MY KIND OF PEOPLE
It didn’t matter where I came from,
You took me in like I was one of your own.
Opened your doors, put me at ease,
Like we were one big family.
Stuck out your hand when I got lost,
You showed me friendship at a minimal cost.
Plain talkin’, shoot from the heart;
I knew it right from the start –
YOU’RE MY KIND OF PEOPLE (4X)
You’re so alive, make me feel so warm;
You like to dance and really sweat up a storm.
Right out in front you got nothin’ to prove,
You really picked me up and got me to move.
You work so hard for everything you got;
Your soul is yours, and it can never be bought.
You’re tuggin’ on chains others can’t even see;
Give some of that spirit to me –
YOU’RE MY KIND OF PEOPLE (4X)
You took the load right off of my mind;
Showed me how to smile and have a good time.
You live your life for all it is worth;
You’re just the salt of the earth.
YOU’RE MY KIND OF PEOPLE (8X)
__________________________________________________
Words & Music by: C. Michael Stout, 1988
WE ARE THE WORKING CLASS
Inside the factories, out in the streets,
Every place where the working heart beats;
Together and each - WE ARE THE WORKING CLASS
At the machines, out in the fields,
Down in the mines, serving the meals;
Behind the wheels - WE ARE THE WORKING CLASS (2X)
Putting out the fires, dyin' in their wars,
Slavin' in the Sweat shops and scrubbing the floors;
Doing the dirty chores - WE ARE THE WORKING CLASS (2X)
We got the numbers, we got the clout,
We've got the power to straighten this mess out.
All we need is each other, my friend.
Let's start talking, stop all the balking,
Get our movement rocking again !
Down in the trenches, in the middle of the fights
For human justice and civil rights;
Out of the spotlights - WE ARE THE WORKING CLASS (2X)
With our brains and muscle, blood, sweat and tears
We made and built everything here.
Year after year - WE ARE THE WORKING CLASS (2X)
We get no prize; we're never recognized;
Are names are unknown and never memorized.
We're just the millions of ordinary I's
The hard-working caste, the critical mass,
The international working class !
Every color, language and creed,
Men and women of every nationality,
Them and you and me - WE ARE THE WORKING CLASS (6X)
Lyrics and Music by: C. Michael Stout, August, 2002
__________________________________________________
BROKEN PROMISE
Golden years it was supposed to be,
For tens of millions of retirees;
Contracts were signed so down the line, they’d have security.
You work so hard for every dime,
Pay your dues, put in your time;
Scrimped and saved from what you made to buy some dignity.
You thought it was real,
Written, signed and sealed,
A matter of law, holy sacred deal – deliverance from poverty.
For years the Companies boasted and bragged,
Their pension plans were the best to be had.
Through good times and bad, they’d be ironclad, a written guarantee.
But then with the courts and politicians they collude,
The game gets fixed, the books get skewed.
Unprotected, ripped off and rejected, the masses get screwed.
As soon as trouble began,
They took your money and ran,
Ripped the future right out of your hands, for the greed of Wall Street.
Broken promise, shattered dream, a betrayal in the first degree.
Who among us will stand and be against this inhumanity,
Demand and expect – the promise be kept.
And when the laws of the global economy intrude;
Courts, politicians and big money collude;
The game is fixed, the books are stewed.
It’s always the working people who get screwed
In the twilight of retirement age,
Forced to slave for minimum wage,
In a depression, selling your possessions, slipping through the cracks.
Your health and home put on the chopping block,
Your savings stolen, your deep in hock.
Corporate raiders, posing as saviors, put a knife in your back..
Hard working women and men,
‘Neath the iron heel again.
It’s a sin, they way these big moneymen get away with such illegal acts..
Broken promise, shattered dream, a betrayal to the worst degree.
Who among us will stand and fight, to right this inhumanity,
Demand and expect – the promise be kept.
Words & Music by
C. Michael Stout
November, 2005
__________________________________________________
Soldiers Of Solidarity
When you’re bogged
In the ‘dog-eat-dog,’ when looking out for number one won’t do.
When you’re broke,
At the end of your rope, the whole world is caving in on you.
I think you need some solidarity.
When you’re trapped,
Under attack, when all the vultures are circling over you.
When you’re in hock,
Hit bottom rock, the reins of poverty are jerking on you,
I think you need a shot of solidarity.
When you’re stuck
Knee-deep in mud, wiped away by a flood or a hurricane.
When you’ve been torn,
By some brutal storm, standin’ abandoned in the pouring rain.
I think you need some solidarity.
Not charity, but solidarity.
When all looks lost
And you’ve been tossed to the wolves of a system that don’t give a damn.
The only way
We’ll live to see a better day is when we stand hand in hand again –
When you’re on strike,
In the middle of a fight, about to crack, you’re back is up against the wall.
When you’ve been burned,
You’ve got no where to turn, on the edge of a ledge, getting ready to fall,
I think you need a shot of solidarity.
Not sympathy, but solidarity.
They rule the seas,
They’re the powers that be, you’ll never beat them alone. You see,
The only damn thing that’s gonna break that chain
Is when we band back together again. You and me,
IN SOLIDARITY.
Words & Music by: C, Michael Stout 1982, [Revised 2005]
__________________________________________________
The End Of Petroleum Man
Rusted heaps, abandoned on the streets,
Remnants of a bygone rage;
Graveyards of plastic, once useful, fantastic,
Scattered all over the place.
Drinkin’ water scarce, black and brownouts everywhere,
Power shortages the order of the day.
Behind the media veneer, the picture’s real clear;
The age of peak oil is here.
It’s not the rapture, some prophecy unfurled,
‘End of days’ or the end of the world.
It’s not the beast unleashed, a curse upon the land,
Just the end of petroleum man. It’s the end of petroleum man.
Giant empty malls, ghost town suburban sprawls,
Next to mountains of garbage and waste.
Dust and rust bowls, homeless shiver in the cold;
The desert heat reclaims its space.
Endless resource wars, tribes livin’ by the sword;
The dollar not worth the paper it’s on.
Dreams of fair shares, turn to nightmares,
When all the cheap oil is gone.
One day you wake up, right becomes wrong;
You realize we’ve crossed the Rubicon.
There’s no master plan, by some invisible hand -
Just the end of petroleum man. It’s the end of petroleum man.
If you stay unconcerned, pretty soon you’ll learn
Ignorance is not a good bluff.
The more we consume, the quicker we’re doomed;
For the addict enough is never enough.
One day a storm’ll come, all the privilege you won,
Will blow away like empires in song.
The matrix will burst from so much hunger and thirst,
When the cheap gas and oil are gone.
Get to know your neighbor, learn to grow your own food;
Get rid of your suburban point of view.
For the rule of fossil fuel, extinction’s at hand -
IT’S THE END OF PETROLEUM MAN!
Words & Music by:
C. Michael Stout
February, 2006
__________________________________________________
Fighter With A Heart
I saw his picture, he was frozen in time.
He was a fixture, out on a picket line.
At H.J. Heinz, A&P and Little Steel,
Holding his signs, callin’ for a New Deal.
Labor’s apostle, a born and bred activist.
Poor man’s disciple, his pen was his fist.
A voice for the forgotten inside the prison walls,
Down at the bottom, on the sick and hungry he'd call.
A rebel spirit, a ‘Danny’s Boy’ who sang his part;
A freedom writer,
A fighter with a heart from the start…
I saw him marchin’ with Martin Luther King,
Arm in arm in-side a field of dreams.
Marching for the left out, against all the prejudicial laws;
He didn’t care about whose toes he stepped on.
I saw him standin’ against the Vietnam war.
He was demandin’ peace and justice and more.
Used his church and his collar, to give the protesters cover,
You'd here him holler, "the enemy's my brother."
A rebel spirit, not afraid to upset the apple cart,
A freedom writer,
A fighter with a heart from the start…
I saw his pictures, on the altar of his Lord;
He was a fixture for 7 decades or more.
Taking all the heat with a smile on his face,
You could hear his heart beat for the human race.
A rebel spirit, a warrior who knew his part,
A freedom writer, a fighter with a heart from the start...
He was a fighter, a fighter with a heart.
A mighty fighter, with a great big heart.
Words & Music by: C. Michael Stout, December, 2005
__________________________________________________
309 COLONY BLVD.
I love my people, love my family.
I love the people in my family.
When we were young, we butted heads and more;
Twelve in a five room house was crowded for sure.
But now when one of us goes down,
The others gather around,
All for one and one for all – with love.
I love the brothers in my family.
I love the sisters in my family.
When we were kids, I didn’t show you much respect;
The pecking order ruled the deck.
But later on when I fell, and needed some help,
You came and pulled me from the wreck – with love.
I love my daddy, love my family.
I love the father of my family.
Kiddie-show cowboy singer,
Boss of the handbill slingers;
Working three jobs to feed the bunch of us.
Though we didn’t see eye to eye,
It’s ‘cause we’re so much alike.
There’s nothing thicker than blood – mixed with love.
I love my mommy, love my family.
I love the mother of my family.
Jigsaw puzzle master,
Oasis from disaster,
So many times you covered my tracks.
And even years later on,
With your mind nearly gone,
Your sweet Sicilian soul still sang my songs – with love.
And though we spread out all over the place,
My heart keeps getting much closer to you.
No matter how many years that I roam,
My body and soul keep coming home
To the house underneath the big oak trees,
Three doors down from Christ the King – at 309 Colony Blvd.
Words & Music by: C. Michael Stout, 1995
__________________________________________________
YOU WERE THERE FOR ME
I’ve been on top of the world, like an eagle I soared.
I’ve been down in the dirt, with the poorest of poor.
I’ve been a loser and winner, on both ends of the score.
I’ve been a saint and sinner, on a bar room floor
And you were always there, ready and all,
To be my pillow, and cushion my fall,
To give me love whenever I put out an SOS call –
YOU WERE THERE FOR ME (2X)
I’ve been on the front lines, the leader of the pack.
I’ve been behind the times, comin’ in dead last.
I’ve been deaf, dumb and blind, going down the wrong track.
I’ve been out of my mind, falling so fast.
And you were always there, extending your hand,
Pulling me free from the quicksand,
Giving me shelter when the storms covered the land –
YOU WERE THERE FOR ME (4X)
I’ve been a working class hero, up on center stage.
I’ve been at ground zero, on the wrong page.
I’ve been over and under a decent living wage.
I’ve made some monumental blunders at just about every age.
And you were always there, wherever I was,
Guarding me like an angel does.
You empower me with your gifts of love –
YOU WERE THERE FOR ME (6X)
Words & Music by:
C. Michael Stout
1992 / revised, 2005
__________________________________________________
KENTUCKY
[CHORUS] Take me back to ol’ Kentucky,
I ain’t found a better place to hide.
Take me back to ol’ Kentucky,
back home where my forefathers lie.
I’ve been down that long lonesome road;
Far east to west and way up north.
I just want a piece of my home,
To take along anywhere I go.
And you should know
There’s one place I go
Where I can let my heart sing out.
That’s where the sun falls on my shoulders;
Heaven is south… [CHORUS]
I’ve been to the U.K. and beyond;
Krakow’s surely seen the likes of me.
I keep getting’ caught up in the fog;
Take me back to where it’s clear to see.
And you should know
There’s one place I go
Where I can let my soul hang out.
That’s where the sun falls on my shoulders;
Heaven is south…
Take me back to ol’ Kentucky;
I ain’t found a better place to hide.
[Take me back to ol’ Kentucky;
Back home where my forefathers lie;]2X
Back home where my grandfather died;
Back home where my forefathers lie
Words & Music: Fred Nelson
__________________________________________________
Ain’t It The Truth
Never should have left them stranded on the roof tops.
Never should have kept them locked up in the flood blocks.
When deluge came, pain and chaos reined,
Government no where to be found;
When mother earth spoke, all the levees broke,
Where were the buses and trains?
FEMA and political men?
The workin' poor got left out again.
You saw the proof; ain’t it the truth? We’ll Ain’t it the truth?
Islands of marshes and wetlands holdin’ back the sea
A paradise of coastlands, a distant memory.
When Katrina struck, the party was up,
Gulf towns and the Big Easy drowned;
So many warning signs, ignored so many times.
Where were the choppers and planes?
The mightiest military ever seen?
Forgot about the poor once again.
You saw the proof; ain’t it the truth? We’ll ain’t it the truth?
Thank God for the people who stayed and came back to help;
‘Cause when the flood and mud came, they had nobody else.
So unprepared, like nobody cared,
The President was not there.
Tin trailors, tramps and refugee camps –
No Homeland security
If you’re poor in the land of the free.
A lesson for you and me,
You see the proof; ain’t it the truth! Hell, ain’t it the truth!
Words & Music: C. Michael Stout, March, 2006
__________________________________________________
DEPLETED URANIUM IS NUCLEAR WAR
Depleted Uranium is nuclear waste.
It deforms, it sickens, it contaminates.
It ravages the body, eats at the brain;
Breathin’ it’s like smokin’ radioactive crack cocaine.
The cause of so much cancer, torment and pain,
Eternal damnation for whoever remains.
It’s been used in Afghanistan, Kosovo, Iraq,
400,000 Nagasaki-like nuclear attacks.
(It’s) filled these places full of poison, spread death everywhere
For the millions of innocent civilians still there.
A sure death sentence for generations to come,
Still killing long after the fighting is done.
It’s poisoned our own troops and their families back home.
It’s lodged in their lungs, organs and bones.
So many wounds invisible, exploding inside;
Since returning back home tens of thousands have died.
Underneath the fancy speeches and government lies,
The betrayal of our troops cannot be denied.
Once it is used, it’s forever here.
It has a half-life span of more than four billion years.
It’s in the soil, in the water, in the air that we breathe.
The whole planet’s grim-reaper, a devil’s disease.
A war crime for all time, endless hell we’ve unleashed,
Depleted uranium is insanity.
The whole world has declared it a WMD.
And if you really support the soldiers and troops,
If you care about the environment anymore;
And if you’re concerned for the new-born and the unborn child,
If you’re really pro-life for sure,
Right this wrong, ban this bomb,
Stop this violence, break the silence;
Tell your neighbors, friends and family the score –
Depleted uranium is nuclear war; depleted uranium is nuclear war.
Words and Music by: C. Michael Stout, October, 2005