The Voice On the Line

--music:  "Maid on the Shore"
--lyrics:  copyright (C) 1986, Ernest Clark

!lj <<first version 10/25/86>>

      Am         G          Em         Am
There is a great filker who sings all alone,
                  G         Am  Em
Let the notes fly high, fly low-o,
        C           G             Am           G
There's nothing she finds that so comforts her mind
      Am             G             Am          Em
As to please all the fans who want more, more, more,
      Am             G        Em   Am
As to please all the fans who want more.

'Twas of a brash fellow who taped all he can
Of the notes flying high, flying low-o,
But to catch every one, that rude son-of-a-gun
Shoved mikes up each filksinger's face, face, face,
Shoved mikes up each filksinger's face.


Juanita sang softly, Juanita sang slow.
Let the notes go quiet and low-o,
"I will die, I will die," the rude fellow did cry,
"If I don't crank to max on my gain, gain, gain,
This next song about simples to gain."


She blew out his eardrums, she blew out his mikes,
She fried every chip in his channels, o,
There's no one so sad as the jerk who now had
A tape deck all hidden in smoke, smoke, smoke,
A tape deck all hidden in smoke.


<<repeat first verse>>