Heaven Bound Bob and Billy the Snake
Work for the city, and they’re both on the take
Helping Boss Hardin roll his northern shipments in
For once a week whisky and Brooklyn bathtub gin
Well, there ain’t no human plan
Without some fatal flaw
They’re getting that higher justice
Higher justice
The higher justice of the Lobster’s claw
Boss Hardin has his tentacles all over this town
Half the city’s beat cops and every sidewalk clown
Lately his boys have been turning up dead
With funny little burn marks on the tops of their heads
And he asks himself
Is he still above the law?
And what about higher justice?
Higher justice
The higher justice of the Lobster’s claw
Boss Hardin takes his secrets on a thirty-storey fall
The hunchback and the tarot reader tell the Lobster all
The warehouse down in Chelsea, the Nazi submarine
The fire of the angels, the juggernaut machine
Well watch out, Fritz
You’re gonna take it in the jaw!
That’s higher justice
Higher justice
The higher justice of the Lobster’s claw
A warehouse full of Nazis, a pile of bleeding bones
Dancing girls in trances, bugs on ancient thrones
Hell breaks loose as the Lobster starts the juggernaut to roll
And a ragged fiend leaps from the throne and comes groping for his soul
He shoves that Colt
In the demon’s gaping maw
He’s dishing out higher justice
Higher justice
The higher justice of the Lobster’s claw
Wanted to start off the album with some straight filk. This is fan fiction featuring Mike Mignola's fantastic character, Lobster Johnson.
The Captain
Sally she married a soldier
A Captain named William Lee
And I guess in his fashion he loved her
But Sally always loved me
Now I sit by this stone and remember
Her blue eyes and tresses of gold
And how we said when we were younger
We’d be together when we grew old
Oh, sweet Sally
Dear Mrs. Lee
Your whispers are gone
But your memory lives on
And you’ll always be Sally to me
The Captain was usually sober
At night he was usually home
On bad days he yelled and he beat her
Breaking her pride with her bones
You know I was never her lover
But not because I never tried
She lay every week on my shoulder
And whispered my name as she cried
Oh, sweet Sally
Dear Mrs. Lee
Your whispers are gone
But your memory lives on
And you’ll always be Sally to me
One day he found us together
Just talking, but we were alone
Pulling his pistol, he pushed her
And shouted, all the way home
Next morning, I came to her front door
She lay stretched out on the ground
In their Sunday best, everyone mourned her
But the Captain, who never was found
Oh, sweet Sally
Dear Mrs. Lee
Your whispers are gone
But your memory lives on
And you’ll always be Sally to me
Some say he left by the river
Some say he left by the sea
I guess it doesn’t much matter
Since the Captain took Sally from me
Oh, sweet Sally
Dear Mrs. Lee
Your whispers are gone
But your memory lives on
And you’ll always be Sally to me
Just Sally to me
Not filk, but a narrative. I wrote this song in Brooklyn in 1996 or 1997. I started it as an experiment in rhyme scheme, inspired by Leonard Cohen's song "Suzanne".
The Gift of Solomon Kane
They call me a fanatic who are too faint to judge
I shall not spare a sinner, I bear a holy grudge
From Germany’s Black Forest to Africa’s broad plain
That’s the burden and the gift of Solomon Kane
This world is mirk with evil, it chokes me in my soul
My God has set me on this path and God will make me whole
With rapier and pistol ball, I’m Satan’s earthly bane
That’s the burden and the gift of Solomon Kane
My blood brother N’Longa is a mighty juju priest
I’ve swung this staff of an ancient king ’gainst many an eldritch beast
My footstep’s feared in the forest, and in every fallen fane
That’s the burden and the gift of Solomon Kane
I was a wild son of Atlantis on Valusia’s bright throne
And a hard, dark-haired Cimmerian, captain and alone
Someday I’ll be a Texan, a poet in Cross Plains
That’s the burden and the gift of Solomon Kane
Filk. Award-winning filk, I'd like to add.
Letter from Crimea
On a warm night in May
All the girls came out to play
And dance, as far as I could see
I said to myself
She’s an angel or an elf
You’d put on your red dress for me
You put on your red dress
You put on your red dress
You put on your red dress for me
Not a month had gone by
With a tear in my eye
I came on bended knee
I could see you were touched
I said, I can’t promise much
But would you put on your white dress for me?
You put on your white dress
You put on your white dress
You put on your white dress for me
Now if the sergeant is right
We won’t last the night
And the Turk holds the hill and the sea
So pray just one more time
Kiss the children goodbye
And put on your black dress for me
Put on your black dress
Put on your black dress
Put on your black dress for me
Darling, put on your black dress
Put on your black dress
Put on your black dress for me
The red-white-black color scheme of this song was inspired by Robert Bly's book Iron John.
The Life of Sydney Reilly
The gentlemen from Vickers wish to give me a reward
Serving King and country is what they say it’s for
One hundred thousand pounds will do, in a numbered bank account
They don’t even flinch at the amount
Well, there’s nothing I can do at which
They would express surprise
It’s just another
In the life of Sydney Reilly
They say I loved my sister, well, it might be true
Sometimes a little blasphemy is all a man can do
The Reverend Thomas took the flux, and left me with his doll
I left her in Port Arthur at the fall
I still see those steamer trunks
And hear her whimpered cries
As she sailed
From the life of Sydney Reilly
Run now, little Solomon, your mother’s not at home
She’s working at the doctor’s, her fingers to the bone
Your father knows you’re not his son, you see it in his eyes
You’re Reilly, the Ace of Spies
Cummings wants a gentleman, a chap like me won’t do
An easterner, a socialist, and yes, by damn, a Jew!
To pull our man from the Hamburg yards, we have to send the best
And that poor lieutenant doesn’t pass the test
I’d have saved him if I could
But the world is death and lies
The world
And the life of Sydney Reilly
There are ghosts in the Lubyanka who died upon their knees
And shades of murdered Romanovs go howling through the trees
Basil’s got his knighthood, Sacha’s in his tomb
And Iron Felix hunts me room to room
I come upon the common end
I leave with no goodbyes
And no trace
Of the life of Sydney Reilly
Run now, little Solomon, your mother’s not at home
She’s working at the doctor’s, her fingers to the bone
Your father knows you’re not his son, you see it in his eyes
You’re Reilly, the Ace of Spies
This song is sort of filk, in that it's partly rooted in the real life of Salomon Rosenblum, and partly in the famous TV adaptation.
Over the Hills and Gone
I left my girl unhappily
When she swore she’d never marry me
I asked, she said she’d rather she
Were handfast to a toad
So I took my shilling from the King’s army
And I left for the hills, all the world to see
My fifty new best mates and me
All marching up the road
And I’m over the hills and gone, boys
Over the hills and gone
The fire burns high, the devil drives
And I must be moving on
Over the hills and gone, boys
Over the hills and gone
Her eyes burned bright with an evil light
And I’m over the hills and gone
This baskethilt and an old Brown Bess
Were the price of my soul in Inverness
The sergeant swore it’d be my death
If I fell out of line
But that line it didn’t hold too tight
When those highland boys hove into sight
A howling mass of Jacobites
All rushing down the pine
And I’m over the hills and gone, boys
Over the hills and gone
The fire burns high, the devil drives
And I must be moving on
Over the hills and gone, boys
Over the hills and gone
Their eyes burned bright with an evil light
And I’m over the hills and gone
Now the earth is still but a cold wind blows
And it’s down with the rooks and the carrion crows
Who stripped the corpses, no one knows
I guess that’s by design
It’s down with my blade and my old Brown Bess
And I’m over the hills, to Inverness
The sergeant’s wearing a purple dress
But that’s his affair, not mine
And I’m over the hills and gone, boys
Over the hills and gone
The fire burns high, the devil drives
And I must be moving on
Over the hills and gone, boys
Over the hills and gone
His eyes burned bright with an evil light
And I’m over the hills and gone
The fire burns high, the devil drives
And I’m over the hills and gone
This song is about the Battle of Prestonpans. I wrote the second verse and chorus in my head driving out of Inverness in the summer of 2001 and carried it around in my head for five years before I could finish the rest.
The Devil You Know
Brer Bear’s got his paws in your honey
Brer Polecat’s moved right into your hole
Brer Turtle is counting your money
Old Boy is after your soul
When that bad news wind begins to blow
Better the devil you know
You gotta ride some
You gotta slide some
You gotta run away and hide some, too
And if you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re lost
No matter what you do
Well the night gets darker than coal
Down Aunt Mammy-Bammy Big Money’s hole
She don’t sing no zippity doo-da
Not a hint of bippity-boppety-boo
She’s a conjure woman who can do you
With her calamus and her John de Conqueroo
When you’ve got no place else to go
Better the devil you know
You gotta fly some
You gotta cry some
You gotta lie down and die some, too
And if you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re lost
No matter what you do
Well hold on to your wallet and your soul
Down Aunt Mammy-Bammy Big Money’s hole
King Lion wants to show you his sliver
Brer Wolf is hungry on your track
The Doodang’s coming up the river
Mister Man’s got you tied in a sack
The buzzard is circling, and the crow
Better the devil you know
You gotta fall some
You gotta crawl some
You gotta undo your buttons and sprawl some, too
And if you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re lost
No matter what you do
Don’t feed the spider or the troll
Down Aunt Mammy-Bammy Big Money’s hole
Yeah, all you creatures below
Better the devil you know
My kids love Uncle Remus. So do I. Since the stories features magic (heck, the song is about Aunt Mammy-Bammy Big Money, the Witch Rabbit), I think this qualifies as filk.
The Weak Things of the Earth
I’m just a poor engraver, but I have a gift of sight
I’ve seen Jehovah’s golden spear pierce this bubbling night
The sons of Los in judgment sat upon green England’s girth
The good Lord chooses the weak things of the earth
Now, I am no seditious man, I’ve never damned the King
Nor bowed my head to prelate yet, nor kissed the papal ring
I serve the King of Bethlehem, I sang upon his birth
The good Lord chooses the weak things of the earth
I spit upon your Rembrandt and on Coreggio
A man must know proportion like Michael Angelo
My own pearls I clutch inside this coat, I think I know their worth
The good Lord chooses the weak things of the earth
Eight years old in Peckham Rye, there were angels in the tree
I’ve seen God’s head through the window, and the spirit of a flea
And a vision of Christ Jesus, chained to the rock of Calvary
The good Lord chooses the weak things, he chose me
The good Lord chooses the weak things, he chose me
He chose me
Is this filk? It's about and a tribute to William Blake, who may or may not be an early writer of fantasy literature. You tell me.
My Sister
The crickets are quiet, the ground is hard when I get up
Lot of gasoline to burn before I sleep
The sun is grumpy in my morning cup
I make a lot of promises, and some of them I keep
But my sister
I always loved my sister
I always loved my sister
And my sister loved me
Counting cactus out the window as the miles roll by
Reno in the rearview, Vegas on the dash
Everything I’m selling, no one wants to buy
Dreams blowing down the highway, like so much trash
But my sister
I always loved my sister
I always loved my sister
And my sister loved me
Sagebrush chapel, on a rabbit road
Pews full of people, honey I don’t know
You’re cold when I take your hand
I start to cry, I think you’d understand
I’m on empty, and I’ve got miles to go
Cold Sierra sunset, the motel smells of pine
Unfold your photograph, take out my flask and pour
I’ve sold everything that in this world was mine
Come tomorrow morning, guess I’ll go out and sell some more
But my sister
I always loved my sister
I always loved my sister
And my sister loved me
Not filk. And my sister isn't really dead, and this song has nothing to do with her. I think of this as my Stan Ridgway song -- it's about a sort of a loser character, alienated, broken and driving around in the deserts of the American west.
The Wounded Bird
I gave my love a secret name
I gave my love an emerald ring
I told my love my fear and shame
I said I’d give her anything
I said I’d give her anything
I gave my love three leaping foals
I penned them in a roaring hall
We sat beside a fire of coals
And listened to the angels fall
And listened to the angels fall
I gave my love a wounded bird
I gave my love a shackled ape
I taught my love a secret word
To heal the world and give it shape
To heal the world and give it shape
To heal the world
I stole an image from Nick Cave here.
In the Stones Lanes
I’ve seen your murderous gateau
Gallons of blood in the drain
I’ll be waiting for you in the chateau
Under cover of the first summer rains
So bring your puffy white hat, your two handed cleaver
And those syphilitic strains
I’ll see you, Swelter
In the shadow of the long Stone Lanes
These webs are but passing distractions
Frosting and marchpanes
On the cake of the upcoming action
When I bury this knife in your brains
So bring your crackling knees, your insectoid limbs
And that jacket with mysterious stains
I’ll be singing your requiem, Flay, dear
In the shadow of the long Stone Lanes
How clever! Your knees are all silenced
What a shame it will all be in vain
I can see you’re prepared to do violence
But are you prepared for the pain?
You’ve convinced yourself you’re my nemesis
You’re just one more crayfish to de-vein
Come dance now, my succulent Flay-fish
In the shadow of the long Stone Lanes
Oh horrors, that I have to listen
To that awful hooted refrain
While His Lordship drags Swelter, a-glisten
Eyes all round in the rain
Now they’re up the steps to the Tower of Flints
Does any of the man remain
The owls will feast like kings tonight
In the shadow of the long Stone Lanes
Yeah, the owls will feast like kings tonight
In the shadow of the long Stone Lanes
In the shadow of the long Stone Lanes
In the shadow of the long Stone Lanes
Filk again. This is about the duel at the climax of Mervyn Peake's Titus Groan, between Mr. Flay and Abiatha Swelter. I am both voices, of course.
Long Time Gone (Slow Boogie)
Packed my bags this morning
I put on my traveling clothes
Guess I lost my razor
Ain’t that just the way it goes?
Cashed my paycheck, bought my ticket
Gonna leave this ice and snow
Someplace where the sun shines
Is where I’m gonna go
Hey Engineer, get your fire stoked and burning
I must be traveling on
It’s been a long time coming
Gonna be a long time gone
Mexico by mule cart
Tuscany by train
Escalante blue skies
London in the rain
Hey coachman, won’t you get those horses running
I believe I’ll ride along
It’s been a long time coming
Gonna be a long time gone
Life’s a struggle, sister, don’t you find?
To keep your balance and your peace of mind
Got the stamps down at reception
Envelope was in the drawer
By the time you read this letter
Won’t have to miss me anymore
Hey driver, won’t you get your motor humming
I’ll sing a homeward sing
It’s been a long time coming
Gonna be a long time gone
Gonna be a long time gone
I wrote this song for the retirement of another lawyer. I offer it up now as a hopeful augury of my own withdrawal from the same field.
Credits
All lyrics and performances by and copyright Dave Butler, no later than 2010 (except Long Time Gone, recorded in 2011). All songs were recorded on a TASCAM 2488 Mk ii, using Shure microphones and/or a Bluebottle. Principal instruments used included a Gibson Hummingbird, a Deering Sierra, a Yamaha LS-500, a Fender Stratocaster (American Standard), a Fender Toronado, a Fender Squier P-Base, a low-end mandolin of some Korean make, various Hohner harmonicas, a Yamaha CVP-210 and an Alesis SR-16. Guitar effects by a POD XT or BOSS pedals.
License Statement
You have my permission to reproduce the music and lyrics of Tall Tales in any form and on any platform for your entertainment, the entertainment of others, mockery of me and/or any other purpose other than the direct advertisement of goods or services. You can't charge people money for my music. If you share it with others, please mention me and maybe even link to my blog.
Thanks very much.
