Richard

The Wood Tank CHRONICLES EP. 2 "'The Dueling Cavalier' Is NOW A Musical!"

2009-03-30T01:16:15Z

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This is how I feel right now - like Gene Kelly in "Singing In The Rain" when he realizes he can save "The Dueling Cavalier" by turning it into a musical. Oddly enough, the scene in the movie takes place on March 24th. Today is March 29th, and a real horrorshow rain storm just swept through NYC, (just like in the movie), and although I didn't go outside to dance and sing - I was too busy writing this and I don't care for pneumonia - I could have very easily done so given the proper encouragement.

The reason I am so happy? I finally found some work and worked today. I'm working with wood. I love it! My boss is an independent contractor who works exclusively with reclaimed and recycled materials. Today I sanded pieces of a wood tank that will soon become part of a covered outdoor dining area at a restaurant in Williamsburg. It wasn't the boring kind of sanding. It was the kind where you leave traces/an undercoat of the original finish...rock-n-roll sanding. I used to do this when I lived in Jackson MS. I was an antique furniture restorationist's apprentice. That was a lot of fun. Filthy lucres from the area..docs, lawyers would come to get their furniture "distressed". Distressing furniture is right behind playing music as one of the most fun things one can get paid to do. Today we also worked on a prototype for a Whole Foods produce bin...a slightly distressed bin. My boss is pretty easygoing. No warning bells rang in my head as I interacted with him. I was early for work. He was a little late and apologized. I like being the early guy. He's cool with me leaving early to play shows. Many of his friends are musicians.

Speaking of...Regia has a show tomorrow at Cakeshop at 9! Regia is a band for which I am the bass player and driver of the Winnebago. Shameless self-promotion is awesome. Anyway...come on down and we'll sing ya a song. I still need to massage a few of the pre-computed backing tracks on T.H.O.R., and now I don't have all of tomorrow to do it because I'm working! Yay! So until next time, web-spinkers, this is the gossip girl signing off.

These are the kinds of jokes I produce before I've had coffee

2009-03-16T13:12:44Z

Being chased by a hit man would be no fun. Being chased by a hit man named "Atchoo" would be even worse. Every time a person sneezed you'd wonder if it was time to die.

Gary Numan: Klaus Kinski's rockin' little bro?

2009-03-15T15:22:06Z

Sometimes I forget how awesome Gary Numan is. That is, until I listen to him again. Jack White's new band, The Dead Weather, does a cover of "Are Friends Electric?". I heard it. It's okay. A sort of mash-up between the their cover and the original got stuck in my head, so then I listened to the original, which I haven't heard in years. No comparison. I mean, I'm sure it's a fun song to play and everything, but really...on the other hand, I'm equally sure hoards of people will love it.

Then I found this on Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhqTFUYwm1c

"Embedding Disabled By Request". Thanks, jagoffs. Nevertheless, iffa you copy ze linka, you will be treated to a fine fine superfine live version of Numan's "Me I Disconnect From You". The staging, the sound, the performance...all top notch! (and richly so!)

I was going to do a "Gary Numan/Klaus Kinski: Separated At Birth?" thing, but then I saw this. I would like to think he had a giant framed print of this hanging in the jacuzzi area amongst all the ferns, but I don't know what Kinski's stance on jacuzzis, narcissism, or ferns might have been. What I'm saying is, the guy was genuinely nuts, but does being nuts preclude ones interest in 70's-style relaxation techniques?

In other news, Louis and I worked on ze recordings yesterday. I have to say I am very pleased with the way it came together. Still tweaking drums, then we have a few more overdubs including vocals, but not only is there light at the end of the tunnel, now we can even see the station. The haul is something like 16 songs. Easily the most ambitious recording project I've ever worked on, not just in terms of the number of tracks, but also sound quality, little neato details, and overall recording whooziewhatsit.

Richard Plays a Cornucopia of Timeless Music For Children of All Ages

2009-02-14T15:38:08Z

Today I have a paying music gig. A guy named Milo is turning 1 year old and his folks asked me to provide live music to help celebrate the occasion. I am actually somewhat anxious, having never played to such a young audience before, and having been so busy with my own old people music, that I haven't yet made time to put together a proper set. Luckily, I woke up early and show time is 3:00, so if I really apply myself, instead of writing on LJ about applying myself, I do have a chance to arrange something that I'm sure will knock these kids' socks off, (unless they're wearing onesies, in which case socks are unnecessary).

I think that steering clear of material by people like Raffi should be Job #1. Nothing against the guy, but he's probably a pedophile. Kidding. On the other hand, Milo's mom asked me to play some country songs, and I didn't think that was a very good idea either - at least not the country songs I know. Vanquished Love, Drunkenness, Poverty, Infidelity, Despair, and Murder are not the best themes for babies, in my opinion. The subtleties are simply lost on an ultimately unappreciative audience. Pearls before swine. No, I'm taking the John Prine, Taj Mahal, Pete Seeger-y route, and for filler - sonic spackle - there's always "Itsy Bitsy Spider", "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", "Wheels On The Bus", "If You're Happy And You Know It", "The Farmer & The Dell", "Old McDonald", and "Bingo", (to challenge the audience's motor skills and allow them to participate).

Bingo! Time to get to work.

Ouch!

2009-02-13T16:33:56Z

I just learned that IBM is dissolving domestic jobs and sending them to India. No big surprise, but the good news is that an IBM employee whose job is getting cut can choose to follow his or her job to India, and keep it. The bad news is that they will be paid in Indian wages. IBM calls it "Project Imagine".

Hormel, Armour, Goya, Libby's, Parrot

2009-02-08T17:02:59Z

Tomorrow morning I have my first job interview in, like, forever. But the real scoop here is that it's a job I was offered about a year and a half ago, right after I'd accepted a another position at another place, which, in a way, marked the beginning of my life becoming somewhat unhinged. The job I'd opted for didn't work out, so I was unemployed, and then my marriage didn't work out. Double bummer. But now I feel that, if I can get this job, it will do more than put some dough in my pocket, but will serve as a symbolic re-hinging of my life - picking up where I left off.

Speaking of picking up where I left off. I remembered the first thing that ever made me want to write about it, then allow random people on the internet to read what I'd written. I speak of the hierarchical relationship between vienna sausage brands at the C Town on Wyckoff. You see, at this particular C Town, they place the vienna sausages at the impulse aisles near the cash registers. Each aisle has its jetty of vienna sausage cans that extends in the direction of the shopping area. However, as their slightly varying prices would indicate, all vienna sausages are not created equal, and here's why C-Town is peopled by smooth characters. Only one brand of vienna sausage can be found per-aisle, and the brands are sorted chromatically by price. Please see chart below:

MOST EXPENSIVE
Aisle #1 - Hormel
Aisle #2 - Armour
Aisle #3 - Goya
Aisle #4 - Libby's
Aisle #5 - Parrot
LEAST EXPENSIVE

Naming your vienna sausage brand "Parrot" is just not at good idea in my opinion. You can't even compete with frumpy-ass Libby's with a name like that, much less with heavy hitters like Hormel and Armour. Goya gets a piece of everybody's action, but one has the sense that they're never truly married to the cause, so it's only fitting that they should be right there in the middle. Ah! If only the universe at large made as much sense as the vienna sausage checkout lines at C Town on Wyckoff, would not we all live more harmoniously?

There comes an itch...

2009-02-03T15:46:52Z

...that only Flying Burrito Brothers can scratch.

Skip James

2009-02-01T15:16:31Z

The singer from Canned Heat...

...tried to sound like Skip James.

Here's the real Skip in 1967:

The Brothers Cohen used his song "Hard Time Killing Floor Blues" in "O' Brother Where Art Thou?".
Here's Skip's original 1931 version:

The reason I mention him is because his playing, though obviously what one would call "Blues", is so different. He never seemed to stick to any cookie-cut song styles, expanding the very genre in the process. So basically...I really like Skip James. Thank you. Good night.

baboontelephone @ 2009-01-31T21:34:00

2009-02-01T03:10:19Z

Here, dear friends, is Elvis Presley, shortly before his untimely demise, singing "You Gave Me A Mountain". And though, like most songs in his vast catalog, it's not a tune he wrote, it's a tune he owns by means of his performance. Paid in full. His breath is short and he sounds pretty wasted, but all funny business aside, he somehow totally delivers the goods in such a sincere and powerful way.
The homemade accompanying slideshow is not too bad, either, except whoever did it renamed the song "She Took My Reason For Living" and there's some heavy-handed interpretation of the lyrics in the cut. But somehow, the video comes off pretty well despite itself, (just like Elvis on the audio track). The image of him toward the end, boarding the plane, absolutely chills me. He might as well be ascending the gallows' steps.

On the lighter side, The first meeting for "Cocktails at The Centre of The Earth" was held with great success this evening. The Frostberry Dazzler and I will be teaming up for a wild ride of music and mayhem. We already have an idea for one song. It's a tango (or perhaps a sexy sultry cha-cha? I shall not beg the question), featuring the accordion powers of The Dazzler, in which Rudolph Valentino tries to sing his way into the sack with an egg-stealing friend of Mr. Ed.

baboontelephone @ 2009-01-30T14:02:00

2009-01-30T19:02:16Z

http://rolcats.wordpress.com/

"New In Town"

2009-01-18T01:30:03Z

Can't wait to see this one. Renee Zellwegger is perched, nay, poised atop her Louis Vuitton steamer trunk amidst a wintery snowscape, arms folded, her countenance full of mischief. Befuddled townies fill in the background, while a bearded Harry Connick Jr. stands in the middle, holding a look that seems to say, "Who is this crazy broad? Am I in love here?". Opens January 30th.

...and another thing

2009-01-13T20:56:31Z

Even after walking from Houston to 59th Street, I was still somewhat intoxicated upon arriving at my home last night...intoxicated by the rhythms of the street, that is, and didn't mention in my last posting how radd it felt to take my very first Roosevelt Island tram ride at 2:00 a.m. this morning. I was the only civilian (non-MTA) passenger in that hulking red car (do they call it a car?), and the operator, the only other soul with me aboard the sky cup, didn't mind my snapping pictures the whole time.

Another thing I wanted to mention was that I had somehow acquired a blue "lone ranger-style" mask at Bowery Poetry club and wore it tastefully on my forehead, nestled atop the fold of my orange deer hunter's sock cap, the whole walk home. I noticed a few things about this garment choice, one of which being that most of the people who might usually be inclined to hog the sidewalk any other occasion, graciously step out of the way when they see you coming. Is it because you're clearly in possession of a mask, but are not covering your face, (the mask over the eyes being the normal set of circumstances here), as if the gesture might be followed with "Now that you've seen my true identity, you've simply become a liability. Nothing personal..."? Maybe it's because people don't know if you want to take them to Mardi Gras, kill them, if you're just plain crazy, or all of the above.

joke's on you(ku)

2009-01-11T02:56:55Z

Sitting and waiting for "I'm Not There" to load up on YouKu. As I have it paused, waiting for a taste of some nice, sweet buffer, I am being subjected to a bunch of advertisements, all blinking and going crazy. However, I can't read any of them, so I win! :) Ignorance is blimps.

I love this

2009-01-09T15:07:04Z

Despite Jose Feliciano's (slightly demeaning) introduction of Linda Ronstadt, "Country singer", Ronstadt comes out and lets the Funk hammer fall where it will.

Buskin Rubbins (or Baskin Robber Barons)

2008-11-16T17:53:33Z

I was in an odd funk the other evening as I walked to the bus, so I attempted to rid the air of psychic clutter by purchasing two scoops of jamoca in a cup from Baskin Robbins. It was $4.21!!! That's $0.21 more than a pint of Haagen Daz forcryinoutloud. I attempted to console myself and not feel like a sucker with a personal re-telling of the Baskin Robbins legend. Having come into prominence in the mid 1960's, Baskin Robbins was the first "gourmet" ice cream. If one happened to be visiting New York City at the time, they might have treated themselves to a bit of the Baskin after getting their hair styled at Vidal Sasson. Think "Rosemary's Baby". Their overall graphic presentation still reveals signs of their mod-era origins. Pink and brown dots, anyone? With this in mind, my posture had improved, and I proudly dipped into my super mod frozen treat, but there was more trouble in store. First of all, it tasted as much like mint chocolate chip as jamoca because the dipper had not been properly treated between dips. Secondly, the consistency was all wrong. It was icy in certain places and sticky in others, but never creamy and smooth. At this point, I was just trying to ride the bus and enjoy my ice cream any way I could, telling myself that it wasn't too bad, (even though it was). Then a man sat down next to me and began superciliously peering into my ice cream cup as if he was judging it. Our eyes made contact and I said "it's jamoca". Then I realized he was gay and that I had just played right into his hands. He was nice enough I suppose, but as my ice cream continued to melt, the consistency became more and more grossening and taffylike until I was forced to throw in the spoon. The sad part is that this was only the most recent episode in a growing chain of unsatisfying personal ice cream experiences. Every bodega in my neighborhood seems to have a policy of letting all of the ice cream melt, then re-freezing it, then selling it to me, Charlie Brown, who thinks that maybe this time, the ice cream will not be nasty, even though it always is. Maybe that's just the way it's supposed to be these days, but I'm pretty sure it's not. Hey! Ice cream makers of America! You stink! (heh heh).

Important Life Lesson

2008-11-16T04:48:33Z

1) Iggy Pop has never worked with Brian Eno.

2) Iggy Pop has worked with David Bowie.

3) David Bowie has worked with Brian Eno.

baboontelephone @ 2008-11-10T09:45:00

2008-11-10T15:24:22Z

Dear LJ-Lo,

I don't think I'll ever be allowed to host another party at this residence again for as long as I shall live, but that's the way the cookie crumbles. It was, to be sure, a success. There was more than enough gumbo and more than enough people, and nobody died, which was good. There were a few curious no-shows. Captain Hilarious thought it was on Sunday. It wasn't. The dry-eyed widow (who actually gave me the idea for the whole thing by making a request for gumbo last month) was also not there, but her unexplained absence didn't really surprise me coz she's like the wind, (to my dreams). I had to tell some people to leave. They were getting a little out of hand. Actually, I was probably a little more "out of hand" than they were, but there's only so much room at any party for out-of-hand behavior and, as I was making my bid to corner the market, they had to go. On the plus side, we recouped all of our losses and even ended up with a few extra items. As I sip this delicious free bottle of Dr. Good, I am reminded of how the best kind of high fructose corn syrup is the free kind. I still feel as though my insides have been scoured with Jim Beam.

Sometimes Gmail makes suggestions through their site sponsors. Today they recommended I pick up an "Impeach Obama" t-shirt from cafepress.com. I went to Cafe Press and let them know that I will never ever be purchasing anything they sell. Down with market-driven American fucktardism. I am so sick of Lord Baby and all of his minions.

Compensated Spokesperson At Large

2008-11-07T21:01:08Z

Tonight, as I am preparing bucketfuls of savory roux, I will ask myself this question: How does one get to be John Roland, (compensated spokesperson)? I want his job. I want to be him. Perhaps this is what Mark Chapman felt like, although I'm pretty sure that my totally unrealistic fantasy goal is a little more realistic than that guy's. I mean c'mon. You wanna be a Beatle? Okay (snicker)....

1st Song 1st Album (pt. deux)

2008-10-31T16:46:35Z

TAJ MAHAL!

Tasty track alert! Here's the young Taj singing "Leaving Trunk", the opening track to his eponymous first album, released in 1968.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-JsFOuy_E4

baboontelephone @ 2008-10-30T14:24:00

2008-10-30T18:28:05Z

I'm getting ready to call the NY State tax people and make a payment. This is, by nature, not a very fun thing to do, so I'm going to spice it up a little bit by speaking the entire time in my best Moses T. Crikey voice.

O.P.R.P. (other people's roommate problems)

2008-10-30T09:49:48Z

I went down to Boro Park this evening to overhaul my friend Louis' audio recording system and, more importantly, to sell him a fancy recording gadget for which I no longer have any use. While passing by the Gulf filling station on my way to the F train, I was almost run over by a dead ringer for the homunculus psychic lady from "Poltergeist", who was behind the wheel of a Jeep Cherokee that seemed like way too much vehicle for a woman of her stature. Perhaps a Nash Rambler would have been a more appropriate choice? I won't beg the question. Nevertheless, she was leaving the filling station and was basically driving along the sidewalk. Once clear of her trajectory, I had to walk on my tiptoes as I passed in order to catch a glimpse of whoever was at the helm of that big rig. It didn't seem too crazy at the time. I guess that's how things usually are, but after a few moments had passed, the novelty of the situation revealed itself and I felt special for a bit.

I saw Maggie, my friend from "Witch Prison", on the F train. She was on her way to Ye Olde Wardlock's joint for some R & R. Upon transferring to the D train, I instantly recognized it as being one of those trains whose electric motor has somehow found a way to sing it's motor songs through the speakers in the cars, as if some demented MTA employee was holding a never-ending squealy balloon in front of the announcement microphone. I tried to concentrate on my book, _The Talisman_, which I like. It makes me want to try salvia divinorum again while it's still legal. The description of "the territories" is somewhat reminiscent of the salvia experience, though more prolonged, even though normal time basically goes out the window when one visits the territories on salvia. The whole thing only lasts 2 or 3 minutes in "real" time. It's actually been used (in Europe of course) to help cure people of heroin and other addictions. Pretty neat. I have to say that the one time I tried it back in Louisiana, I just went home, put a blanket around myself and smiled for a long time. I felt relaxed but energized, "far out" yet focused. It actually took a couple of hours and a bit of effort for me to get back into the routine of smoking cigarettes and dicking around with the computer. Ol' Speedy Parker just might have hisself a little travellin' magic after all.

Louis' place is strange. It looks and smells like a doublewide trailer, (even though it's a 2nd story apartment in Brooklyn), possibly designed by Mike Brady during one of his under-publicized bouts with depression and the bottle. After listening to some stuff I'd recorded, Louis asked me if I'd be interested in producing three of his new songs, which is cool because he writes some tasty stuff, he's signed to a real label with real distribution, and I've known him forever. He's even paying me.

Things were swimming along nicely. While waiting for his computer to upgrade, we passed the time by listening to Gram Parsons, drinking Jack Daniel's out of the bottle, and talking about how we were really just country guys no matter what. He's from Alabama. The down home feeling was further accentuated by a straw cowboy hat I'd found hanging on the rack in the living room. It was all "yee ha!" until...

I met Louis' roommate. He'd apparently come home and noticed his cowboy hat was missing, and had responded by sending out a mass email that included Louis, the landlady, and some other person, asking if they'd seen his hat, or if they had any leads about it's recent disappearance. Louis had not checked his email at this point, but did make the mistake of leaving his room to go take a leak, at which point he was cornered by his roommate who seemed full of funny questions about missing cowboy hats, so he introduced us. Unnecessarily tense is the term I'd use to describe the next couple of minutes. He seemed nice enough. Sort of a hippy who, despite his hippiness, somehow doesn't seem very interested in pursuing the art of "letting go" (at least when it comes to cowboy hats). I returned the hat as we exchanged the kind of safe jokes that strangers, who would probably hate each other if they were given enough time, tell in order to gracefully remove themselves from the presence of the other.

The hat incident behind us, Louis and I resumed our leisurely work. Installing a ton of software is a little like barbecuing. You're working, yes, but you're not busy. We ordered some Chinese food and had just begun tucking into our meals when Louis checked his email and noticed the mass hat alert. We were trying not to laugh too hard because the walls there are paper thin and we assumed the roommate was home. As it turned out, he wasn't. Just then, we heard the sound of pebbles hitting the window. When it happened twice, Louis lifted the shade to see his roommate standing outside sans keys. I thought he'd just locked himself out by accident, but he had not.

When the roommate got upstairs, He looked like he was in shock, and he was. He'd been the victim of a botched mugging. They didn't get his wallet, but during the struggle he'd lost his hat (not the cowboy one), and his cellphone & keys had flown out of his pockets. It seemed he'd held his own pretty well, especially considering the unfair odds. He kept repeating that they were "two unarmed men". I initially thought that "unarmed" was a strange thing for him to focus on, but I suppose it does make all the difference if you're the one getting mugged. Plus, people who are in shock, they just say the darndest things. I was just glad he was alive and unhurt (fingernail mark on his hand notwithstanding). Imagine losing both your cowboy hat and your good health in the same night. :( He called the police. I could hear the lady on the other end ask him if the assailants were "Black, Hispanic, or Caucasian" (a curious order) What if they were Maltese or Cajun? His reply was "I don't know what you mean". I thought to myself: This is what happens when political correctness goes into shock. She repeated the question. "Well...they had brown skin, so I guess you could say they were brown men" (note: The Clang Syndrome is a psychological term that describes when a person can't help but rhyme all of their words). He would get no more specific than "brown". Maybe he really didn't know. It was nighttime. I asked him how old they were. He didn't know that either.

He said he'd locked himself out of his bedroom, but seriously, who locks their bedroom? My suggestion was that this was a perfect time to kick that door in. He expressed some concern over damaging property, so my next suggestion was the old credit card trick. (wink!). He didn't know how to do it and was sorta looking at me with sad puppy dog eyes as if to say "will you fix it for me?". I lied and told him I had absolutely no idea how it was done, although I'd seen it done a few times on TV shows (wink!). That lie didn't feel good, especially since he'd had such a crappy night, but I didn't want him to think I was any more of a criminal than he already did after "Hatgate".

1st Song 1st Album

2008-10-29T18:14:40Z

I am a bit of a 1st song, 1st album fetishist, and this is one of my favorites: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37sZWKEqBn8

Unfortunately, embedding is disabled for this one, but it's a track called "Mommy, What's A Funkadelic?", Funkadelic's 1st song from their 1st album. It's the same riff as "Whole Lotta Love", but it came out a few years earlier, and it's totally acid-drenched, sex-drenched, and double-dipped in funk. I love how at the very end, you can hear the engineer say "We're rolling on one!". It almost makes me want to cry.

No sir! Don't let that swine get my pearls! No sir!

2008-10-29T08:27:22Z

This has been bugging me all day. An acquaintance from my old job at Sad Monkey Train Television Juggernaut Inc. is making a pilot video for a spoof of an 80's sitcom. I play the Norton/Barney Rubble/Larry/ Kramer neighbor. Fun stuff, and I'd be happier about it if I hadn't been passed over to do the music for the whole thing. I even recorded the perfect song, but is Mr. Turnipseed Head even interested in hearing it? No. Nevertheless, he had the gall to contact me today and ask if I'd be interested in "sweetening" what is essentially an inferior composition by some guy who used to make porn soundtracks, (and not the good ones from the 70's). I told him in the nicest way possible that I'd be more interested in tearing Porno Boy's song to shreds and replacing it with something good, but he's determined to cling to this piece of shit track like it's his woobie, so I told him I'd do what I could. I'm basically offering a free dinner around the corner at Peter Luger's, but this guy wants to buy a train ticket to Delaware so he can pay for McDonald's. WTF? What a poopiehead! Patience, 007. Om......

Holding out for a hobo - (Where have they gone?)

2008-10-29T01:19:02Z

Seriously. Where are all the hobos? Where? Anyone? Who's hiding them? You? Maybe they're hiding themselves, but if so, who, or what, are they hiding from? Don't they know we all like them a whole, whole bunch? Do they still exist? Are/were they actually just one of the more eccentric wings of the much fabled lower middle class of days gone by? Are today's potential hobos spending all of their train jumpin' money on crack? I hope not. A hobo should be free. Always. I'm pretty sure that's hobo rule #1. Did Big Whitey exterminate all the hobos with bad money, religion, and drugs? God, this is too depressing to keep typing, but if you enjoy being hobo-depressed - as opposed to Morrissey-depressed or watching-"Mama's Family"-on-a-Sunday-afternoon-depressed (my personal fave) - grab a beer and give this John Prine song a listen. You might just learn something...about hobos!

Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and The Dark One

2008-10-27T02:53:10Z

Below are the lyrics to an ancient children's song called "The Cambric Shirt", upon which the incomparable singing duo Simon & Garfunkel's "Scarborough Fair" is partially based. I like to think it's also some sort of coded witchcraft instructions or incantations, for what I'm not sure, but methinks it relates to Love, (the "original witchcraft", oui?)

	C	G	C
Go	tell her to make me a	cambric	shirt,

	F	G7
Parsley, sage, rose	mary, and	thyme,

	C	G
With	out a stitch of a	seamster's work,

	C	G	C
And	then she will be a true	lover of	mine.

Go tell her to wash it in yonders well,
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

Where never was water, and rain never fell,
And then she will be a true lover of mine.

Go tell her to hang it on yonders thorn, etc.
Where leaf never budded since Adam was born, etc.

Go tell him to clear me an acre of land,
Between the sea and the fine sea sand.

Go tell him to plow it all with a thorn,
And plant it all over with one grain of corn.

Go tell him to reap it with an old stirrup-leather,
And bind it all up with a pea-fowl's feather.

Go tell him to thrash it against the wall,
And not one grain on the floor shall fall.

Go tell him to shock it in yonder sea,
And return it back all dry to me.

Go tell him to take it to the mill,
And every grain its bushel shall fill.

Go tell him to wrap it all up in a sack,
And send it to market all on a rat's back.

Go tell this young man when he gets his work done,
To come to my house and his shirt'll be done.