Anglo-American Songs and Ballads AFS
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Recording Laboratory AFS L20 Anglo-American Songs and Ballads From the Archive of Folk Song Edited by DUNCAN EMRICH , LIBRARY OF CoNGRESS WASHINGTON 1947 Library ofCongress Catalog Card Number R53-580 rev Avai/Qble from the Library ofCongress Music Division, Recorded Sound Section Washington, D.C. 20540 ANGLO-AMERICAN SONGS AND BALLADS AI-A3-CRIPPLE CREEK, GIT ALONG DOWN TO Her head looked like a coffee pot, TOWN, and KICKING MULE. Sung with five Her nose looked like the spout, string banjo by Henry King accompanied by the Her mouth looked like the fire place King family on guitar, mandolin, and bass, at With the ashes all raked out. Chorus. Visalia, Calif., 1941. Recorded by Charles Todd and Robert Sonkin. I wouldn't have a yaller gal, Now here's the reason why, Her neck's so long and scrangy The three songs on this record, played and sung She'd make them biscuits fly. Chorus. by the King family, belong to the broad group of native songs from the southern mountains. They are Boss he had an old gray mare, without any European antecedents and in subject He rode her down in town, matter are purely American. The mandolin and Before he got his trading done, guitar accompaniment, and the very tempo of the The buzzards had her down. Chorus. pieces, again are distinctive of the pure strain of American folk music. Originating in the South, they Boss he had an old gray mare, have spread widely throughout the United States. Her name was Brindly Brown, Every tooth in that mare's head CRIPPLE CREEK Had sixteen inches 'round. Chorus. "Folks, this number is 'Cripple Creek.''' Well, I hopped upon that old gray mare, I rode her through the town, Goin' down to Cripple Creek, goin' at a run, I sold that mare for fifteen cents Goin' down to Cripple Creek to have some fun. And I got my money down. Roll my britches to my knees, Wade old Cripple Creek when I please! Chorus: Goin' down to Cripple Creek, goin' at a run, Git aiong down to town, Goin' down'to Cripple Creek to have some fun. Git along down to town, Git along down to little Rock town, Goin' down to Cripple Creek, goin' in a whirl, Gonna push my 'bacco 'round. Goin' down to Cripple Creek to see my girl. Roll my britches to my knees, Boss he had a big white house Wade old Cripple Creek when I please! Sixteen stories high, Goin' down to Cripple Creek, goin' in a whirl, Well every story in that house Goin' down to Cripple Creek to see my girl. Was lined with chicken pie. Chorus: GIT ALONG DOWN TO TOWN Git along down to town, Git along down to town, "Folks, this is the King Family playing 'Git Along Down Git along down to little Rock town, to Town.''' Gonna push my 'bacco 'round. Boss he had a yaller gal, Whiskey by the gallon He brought her from the South, And sugar by the pound, She had her hair done up so tight A great big bowl to pour it in Couldn't hardly shut her mouth. And a pretty girl to carry it around. Chorus: Chorus: Git along down to town, Git along down to town, Git along down to town, Git along down to town, Git along down to little Rock town, Git along down to little Rock town, Gonna set my banjo down. Gonna set my banjo down. TIlE KICKING MULE When I seen Miss Dinah the other day, She was bent all over her tub, "Folks, this is the King Family playing The Kicking And the more I'd ask her to marry me, Mule' with a tenor banjo lead." Well, the harder she would rub. As I went down to the huckleberry picnic, Chorus: Dinner all over the ground, Well, whoa there, mule, I tell you, Skippers in the meat was nine foot deep Whoa there, mule, I say, And the green flies walking all around. Just keep your seat, Miss Liza Jane, The biscuit in the oven was a-baking, And hold on to that sleigh. Was a beefsteak frying in the pan, Pretty gal sitting in the parlor, Lord god a'mighty, what a hand I stand! You see that mule a-coming, He's got about a half a load, Chorus: When you see a roomy mule, Whoa there, mule, I tell you, Better give him all the road. Miss Uza, you keep cool, I ain't got time to kiss you now, Chorus: I'm busy with this mule. Whoa there, mule, I tell you, Miss Liza, you keep cool, My uncle had an old mule, I ain't got time to kiss you now, His name was Simon Slick, I'm busy with this mule. 'Bove anything I ever did see Was how that mule could kick. Went to feed that mule one morning And he met me at the door with a smile, A4-A RAILROADER FOR ME. Sung with guitar He backed one ear and he winked one eye by Russ Pike at Visalia, Calif., 1941. Recorded And he kicked me a half a mile. by Charles Todd and Robert Sonkin. Chorus: "Here's an old-timer that I learned from my grand Well, whoa there, mule, I tell you, mammy way down in southern Missouri, and this old song I Miss Uza, you keep cool, think was written right after the Civil War when they first I ain't got time to kiss you now, invented the first steam engines." I'm busy with my mule. That mule he am a kicker, A railroader, a railroader, He's got a iron jaw, A railroader for me; He's the Ivery thing to have about If ever I marry in this wide world, To tame your mother-in-law. A railroader's bride I'll be. This muie he am a kicker, He's got a iron back, Now I would not marry a blacksmith, He headed off a Texas railroad train He's always in the black, And kicked it clear 0' the track. I'd rather marry an engineer That throws the throttle back. Chorus: Whoa there, mule, I tell you A railroader, a railroader, Well, whoa there, mule, I say, A railroader for me; Just keep your seat, Miss Liza Jane, If ever I marry in this wide world, And hold on to that sleigh. A railroader's bride I'll be. He kicked a feather from a goose, I would not marry a farmer, He pulverized a hog, He's always in the dirt, He kicked up three dead chinymans I'd rather marry an engineer And swatted him a yellow dog. That wears a striped shirt. Chorus: Well, whoa there, mule, I tell you, A railroader, a railroader, Miss Liza, you keep cool, A railroader for me; I ain't,got time to kiss you now, Ifever I marry in this wide world, I'm busy with that mule. A railroader's bride I'll be. 2 AS-UTILE OLD SOD SHANTY. Sung with guitar A6-GOOD OLD REBEL. Sung with guitar by by Jimmy Denoon at Bradleyville, Mo., 1942. Booth Campbell at Cane Hill, Ark., 1942. Recorded by Vance Randolph. Recorded by Vance Randolph. This song is an adaptation of W. S. Hays' "Little This song has had considerable folk treatment and Old Log Cabin in the Lane" which appeared in 1871 is a hand-me-down corruption of the original poem and was widely popular, lending itself to numerous by Innes Randolph, southern poet and friend of parodies, the most famous of which is "The Little Sidney Lanier. Booth Campbell, the singer, hesi Old Sod Shanty on the Claim." The text is not an tated in 1942 to record the song for Vance Ran unfair account of the hardships and way of life of dolph, saying, "It don't seem hardly right for a the early settler on the western plains of Nebraska fellow to go around singing songs agin the Govern and bordering States during the period of first ment what with the war and all.". Campbell would settlement. have been reassured had he hell;rd, as I did, Massa chusetts and Virginia officers at General Eisen I'm looking mighty seedy while holding down my claim, hower's headquarters in France singing it at the My victuals are not always of the best, Officers' Club in Versailles, initially to horror-struck And the mice play shyly round me.as I nestle down to rest looks from British allies and fmally to their amused In that little old sod shanty on the claim. understanding of the "Yanks"-which we all were there. Chorus: The hinges are of leather and the windows have no glass, Oh, I'm glad I'm a good old rebel, I don't care if I am; The board roof lets the howling blizzard in, I won't be reconstructed, if I am may I be damned! And I hear the hun~y coyote as he slinks up through the grass Oh, I followed old Marse Robert for four years near about, Round that little old sod shanty on my claim. Got wounded in three places and I starved at Camp Look out. When I left my Eastern home, a bachelor oh so gay, Oh, I'm glad I'm a good old rebel-hat, boot, coats and all, To wend my way up in this' (world to) wealth arid fame, I won't be reconstructed, no sir, not at all! Whoever thought I'd be so low as to burning twisted hay In that little old sod shanty on my claim.