Counterpoint, sort'a
See just this Post & Comments / 0 Comments so far / Post a Comment / Home
Up, Down.
Tell Me Something Good
You ain’t got no kind of feeling inside
I got somethin’ sho nuff set your stuff on fire, yeah
You’ve refused to put anything before your pride
What I got will knock your pride aside
Ah oo ah oo
Tell me something good
Tell me, tell me, tell me
Tell me that you love me, yeah
I ain’t got no time, is what you’re known to say
I’ll make you wish there was forty-eight hours to each day
Your problem is you ain’t been loved like you should
But what I got to give will sho nuff do you good
Ah oo ah oo
Tell me something good
Tell me, tell me, tell me
Tell me that you like it, yeah
Rufus, Chaka Khan, Stevie Wonder, 1974.
Cargoes, John Masefield, 1923
Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.
Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.
Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.
Lest I be mistaken as eulogizing Masefield - I am not. This is the guy who gave Rudyard Kipling a bad name with his bushels of vapid bourgeois sentiment. The poem Cargoes is to compare 'Big Boy' or 'Little Man' or whatever it was they named the atomic hardwares, with 'cheap tin trays.' And also because I remembered it from highschool english class, Ivy Richards reading it out in her wonderful voice.
Down.
Tell Me Something Good
You ain’t got no kind of feeling inside
I got somethin’ sho nuff set your stuff on fire, yeah
You’ve refused to put anything before your pride
What I got will knock your pride aside
Ah oo ah oo
Tell me something good
Tell me, tell me, tell me
Tell me that you love me, yeah
I ain’t got no time, is what you’re known to say
I’ll make you wish there was forty-eight hours to each day
Your problem is you ain’t been loved like you should
But what I got to give will sho nuff do you good
Ah oo ah oo
Tell me something good
Tell me, tell me, tell me
Tell me that you like it, yeah
Rufus, Chaka Khan, Stevie Wonder, 1974.
Cargoes, John Masefield, 1923
Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,
Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,
With a cargo of ivory,
And apes and peacocks,
Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.
Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,
Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,
With a cargo of diamonds,
Emeralds, amythysts,
Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.
Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke stack,
Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,
With a cargo of Tyne coal,
Road-rails, pig-lead,
Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.
Lest I be mistaken as eulogizing Masefield - I am not. This is the guy who gave Rudyard Kipling a bad name with his bushels of vapid bourgeois sentiment. The poem Cargoes is to compare 'Big Boy' or 'Little Man' or whatever it was they named the atomic hardwares, with 'cheap tin trays.' And also because I remembered it from highschool english class, Ivy Richards reading it out in her wonderful voice.
Down.
