,
And religion when I die.


They say I drink whisky,
My money's my own;
All them that don't like me,
Can leave me alone.


Sometimes I drink whisky,
Sometimes I drink rum,
Sometimes I drink brandy,
At other times none.


But if I get boozy,
My whisky's my own,
And them that don't like me,
Can leave me alone.


Jack o' diamonds, jack o' diamonds,
I know you of old,
You've robbed my poor pockets
Of silver and gold.


Oh, whisky, you villain,
You've been my downfall,
You've kicked me, you've cuffed me,
But I love you for all.


If the ocean was whisky,
And I was a duck,
I'd dive to the bottom
To get one sweet suck.


But the ocean ain't whisky
And I ain't a duck,
So we'll round up the cattle
And then we'll get drunk.


My foot's in my stirrup,
My bridle's in my hand,
l'm leaving sweet Lillie,
The fairest in the land.
Her parents don't like me,
They say l'm too poor;
They say I'm unworthy
To enter her door.


Sweet milk when l'm hungry,
Rye whisky when l'm dry,
If a tree don't fall on me,
I'll live till I die.


I'll buy my own whisky,
I'll make my own stew,
If I get drunk, madam,
It's nothing to you.


I'll drink my own whisky,
I'll drink my own wine,
Some ten thousand bottles
I've killed in my time.


I've no wife to quarrel
No babies to bawl;
The best way of living
Is no wife at all.


Way up on Clinch Mountain
I wander alone,
l'm as drunk as the devil,
Oh, let me alone.


You may boast of your knowledge
An' brag of your sense,
'Twill all be forgotten
A hundred years hence.


(Negro Variant)
In my little log cabin,
Ever since I been born,
Dere ain't been no nothin'
'Cept dat hard salt, parched corn.


But I know whar's a henhouse,
De turkey he charve;
An, if ol' Massa don' kill me
I cain't never starve.


(Variant chorus)
Rye whisky, rye whisky,
You're no friend to me;
You killed my poor daddy,
Goddamn you, try me.


From American Ballads and Folk Songs, Lomax
Note: One of the more exhaustive texts
N.C. and the Bad Seeds