HORSE NAMED BILL
(learned from Bill Briggs in 1960 and from Alan Lomax's book)
I had a horse, his name was Bill,
He ran and ran and would not stop,
I know a gal, her name is Daisy,
One day she sang a song about
I'm goin' huntin' in the woods this year,
At shootin' birds I am a beaut,
In 'Frisco town there is a whale
Her name is Tillie, she's a peach,
Well, she knows her cadence and when she plays
She loves to laugh and when she smiles
I went up in a balloon so big
But the balloon turned its bottom side higher
What can you do in a case like that?
(note: the notes must be adjusted in each verse to fit the words) (from miriam berg's folksong collection)
And when he ran, he wouldn't stand still,
One day...he ran away...and I also...ran with'm.
He ran till he came to a barber shop
And fell exhausted...with his eyeteeth...in the barber's...left shoulder.
And when she sings the cat goes crazy
With deliriums...and St. Vitus's...and all kinds...cataleptics.
A cat who turned himself inside out
Then jumped...into the river...she was...so sleepy.
I'll hunt for beer and not for deer,
I am...I ain't...a great sharp...shootress.
There is no bird I cannot shoot
In the eye...in the ear...in the finger...in the armpit.
And she eats swordfish by the bale,
By the ton...by the tankard...by the schooner...by the spaceship.
But don't leave food within her reach,
Or babies...or banjoes...or chocolate...ice-cream sodas.
She rolls her eyes for days and days
And vibrates...and yodels...and breaks the...ten commandments.
You just see teeth for miles and miles (and miles and miles)
And her adenoids...and her intestines...and things too...fierce to mention.
And all the people they looked like a pig
Like a mice...like katydids...like fliesens...like fleazens.
And fell on the wife of a country squire,
She made a noise...like a doghound...like a steam whistle...like dynamite.
What can you do but stamp on your hat
Or your eyebrow...or your toothbrush...or anything...that's helpless.