All Episodes
Previous Next
Dec. 28, 2017 - Radio Free Nortwest - H.A. Covington
01:46:22
20171228_rfn
| Copy link to current segment

Time Text
Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, tell me why you hurry so.
Hush, a woogle, hush and listen, and his cheeks were all aglow.
I wear orders from the captain, get you ready quick and soon, for the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon.
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon.
Oh, then tell me, Sean O 'Farrell, where the gathering is to be?
In the old spot by the river, rifle known to you and me.
One more door for signal, token whistle of an arching tune.
For your bike upon your shoulder By the rising of the moon By the rising of the moon By the rising of the moon With your bike upon your shoulder By the rising of the moon Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes Were watching through the night Many a man's chest was rubbing For the blessed morning light The waters passed along the valleys Like the man she's lonely crew And a thousand
blades were flashing At the rising of the moon At the rising of the moon At the rising of the moon And a thousand blades were flashing At the rising of the moon It's December the 28th, 2017.
I'm Harold Covington, and this is Radio Free Northwest.
In one week's time, in our first show in January 2018, Radio Free Northwest will begin our eighth year of podcasting, which I believe may actually make us the longest continual podcast in white nationalism.
Although I could be wrong about that, and if so, if anybody else has been on the air We've developed a tradition here at Radio Free Northwest that the last podcast of the year is always an all-music episode, showcasing my favorite musical clips from the past year, or any year really.
This episode usually runs about two hours, which means that when I'm making the CD of it, I have to break the file up into two segments of less than 80 minutes each and make two discs.
Down through the years, I've tried several formats for this annual all-music production, such as the March of Time format when I start with the older Aryan music first, right up until Ian Stewart and Saga in the present day.
Other times, I've taken the music by type or genre, be it bluegrass or Irish or military marches, whatever.
And sometimes, like last year, I just played whatever I want.
Tell you what, since one of the things that political correctness is clearly attempting to achieve in their agenda is to alter and erase the Aryan past, this year, let's start out with a March of Time thing.
I've already played on here a couple of versions of the Sekilos Epitaph, which is generally recognized as the oldest surviving complete musical composition, including musical notation, from anywhere in the world.
This is a pagan funeral song in ancient Greek, either by or for a man named Sekilos, who lived in Greek Asia Minor, as it was at the time, what's now Turkey or Syria.
It's either a song written by him for his dead wife, or written about him and sung and written down on a stone funerary jar by his widow.
Which it is, is not quite clear from the evidence.
This song has been dated by scholars from between 200 BC to around AD 100, but the first century AD is the most probable guess, so we're talking about a song here.
that was sung in the time of Christ.
This is Laurie Papajohn.
The End
Thank you.
Okay, next up, some vibes that Julius Caesar might have grooved to during his orgies.
There are now apparently two groups that, in various ways and means, reproduce the music of ancient Rome.
One of them is called Musica Romana, and the second is the one we're going to hear from now, called Sinolia, or Sinolia.
I'm...
Probably going to cut this one a bit short because if they're doing this right and if they've accurately revived it, Roman music seems to me, and probably to you, to be very harsh and grating.
This piece is, anyway, they call it Ludus, which means gladiator school, but I don't know if that's the actual name or if it's just something they made up because it sounded all Romany.
This is Synolia.
The Synolia.
And finally, here's a legionary march from the soundtrack of that fascinating television series of a few years ago called Rome.
Track us.
Something more cheerful.
Oh.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Right, now we get into the Viking or Norse section of our little March of Time musical parade here.
This isn't exactly music.
This is the opening lines of the ancient bardic poem Beowulf in the original Old English by Professor Justin Jackson from Hillsdale College.
There's a little bit of a musical accompaniment here.
Sometimes this poem would have been recited in your...
Mead hall or whatever.
Sometimes it might have been actually sung to the accompaniment of a harp or maybe some wind instruments or a drum for dramatic effect.
Who knows?
Anyway, this is what the English language sounded like a thousand years ago.
The English language was written in the English language.
The English language was written in the English language.
Them avra was, after Kennet, young in yardum, fone god sende focid frovre.
Fier in tharve onyat, that he e 'er drugon aldor lase longae vile.
Him thas li frea wuldris wilden, worldare foriaf.
Beo was breme, blad vide sprung, Shildes avra shedilandum in.
Swashal young guma, gore virchan, Thromum feo hiftum on fader bear me, That hinean ulde eft ye unigen, Vilye sithos, thone vicume, Leod ye lasten.
Lof datum shal, in maigtha yewera, Man ye theon.
Never.
Never.
Thank you.
First few seasons were not too bad.
Last couple of seasons just got really sickeningly politically correct with, oh God, the feminism and Lagertha, who was a character who might actually have had some basis.
In fact, it's turned into this mighty lesbo warrior princess and there's this Chinese woman that's brought in for no reason having anything to do with the plot and the French S&M couple and it...
You know, I hate to tell you guys, but the Dark Ages was not composed of slightly rough-cut Brooklyn hipsters, okay?
Anyway, it's the last season or so of the series I didn't even bother to watch, but the music was pretty good.
This is from the Vikings soundtrack.
This is the Norwegian group Wardruna.
*music*
*music*
*music* *music* *music* *music*
*music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music*
*music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music*
*music* The sky is the end of the
sky, And the sky is the end of the sky.
The sky is the end of the sky, And the sky is the end of the sky.
The sky is the end of the sky.
*BOOM*
Okay, moving on past the Vikings now.
I think I'll get medieval on your ass.
This first song is called Dumpate, and to be honest, I can't remember who did it or where it's from, but it's a typical medieval piece of the kind that would have been Top of the Pops, Back Around, King John and the Magna Carta, that sort of stuff.
We'll be right back.
Okay, that'll take us up to the Renaissance.
Now, it's not generally known that King Henry VIII wasn't always the big, fat, leg-of-lamb-chewing tyrant who cut off the heads of his wives and broke with Rome and executed assorted people, including one guy who turned out to be a saint, blah, blah, blah, blah.
Actually, for most of his reign, Henry was a very athletic, slim A handsome individual who was much given to wine women in song.
And in his younger days, when he first came to the throne, he would actually write music and songs of his own.
In fact, I think there's something like 40 songs and tunes that he composed that have survived.
Anyway, this is probably his most famous Top of the Pops.
It was written about, oh, 1512 or so.
Anyway, it's called Pastime with Good Company.
And this is the New World Renaissance String Band.
New World Renaissance String Band
Thank you.
As time with good company, I love and shall until I die.
Much who lust but none deny, till God be pleased, thus live will I. For my past tense, I'll sing and dance.
My heart is set, a goodly sport, for my comfort, who shall be less?
You must have some daliance, of good or ill, some past tense.
Company me things then best, all thoughts and fancies to digest.
But I don't miss, his chief mistress, a vice is all.
Then who can say, but Merth and Blay, he's best of all.
I don't miss, his chief mistress, a vice is all.
Company with honesty.
Company with honesty.
He is virtue, vice is to flee.
Company is good and ill.
But every man hath his free will.
The best ensue, the worst eschew.
My mind shall be, but you to use.
Vice to refuse, but shall I use me?
The best ensue, the best ensue, the best ensue.
The best ensue, the best ensue.
I don't miss, my friend.
Thank you.
Thank you.
I know we get a lot of these up in the mountains and whatnot, but these are all based on older songs that probably had some basis, in fact, in some particularly gruesome murder in the past.
One of the oldest is one called The Two Sisters, and I think I've played about six or seven versions of that song on here, everything from Lorena McKinnett to the one off the soundtrack from Song Catcher, so forth and so on.
I like this one especially because not only is it a good version of the song, but it's sung by a Scots Gaelic singer named Julie Fallis, and she sings it both in Gaelic, or what I would call Irish, and in English.
But I've got a few of the songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever
seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever
seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, So she pushed her into the river to
drown, oh, the wind and rain, watched her as she fluttered down, crying, oh, the dreadful wind and rain, And I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever
seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever seen, and I've ever seen, and I've got a few songs that I've ever
seen, and I've ever seen, and I've ever seen, And I
He plucked out his strands of her long yellow hair, cried, o 'er the dreadful wind and rain.
Yes, it ain't boa, green, yeah, n 'gash, n 'ay unbarn, o 'er the wind and rain.
Then he made a fiddled ball of her long yellow hair.
She'd hear me and she'd get me.
I could stay and knock and be a girl.
I could have been killed.
Falling wind and rain.
And he made fiddle pegs of a long finger ball.
She'd hear me and she'd get me.
And she made a little fiddle of her own breastbone.
Oh, and she's again.
Which sound melted hard to store.
She'd hear me and she's good with me.
Listen in a Porsche, the heat that I'm out has a meal.
Oh, and she's again.
Only tune that the fiddle would play.
Was all the dreadful.
When she'd hear me and she's good with me.
Oh, and she's again.
Thank you.
Thank you.
This is Canada's greatest folk singer, the late Stan Rogers.
Oh, the year was 1778, how I wish I was in Sherbrooke now.
A letter of mark came from the king to the scummiest vessel I've ever seen.
God damn them all.
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold.
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears.
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier, the last of Barrett's privateers.
Oh, well, Sid Barrett cried the tongue, I wish I was in Sherbrooke now.
Or twenty brave men, oh, fishermen, who would make for him the antelopes crew?
Goddamn them all.
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold.
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears.
Now I'm a broken man on the Halifax Pier, the last of Barrett's privateers.
The antelope sloop was a sickening sight, how I wish I was in Sherbrooke now.
She'd a list to the port and her sails in rags, and the cook in the scuppers with the staggers and jags, God damn them all, I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold, we'd fire no guns, shed no tears.
Now I'm a broken man on the Halifax Pier, the last of Barrett's privateers.
On the king's birthday we put to sea, how I wish I was in Sherbrooke now.
We were 91 days to Montego Bay, pumping like madmen all the way, God damn them all, I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold, we'd fire no guns, shed no tears.
Now I'm a broken man on the Halifax Pier, the last of Barrett's privateers.
I wish I was in Sherbrooke now.
When a bloody great Yankee hove in sight with our cracked four-pounders we made to fight.
Goddamn them all.
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold.
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears.
Now I'm a broken man on the Halifax Pier, the last of Barrett's privateers.
The Yankee lay low down with gold.
I wish I was in Sherbrooke now.
She was broad and fat and loose in stays, but to catch her took the antelope two whole days.
God damn them all.
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold.
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears.
Now I'm a broken man on Alipax Pier, the last of Barrett's privateers.
Then at length we stood two cables away.
I wish I was in Sherbrooke now.
Heart cracked, four pounders made an awful din, but with one fat ball, he ain't stole us in.
God damn them all.
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold.
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears.
Now I'm a broken man on Alipax Pier, the last of Barrett's privateers.
The antelope sure.
Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggs and the main truck carried off both men eggs.
God damn them all.
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold.
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears.
Now I'm a broken man on the Halifax pier, the last of Barrett's privateers.
So here I lay in my 23rd year.
I wish I was in Sherbrooke now.
It's been six years since we sailed away, and I just made Halifax yesterday.
God damn them all!
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold.
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears.
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier, the last of Barrett's varieties.
Cheers.
Thank you.
Well, let's bring it up a few decades, and we'll go Napoleonic on your ass.
This is Miranda McCluskey.
Oh Napoleon Bonaparte You're the cause of my woe Since my bonnie lighthouse
To the wars he did go Broken-hearted I'll wander Broken-hearted I'll remain Since my Bonnie Light Horseman In the wars he was slain We're
Born upon him, born apart, you're the cause of my woe Since my bonnie night horseman to the wars he did go, go
Brokenhearted I'll wonder Brokenhearted I'll remain Since my bonnie light horseman In the wars he was slain If I was some small bird And had wings and could fly I would fly o'er the salt seas Where my true love does lie Three years and years
Six months now Since he left this Bright shore Oh my bonnie light horseman Will I ne'er see him more Oh Napoleon Born apart You're the cause Of my woe Since my bonnie light horseman To the wars he did go Broken hearted I wonder
Broken hearted I remain Since my bonnie light horseman In the wars he was slain And the Dog she laments more.
Hermita she flies, oh where tell me where is my true love she signs And where in this wide world is there one to compare With my bonnie light horseman who was killed in the war Oh the pony and bore the
part, you're the cause of my war Since my bonnie light horseman to the wars he did go Broken hearted, I wonder.
Broken hearted I'll remain Since my body died horseman In the wars he was slain The End of the World Thank you.
And forward in time we go for still another few decades.
This is Michael Martin Murphy.
I'm sure I wish you well.
It was at the age of sixteen I joined the jolly band.
We marched from San Antonio unto the Rio Grande.
Our captain, he informed us, I guess he thought it right.
Before we reach the station, we'd surely have to fight.
And before we reach the station, our captain gave command.
To arms, to arms, he shouted, and by your pony stand.
I saw the smoke ascending, it seemed to reach the sky.
And then the thought it struck me, my time had come to die.
I heard the Indians coming, I heard them give a yell.
My feelings at that moment, no human tongue can tell.
And all my strength that left me, and all my courage too.
And all of us were wounded, our noble captain slain.
The sun was shining sadly across the bloody plain.
Sixteen as brave a rangers as ever rode the west Were buried by their comrades With arrows in their chest And now my song is ended I guess I've sung it now The life of any ranger you see is
very tough And if you have a mother who don't want you to roam I advise you by experience You'd better stay at home Well,
now we're up to the Civil War.
I was looking over the various songs on my hard drive here, and I could play a lot of the same numbers I've played down through the years.
Most of you have heard them a couple of times.
I especially like some of them, like the Irish Brigade at New Orleans.
But I think what I'm going to do in this episode is I'm going to concentrate on just one phase of the war, and that was the affair of what they call Bleeding Kansas.
What amounted to a war between the states, two states, Kansas and Missouri, and it actually began in the 1850s.
When those goddamn abolitionist assholes in Kansas decided that not only could the people in Missouri not own slaves, but they were going to compel them to not own slaves.
It was kind of like a little microcosm of what later happened on a nationwide level in 1861.
And it got bloody, it got nasty, and it gave us some very famous names, especially on the Confederate side.
Men like Major Quantrill, Bloody Bill Anderson, George Todd.
The James Brothers, the Youngers, so forth and so on.
That part of the history of that particular war has always fascinated me.
One of my favorite movies is still The Outlaw Josie Wales, for all the smartass Indian.
Anyway, I'm going to concentrate on that particular period.
A couple of these songs come from two localized folk singers somewhere in the South.
Kathy somebody, and I can't remember the other guy's name.
I am terribly sorry about that.
Their names kind of got lost in the shuffle after the great computer crash of two years ago when I had to transfer all of my files onto a new machine, and unfortunately a lot of stuff just got lost in transit.
The Ride of the Red Legs section comes from Levon Helm.
They had passwords that only the initiated understood.
And signals which meant everything or nothing.
A night bird was a messenger, a day bird a courier.
They knew the names or the numbers of the pursuing regiments from the shoes of their horses and told the nationality of troops by the manner in which twigs were broken along the line of march.
They could see in the night like other beasts of prey and hunted most when it was darkest.
No matter for a road, so only there was a trail, and no matter for a trail, so only there was a direction.
When there was no wind, and when the clouds hid the sun or the stars, they traveled by the moss on the trees.
In the daytime they looked for this moss with their eyes, and in the nighttime with their hands.
Living much in fastnesses, they were rarely surprised, while solitude developed and made more acute every instinct of self-preservation.
By degrees, a caste began to be established, free to come and go, bound by no enlistment and dependent upon no bounty, hunted by one nation and apologized for by the other, merciful rarely and merciless often,
Loving liberty in a blind, idolatrous fashion, half reality, half superstition, holding no crime so bad as that of cowardice, courteous to women amid all the wild license of pillage and slaughter, steadfast as faith to comradeship or friend, too serious for boastfulness and too near the unknown to deceive themselves with vanity.
Starved today and feasted tomorrow, victorious in this combat or decimated in that, receiving no quarter and giving none.
Is it any wonder that in time the guerrilla organization came to have captains and leaders and discipline and a language and fastnesses and hiding places and a terrible banner unknown to the winds?
I
wrote out one morning See what I could
I fell in love with a pretty little girl and her in love with me.
And her in love with me.
I fell in love with a pretty little girl and her in love with me.
She took me to her father.
She fooled me with her hand.
She whispered low in mother's ear.
I love the gorilla man.
I love the gorilla man.
She whispered low in mother's ear.
I love the gorilla man.
My daughter, oh dear daughter, can you treat me?
Thank you.
Thank you.
I do not like the farmer that works all in dirt.
I'd rather have a gorilla man that wears a ruffle shirt.
That wears a ruffle shirt.
Rather have a gorilla man that wears a purple shoe.
I've unlocked my clothing, my true love by my side.
And I'll roam this country over and be a gorilla bride.
Be a gorilla bride.
Roam this country over and be a gorilla bride.
With his pockets lined with silver.
A pistol in each hand.
A long life and full success to the roving gorilla man.
To the roving gorilla man.
A long life and full success to the roving gorilla man.
I am a golden gorilla.
A long life and full success to the roving gorilla man.
"Hey there Dr. Samuel, we've got things you talk about.
Your stepson Frank is hiding on this land.
And we're gonna drive around.
He's a broke down rebel irregular.
He's been riding with what we're saying.
They've been burning and rooting, Raving and shooting, And playing across in your land.
Bring me my gun, boy.
Bring me my gun.
Fuel your cup just ain't here.
No, wait a minute, baby, you'll call.
Sergeant stripped him, Tworked on with him, Beat him'til he can't walk.
He can't be alone.
He's only a mover.
What do you persecute us for?
He ain't a part of this war.
Why do you have to harm the kid?
He don't know where Frank is here.
Let's hang the old men and leave you They ain't got nothing to say These certain sympathizers will get a
little wiser When they see what's happened here today You live to regret this You live to regret Jesse, what's happened to you?
You've been beaten black and blue Tell me, child, what is wrong?
What's been going on?
You've been beaten black and blue?
I've been beaten black and blue?
You've been beaten black and blue?
This is Ry Cooter and Stacey Keach of all people.
This here was our situation.
We was just young Wildwood boys.
New as the birth of the nation.
The kind that the Army employs.
High riding rails from Missouri.
Fought for the Gray and Quantrill.
Caught up by the battle and the fury.
Back when just living was hell.
After the battle was over.
And after the Union had won.
It was quitting that made us the loser.
So we kept doing just what we'd done.
Riding as comrades together.
We looted the trains and the banks.
Removing that carpet bag money.
And sticking it hard to the Yanks.
Death always follows behind you.
When you ride down that old outlaw trail.
Someday a bullet will find you.
Or you'll rot like a corpse in some jail.
Turning your back to the danger.
Turning your back to the danger.
Is a wager no man can afford.
Cause gold turns a threat to a stranger.
Like old Judas turned on our Lord.
Men are revered and remembered.
While they lay in that coffin and rot.
Some live in the legend.
The legend of history.
Most are forever forgot.
The victory, it goes to the strongest.
And only the strong will survive.
Survival is living the longest.
But nobody gets out alive.
The questions don't never get answered.
And the rights, they're remembered all wrong.
The facts, they can get plenty confusing.
So someday if you happen to be singing this song.
Remember.
It's just for the record.
It's just for the record.
You can't change the handwork of faith And tell them I live for the moment And I died when I tried to go straight I died when I tried to go straight
up to 1893 in Rhodesia during the Monterey-Bailey War when the country had been in existence for about three years.
We fought them at the Bonko, it was just the other day.
They laid an ambush in our path, we went another way to catch a boat.
Three horse, Victoria Rangers and the old Cape Corps.
On the first day of November of 1893, we fought the Manabili at the Battle of Ben Bezzi.
We formed a logger on a hill at Medebor's arrest.
We saw in so far many regiments towards the west.
We swung the seven pounder round and let a big one fly.
And from the east the Amapili gave their battle cry.
On the first day of November of 1893, we fought the Manabili at the Battle of Ben Bezzi.
The wilding goobo with the fierce and beast who won their right.
Came charging from the northern bush, they were a fearful sight.
And near six thousand warriors, we stopped them on the run.
The bravest of the brave could never match the Maxon gun.
On the first day of November of 1893, we fought the Manabili at the Battle of Ben Bezzi.
On the first day of November of 1893, we fought the Manabili at the Battle of Ben Bezzi.
We fought the Manabili at the Battle of Ben Bezzi.
The manabili at the Battle of Ben Bezzi.
Thank you.
Okay, I'll give you something more recent.
One of the good things that has happened in the past few years is many of our people in the alt-right and elsewhere are starting to acquire the technical skills to do proper audio and video propaganda.
Among these projects that so impressed me is a number of songs that appear to be made by kind of a karaoke technique.
What they do is they get some sound editing software, and they strip the lyrics from an existing song, usually a pop song.
And since I haven't listened to rock and roll since about 1980, I don't know what most of these things are.
And they will then substitute their own lyrics.
And that's what we've got here.
These are all based on famous rock songs of the past or present.
Mudshark Madonna, I'm sure you can tell, is Lady Madonna.
The Cut Up Dicks thing is...
I've heard that song once.
Something about all the kids with a something-something kicks.
It's some modern boy band or something.
I have no idea.
Some of you younger guys might recognize it.
And then the last, the Fashy Lullabies, is a Flogging Molly takeoff, which I think is pretty good.
Anyway, this might make a break from all the boring historical stuff.
I don't actually know who these people are, and in most cases I think they actually conceal their genuine identity, which in view of what tends to happen to anyone in the tech or IT industry who gets caught doing these things, yeah, I don't think that's necessarily a bad idea.
Anyway, give them a listen.
Thank you.
Faster than my rocket All the other hits with the cutouts
you better run, better run.
Outrun my gun.
All the other yids with the cut up.
Dicks, you better run, better run.
Faster than my rocket.
All the other yids with the cut up.
You better run better run Outrun my gun All the other yins with the cut out Diction better run better run Faster than my oven All the other yins with the cut out
It makes you better Okay,
tell you what, we've got about 35 more minutes here, and so I'm going to just close out our little March of Time thing here, and for the rest of the show, I'm just going to play what I want.
Some of my own favorites from the past eight years.
Now, before I get into those, there is one song that I do feel compelled to play.
I've played it on here a couple of times in the past, but not a lot.
This song...
It's hard to describe how I feel about it, but as melodramatic and as bloviating as this might sound, more than almost any other piece of music I've ever heard, I think that this song encapsulates and expresses the spirit of the age that we live in, at least as Americans.
I think in future times, when people look back on this era of our history, if anybody is left to look back on this period of our history, they will understand the true depth of spiritual meaning that this song gives to our lives and the way we lived them.
Music Remember when you ran away and I got on my knees and begged you not to leave because I go berserk?
Well, you left me anyhow, and then the days got worse and worse, and now you see I've gone completely out of my mind.
And they're coming to take me away, haha, they're coming to take me away, ho ho, hee hee, haha, to the funny farm, where life is beautiful all the time, and I'll be happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats, and they're coming to take me away, haha!
It was a joke, and so you laughed.
You laughed when I had said that losing you would make me flip my lid.
Right?
You know you laughed.
I heard you laugh.
You laughed.
You laughed and laughed, and then you left.
But now you know I'm utterly mad.
And they're coming to take me away, ha ha, they're coming to take me away, ho ho hee hee, ha ha, to the happy home with trees and flowers and chirping birds and basket weavers who sit and smile and twiddle their thumbs and toes and they're coming to take me away, ha ha ha ha ha ha.
I cooked your food, I cleaned your food.
I found your house and this is how you pay me back for all my kind, unselfish, loving deeds.
Well, you just wait.
They'll find you yet.
And when they do, they'll put you in the ASPCA, you mangy mutt.
And they're coming to take me away.
They're coming to take me away.
To the funny farm where life is beautiful all the time.
And I'll be happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats.
And they're coming to take me away.
To the happy home with trees and flowers and chirping birds and basket weavers.
Who sit and smile and quiddle their thumbs and toes.
And they're coming to take me away.
To the funny farm where life is beautiful.
Thank you.
And on that grandiloquent note, here is another American anthem that speaks to the very soul of our people.
All right, children, let's clean up this room.
Oh, man, do we have to?
Now, now, I know a little secret that will make the job go twice as fast.
If there's a task that must be done, don't turn your tail and run.
Don't pout, don't sob, just do a half-assed job.
If you cut every corner, it is really not so bad.
Everybody does it, even Mom and Dad.
If nobody sees it, then nobody gets mad.
It's the American way!
The policemen on the beat He needs some time to rest his feet.
Fighting crime is not my cup of tea!
And the clerk who runs the store can charge a little more for meat!
For meat.
And milk.
And milk.
From 1984.
If you cut every corner, you'll have more time for play.
It's the American way.
It's the American way.
Okay, I'll stop being silly now.
Most of the music I play here on Radio Free Northwest has to have one thing in common with all the other pieces.
It has to be short, no longer than four or five minutes, because basically the purpose of the music is to break up the droning sound of my voice or the trucker or whoever.
I very seldom have the time to play any longer pieces, but I'm going to do that now.
I'm going to close out this program with a symphonic piece, not from Mozart or Wagner or any of the more well-known composers, but from a man in Ireland named Sean Davey.
This is from the Relief of Derry Symphony.
And it's a kind of a peace offering to all you Ulster loyalists out there who, I understand, were a little bit pissed off by the Irish music I played in the past few episodes, which, okay, I get.
I've lived there.
I know what the situation is.
The Siege of Derry in 1689 during what's called the Jacobite Wars is kind of the national epic of Ulster.
I won't go into a long historical digression about who was besieging who, but in essence that series of events over a couple of months in the year 1689 created the Ulster Protestant nation as we know it.
It's kind of their national legend, and this is a symphony that was written about those events.
It actually has several movements like most symphonies.
This is just the first movement.
I urge all of you, if you just plain like good orchestral music of a very extensive and heavy and very profound kind, get hold of this CD or download it or whatever.
It's called The Relief of Derry Symphony by Sean Davey.
I don't remember the name of this orchestra that does this, and I don't have the damn CD handy, but it is in Belfast, I think.
Definitely an orchestra from Northern Ireland, so this is authentic in that sense.
I know it's long, but as you're driving in your car, wherever you're listening to this, go ahead and kick back and give this a listen.
It's interesting to see that us white boys can still actually do things these days, like produce full symphonies.
*music*
*music* *music*
*music* *music* *music*
*music* *music* *music* *music*
*music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music* *music*
*music* *music* *music*
*music* *music* *music*
*music* *music*
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
But our time is up for this week's edition of Radio Free Northwest.
This program is brought to you by the Northwest Front, Post Office Box 2188, Bremerton, Washington, 98310.
Or you can go to the party's website at www.northwestfront.org.
This is Harold Covington, and I'll see you next week.
Until then, Sasha Underban.
▲
Export Selection