| Disc 1 | ||||||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1. |
| - | 
|
|||
| 2. |
| - | 
|
|||
|
Sunday, Monday or Tuesday
Wednesday, Thursday or Friday I want you near Every day in the year Oh, won't you tell me when We will meet again Sunday, Monday or always If you're satisfied I'll be at your side Sunday, Monday or always No need to tell me now What makes the world go 'round When at the sight of you My heart begins to pound and pound And what am I to do? Can't I be with you Sunday, Monday or always? Always and forever I must be with you Beginning Sunday and Monday and then forever Oh, won't you tell me when We will meet again Sunday, Monday or always If you're satisfied I'll be at your side Sunday, Monday or always No need to tell me now What makes the world go 'round When at the sight of you My heart begins to pound, pound, pound What am I to do? Can't I be with you Sunday, Monday or always? |
||||||
| 3. |
| - |
|
|||
| 4. |
| - |
|
|||
| 5. |
| - |
|
|||
| 6. |
| - |
|
|||
| 7. |
| - |
|
|||
|
Oh! I'm packing my grip
And I'm leav-in' to-day, 'Cause I'm takin' a trip Cal-i-for-nia way I'm gon-na set-tle down and nev-er more roam And make the SAN FER-NAN-DO VAL0LEY my home. I'll for-get my sins, I'll be mak-in' new friends, Where the West be-gins And the sun-set ends, 'Cause I've de-cid-ed where "yours tru-ly" should be And it's the SAN FER-NAN-DO VAL-LEY for me I think that I'm safe in stat-in' {She - He} will be wait-in' When my lone-ly jour-ney is done- And kind-ly old Rev-'rend Thomas Made us a pro-mise He will make the two of us one. So, I'm hit-tin' the trail To the cow coun-try. You can for-ward my mail Care of R.F.D. I'm gon-na set-tle down and nev-er more roam And make the SAN FER-NAN-DO VAL-LEY my home |
||||||
| 8. |
| - |
|
|||
| 9. |
| - |
|
|||
|
Would you like to swing on a star
Carry moonbeams home in a jar And be better off than you are Or would you rather be a mule? A mule is an animal with long funny ears He kicks up at anything he hears His back is brawny but his brain is weak He's just plain stupid with a stubborn streak And by the way, if you hate to go to school You may grow up to be a mule Or would you like to swing on a star Carry moonbeams home in a jar And be better off than you are Or would you rather be a pig? A pig is an animal with dirt on his face His shoes are a terrible disgrace He's got no manners when he eats his food He's fat and lazy and extremely rude But if you don't care a feather or a fig You may grow up to be a pig Or would you like to swing on a star Carry moonbeams home in a jar And be better off than you are Or would you rather be a fish? A fish won't do anything, but swim in a brook He can't write his name or read a book To fool the people is his only thought And though he's slippery, he still gets caught But then if that sort of life is what you wish You may grow up to be a fish And all the monkeys aren't in the zoo Everyday you'll meet quite a few So you see it's all up to you You can be better than you are You could be swingin' on a star |
||||||
| 10. |
| - |
|
|||
| 11. |
| - |
|
|||
| 12. |
| - |
|
|||
| 13. |
| - |
|
|||
|
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Hush now, don't you cry. Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, That's an Irish lullaby. (verse) Over in Killarney, many years ago, My mother sang a song to me in tones so soft and low. Just a simple little ditty in her good old Irish way. And I'd give the world if I could hear that song of hers today. ( ) |
||||||
| 14. |
| - |
|
|||
| 15. |
| - |
|
|||
| 16. |
| - |
|
|||
|
Lay that pistol down, babe
Lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama Lay that pistol down Oh, drinking beer in a cabaret Was I having fun Until one night she caught me right And now I'm on the run Oh, lay that pistol down, babe Lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama Lay that pistol down Oh, I'll sing you every night Bing And I'll woo you every day I'll be your regular mama And I'll put that gun away Oh, lay that pistol down, babe Lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama Lay that thing down before it goes off and hurts somebody oh, she kicked out my windshield And she hit me over the head She cussed and cried and said I lied And she wished that I was dead Oh, lay that pistol down, babe Lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama Lay that pistol down We're three tough gals From deep down Texas way We got no pals They don't like the way we play We're a rough rooting tooting shooting trio But you ought to see my sister Cleo She's a terror make no error But there ain't no nicer terror Here's what we tell her Lay that pistol down, babe Lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama Lay that pistol down Pappy made a batch of corn The revenuers came The drought was slow So now they know You can't do that to Mame Lay that pistol down, babe Lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama Lay that pistol down Oh, singing songs in a cabaret Was I having fun Until one night it didn't seem right And now I'm on the run Oh, lay that pistol down, babe Lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama Lay that pistol down Oh, pistol packing mama Lay that pistol down |
||||||
|
