A list of lyrics, artists and songs that contain the term "open-book" - from the that's an open book All my life Hold me close to your heart But all else above, hold. Posts about the song is ' I like being me!' lyrics – I guess my life`s an open book.. anyone can take a look. with no secrets here to hide this is. If My Life Was An Open Book This song is by Steve Wynn and appears on the album Sweetness and Light (). If my life was an open book I guess I'd let.
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Open Book Lyrics: I guess my life's an open book / Anyone can take a look / No secrets here, to hide / This is just me / Holidays that to identify songs on the go . Lyrics to 'Open Book' by Mikey McCleary Feat. I Guess My Life's Open Book, Anyone Can Take A Look, / No Secrets Here To Top Songs By Mikey Mccleary. Lyrics for Open Book by Mikey McCleary feat. Mauli Dave. I Guess My Life's Open Book, Anyone Can Take A Look, No Secrets Here To Hide.
A singing cowboy has a romantic flair that a poetry-reciting cowboy does not enjoy. Yet, both forms of expression were equally popular for recreational pastime. In fact, the singing ability and vocal quality of many working cowboys make it difficult to distinguish between song and recitation. And the songs were usually introduced as poems, as indicated many times throughout this collection. The Cowboy Poetry Gathering held each year since in Elko, Nevada, has enhanced the image of the cowboy poet and reciter in the eyes of the general public. It was during the Gathering when I collected the "classic" cowboy poem "The Open Book" from an excellent cowboy reciter. I asked him if he knew "The Open Book" and with pride he said, "Yes.
Now, just so you won't die of wonder, Why a "Native Son" is what I am, And what I've tried hard to say in an indirect way Is that cowpunchers ain't worth a damn. As for those I've neglected to mention, Why, it's not that I can't find the rhyme; But between me and you, I've got work to do And those bastards just ain't worth my time.
Text B by Curley Fletcher 1. You've been tamped full of tales about cowboys.
They're known as a romantic band, Bold knights of the saddle, who round up wild cattle, And roll cigarettes with one hand. Well, it's high time somebody debunked 'em— Let the air from their counterfeit hides— Every boastful galoot with a spur on his boot Is no hero just 'cause he rides.
Hell, I've known all kinds of cowpunchers, Throughout fifty long years in the west. Whether Canada twister, or Oregon mister, They all looked like bums at their best. I have harvested wool in Wyoming, And some rawhide in New Mexico. They wear those ten-gallon sombreros, And they think they're God's gift to the range, But they take up more slack than a dumb lumberjack, And then talk you out of your change. You can bet that I savvy the hairpins. I know 'em for what they ain't worth.
They're as dumb as sheep come, out west where they're from, An' should have been strangled at birth. Some hail from out east of the Rockies. Some ride from the southwestern plains, But it's easy to tell, by the brag and the smell, Where each learned to tighten his reins.
As a group they're a bunch of quitters, With less brains than God gave a goose. They're caught short of thinking and cry when they're drinking, But they all like the forbidden juice. Take, for instance, the Panhandle hairpin, Widely known by the moniker "Tex. He will brag of the big plains in Texas, Or of getting men out on a limb, But his powder is damp and his gun hand will cramp If someone screams "cotton" at him.
There's that prune-glomming Californian; He's known as the nice Native Son, A half baked vaquero who has no dinero, But no worse than the general run.
He thinks that he's clever and handsome, This product from orchard and mine, But he's only a weed from that pioneer breed, In the gold rush of old forty-nine. Take the lame-brain from cold Colorado, Where high Pike's Peak ponders and broods; A miner, a mucker, this hungry stump sucker, His racket is waiting on dudes.
He sponsors a double-rigged saddle, And he thinks he's a wolf gone plumb wild, But he's a chump who is easy to dump, With the sense of a two-year-old child.
Of all nature's blunders, he's one of the wonders, The sorriest seed ever sown. He's a sucker for Mexican cooking, Chili beans with cigarette butts.
That's why he ain't got any guts. And then there's the rodeo cowboy; By far he's the pick of the lot. He makes his best ride, and then fills his fool hide Full of whisky that someone else brought.
Contributed by Sunny Hancock; not in Fletcher's text. Now there's boosters from poor Oklahoma, And there's brokers from old Arkansaw; But they're cotton pickers and tinhorn dice slickers, With none too much sand in the craw. They travel in herds like cayuses. They're cocky and flip with the lip, But they know more of plows than they do about cows, Out there on the Cherokee Strip.
There's a so-called cowhand in Utah, Who thinks he's the salt from Salt Lake; He's only small change from that locoweed range, With less brains than to make his head ache. He thinks he's a wonderful twister, This boob with the jack-Mormon brand, But he's nutty more than a peach-orchard boar.
In fact, he's a plumb sorry hand. Take that gunsel from out in Dakota Who claims he can "sure stand the gaff," Though raised on the prairies, he only knows dairies, And was caught stealing milk from a calf. He'll tell how his folks scalped the Indians, The Cheyennes, the Crows and the Sioux; But this calf-robbing lad and his sod-busting dad Spend most of their time fighting booze.
There's the cholo from down in Chihuahua; He claims he's a cowpuncher, too. He curses the gringo in Mexican lingo, But that's about all he can do. He sponsors a rawhide riata, And he straddles a silver trimmed rig. Mikey McCleary Feat. I Don't Do Love Anymore. Jeene Mein Aye Maza. Chase Every Dream.
The World Is Our Playground. Open Book. Four More Shots Please! If You Feel. Monica Dogra.
Laila's Theme. Got My Eyes On You. Waiting For You. If I Go Mad. Just A Little Crush. Shalmali Kholgade. Fancy Pancy. Oh I Feel Wonderful. You Got Me. Show More Show Less. Well music was a big part of my life in Children of God.
We sang together everyday in the morning just after breakfast, singing the songs the adults wrote. I learned to play the guitar when I was 13 and all the kids knew how to sing, we would be sat down in groups to busk to raise money for the home.
But at the same time the upbringing gave me an appreciation of music and taught me how to play guitar. Are you still religious today? I do agree with the purpose gospel is supposed to serve, escaping from the troubles of daily life, giving yourself to the music, and letting it uplift you.
I was always considered a problem child, I had a hard time believing the things my parents and the older generation did. I disassociate the religious side of it, and take it on aesthetically, or take it on spiritually if you will.
On this record there are songs as old as six years that have been sitting around that I wanted to be on the right album. Love has always been one of those things that motivates me to write.
I guess I do, I think it transcends all that. People discuss things like flirting over Twitter, but I think even though all those things are a little superficial, the real sentiments are still the same.