Get Flash to see this player.
Description
Kick Dr LIOLI away(LIOLI 7)
Okay! The loop kick in after 5 seconds and in a few places u can here it as an original loop... We are 3 MJ'ers in this one "Richard Schletty" my wife "Morning Light" and me or hm! oh! yes I was the one who did it silly me.... Bye Bye Dr. LIOLI I'll think we kick your ass away from ours MACJAMS CITY.
Photo I've take with my cellphone.
Okay! The loop kick in after 5 seconds and in a few places u can here it as an original loop... We are 3 MJ'ers in this one "Richard Schletty" my wife "Morning Light" and me or hm! oh! yes I was the one who did it silly me.... Bye Bye Dr. LIOLI I'll think we kick your ass away from ours MACJAMS CITY.
Photo I've take with my cellphone.
Leave a Comment
You must be registered and logged-in to comment.
Lyrics
Eighteen Sixty-One
by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
Arm'd year--year of the struggle,
No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you terrible year,
Not you as some pale poetling seated at a desk lisping cadenzas piano,
But as a strong man erect, clothed in blue clothes, advancing,
carrying rifle on your shoulder,
With well-gristled body and sunburnt face and hands, with a knife in
the belt at your side,
As I heard you shouting loud, your sonorous voice ringing across the
continent,
Your masculine voice O year, as rising amid the great cities,
Amid the men of Manhattan I saw you as one of the workmen, the
dwellers in Manhattan,
Or with large steps crossing the prairies out of Illinois and Indiana,
Rapidly crossing the West with springy gait and descending the Allghanies,
Or down from the great lakes or in Pennsylvania, or on deck along
the Ohio river,
Or southward along the Tennessee or Cumberland rivers, or at
Chattanooga on the mountain top,
Saw I your gait and saw I your sinewy limbs clothed in blue, bearing
weapons, robust year,
Heard your determin'd voice launch'd forth again and again,
Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round-lipp'd cannon,
I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year.
by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
Arm'd year--year of the struggle,
No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you terrible year,
Not you as some pale poetling seated at a desk lisping cadenzas piano,
But as a strong man erect, clothed in blue clothes, advancing,
carrying rifle on your shoulder,
With well-gristled body and sunburnt face and hands, with a knife in
the belt at your side,
As I heard you shouting loud, your sonorous voice ringing across the
continent,
Your masculine voice O year, as rising amid the great cities,
Amid the men of Manhattan I saw you as one of the workmen, the
dwellers in Manhattan,
Or with large steps crossing the prairies out of Illinois and Indiana,
Rapidly crossing the West with springy gait and descending the Allghanies,
Or down from the great lakes or in Pennsylvania, or on deck along
the Ohio river,
Or southward along the Tennessee or Cumberland rivers, or at
Chattanooga on the mountain top,
Saw I your gait and saw I your sinewy limbs clothed in blue, bearing
weapons, robust year,
Heard your determin'd voice launch'd forth again and again,
Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round-lipp'd cannon,
I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year.
michael2
the doctor is doomed. this is some trippy stuff. taking me somewhere far away. love what you did to this.