Lyrics

(Brian Woodbury)

You’re out of sight. You’re out of the limelight.
Gone to where the shadows go.

You got the time, but never got the timin’ right.
Starrin’ in the shadow show (of your own obscurity).

Couldn’t scale the fence. Couldn’t make a dime.
So you built a fence and dared ’em all to climb.

You can’t give up. You never had that foresight.
Clingin’ to the afterglow.
Stalled in all the status quo.
Knowin’ what all shadows know.

Went out, made a name for yourself,
an ass of yourself, claim to fame for yourself.
Spent out, with no money to gain.
No glory or pain but obscurity.

You’re on a roll, on a road hard and rocky,
skiddin’ down that rutted row.

You’re out of luck but you’re still feeling lucky.
Cryin’ what the shadows crow (within your own obscurity).

Keep it to yourself. Anyone can whine.
No one’s gonna care. Your posterity is mine.

But you stay on track ’cause backin out is tacky.
Surge against the overflow.
Or slacken in that undertow.
Knowin’ what all shadows know.

Go out, make a name for yourself,
an ass of yourself, claim to fame for yourself.
No route to the money or gain.
No glory or pain but obscurity.

But look into your heart. See it dancin’.
Dancin’ in the shadows of your own obscurity.
Listen your song. Hear it soarin’.
Risin’ from the shadows of your own obscurity.
Celebrate your life, rejoicin’.
Paradin’ in the shadows of your own obscurity.

(Brian Woodbury)

Roll out of bed. Quarter past dead. Already runnin’ late.
Shower too cold. Coffee too old. Then you’re out on the interstate.

And now your lane’s backed up. And your brakes act up.
That car’s a joke but still you ain’t cracked up.

As if that’s not enough it starts to rain.
But why complain?
That’s just Monday.

You gotta punch the clock and clean the spill.
Check the disk and change the drill.
And fifty orders left to fill today.

There’s bills to file, and loads to haul,
a broken belt, a fork lift stall,
a leaky drum, and that ain’t all – no way.
That’s just Monday.
That’s just Monday.

Five forty one. Day’s half done. You’re outta there, dude.
Passin’ that truck ’fore you get stuck. Let ’im suck on your attitude.

With your neck cricked up and the road slicked up,
right about the time you’re supposed to have your kids picked up.

The world don’t give a damn how much you curse.
And it gets worse.
’Cause that’s just Monday.
(That’s just Monday.)

So, welcome home. Your nerves are shot.
Your body’s wrecked. And thanks a lot,
the power’s out ’cause you forgot to pay.

Now what’s the point and what’s the use?
You’re out of beer and out of juice.
And all you’ve got’s that lame excuse to say:
That’s just Monday.
That’s just Monday.

You need the day to be over.
Make the world disappear.
But you’ll never get out from under
until you see what’s right here.

Like the silence of the falling snow.
Chips and dip by candle glow.
That new song on the radio they play.

A tickle fight down on the rug.
Your “World’s Best Daddy” coffee mug.
That one more goodnight kiss and hug. You pray.
’Cause you know you’re gonna make it through okay.
And you wish a million more would come your way.
’Cause that’s just one day.
That’s just Monday.
That’s just one day.
That’s just Monday.

(Brian Woodbury)

Just take a look at that faded photograph.
Remember how those days we used to laugh?
Livin’ on a dream and luck, when all it took
was in each other’s eyes.

Now our days are filled with too much life to live.
Never time enough and always more to give.
And thinkin’ ’bout the you and me that we used to be,
wish I could stop the way time flies.

We better grab this moment while we can.
Here’s a kiss bring us back to how it all began.

’Cause there’s lots more love where that came from.
And it’s all yours anytime you need some.
Hold on to my heart. The best is yet to come.
Lots more love where that came from.

Remember everything that got us through the night?
Just waitin’ for that baby girl to see the light.
Out into an april mornin’, she was born
with blossoms in the air.

And now we’ve wound up with a pair of bouncin’ kids.
We didn’t know how we could do it, but we did.
Made ourselves a family. But that you and me,
we’re still in there somewhere.

At the start and end of every day,
you find a way to make me laugh and take my breath away.

And there’s lots more love where that came from.
And it’s all yours anytime you need some.
Hold on to my heart. The best is yet to come.
Lots more love where that came from.

And if you’re wonderin’ where we go from here,
well, take a look into my eyes: the road ahead is clear.

And there’s lots more love where that came from.
And I’m all yours from now till Kingdom come.
With every song I write. With every chord I strum.
Lots more love, lots more love, lots more love
where that came from, where that came from, where that came from.

(Rob Shapiro/Brian Woodbury)

Tequila’s for pussies. Vodka’s for jerks.
You kiddin’ with mojitos?
Wine coolers are the only thing worse.

Well, chocatinis… Anything that ends in -ini
Or a sloe gin fiz, whatever the hell that is.

Apertifs, digestifs, they don’t belong.
They ain’t got no business in an American song.

So you can take your cosmopolitan and pour it down the sink.
Make it a bourbon, son, and I’ll gladly take a drink

Maybe a beer now and then, but that’s just to wash it down.
’Cause when you come around, bring me a bottle of brown.
Have another round, with a bottle of brown.

I was born in the city, but raised on Knob Creek.
I can meet my Makers any day of the week.

I got a Rebel Yell and a taste in Manhattan
I’m the Louisville Slugger and you’re sweet Old Fashioned

A mardis gras mint julep, out on the verandah.
Or on a Brooklyn stoop with a hand-rolled cubana

Jack, Jim and me, and Bookers makes three.
Four – but who’s countin’, when you barely can see?

You’ll know you probably had too much, if you’re nappin’ on the ground.
But when you come around, you’ll need a bottle of brown.

The soother of all ills. The flavor that distills
the American dream from the Kentucky hills.

Every simple truth is found in a bottle of brown.
If we have another round, bring me a bottle of brown.
Y’all gone come around to the bottle of brown.
Please drink responsibly.

(Brian Woodbury/Michael Webster)

All the people that I never had sex with in college…
I wonder what they’re doing now.
Would they even be aware that they have the distinction?

College days, oh, college days.

All the people that I never had sex with in college…
They’re probably busy right now, getting on with their lives.
Seldom giving thought to what might have been, but never was.

(This is your life.)
And you better remember it
(This is your life.)
And you better not forget it.

All the people that I never had sex with in college…
And the one I almost did.

What a very close call.
I would have missed Miss Right.
I’d have thrown my life away,
and all in just one night.

What a small price to pay:
idle moments of regret.
And it’s actually a comfort
to savor what you never get.

Because of all the people that I never had sex with in college,
I’m really glad you weren’t one.

Just the notion of you being out among the wide array…
O perish the thought! Throw the possibilities away:
To have never ended up in the arms of the one I love,
in the arms of the one I love.

Every wild oat sown
is one more that can’t be grown.
Wondering what you’ve never known
sure beats ending up alone.

All the lips I never kissed,
every chance I ever missed
that felt like weakness to resist,
but this life would not exist.

It’s a small price to pay.
And I’m grateful every day
for the ones who got away.
They are grateful too, I pray

to all the people that I never had sex with in college…
And if they know who they are, I hope they can sing along
with this song, and they know who they are
and they’ve ended up with the one they love,
in the arms of the one they love.

(This is your life.)
And you better remember it.
(This is your life.)
And you better not forget it
and all the people that I never had sex with in college…

(Brian Wooodbury/Peter Lurye)

She’s out of jail again, on work release.
Tryin’ every scheme and scam.
Her pocket full of fake ID’s.
Sixteen warrants. Seven pleas.
A week or two, and she’ll be on the lam.

He was her free lunch and her guarantee.
Her no-luck little lucky charm.
The one they couldn’t take away.
A ticket someone else would pay.
But to him, well, she was just his mom.

Here she comes, raisin’ his hopes.
Keepin’ him up late, smokin’ her dope.
Buyin’ him toys on a stolen credit card.
Here she comes, raisin’ his hopes.
There she goes, breakin’ his heart.

Daddy spent his savings winning custody
She gets the boy on Sunday afternoon.
Daddy tries to hold his tongue.
“Of course your mama loves you, son.”
She shows up late, and drops him off too soon.

Instead of dinner, she makes promises.
She‘ll come see his play at school.
But dressed up like a Christmas tree,
he looks around the gym to see
that one more time she’s played him for a fool.

Here she comes, tellin’ a lie.
Makin’ him laugh. Lettin’ him cry.
Talkin’ a future that’s over from the start.
Here she comes, raisin’ his hopes.
There she goes, breakin’ his heart,

She was never meant to be a mother.
Couldn’t teach him how to always do what’s best.
For the boy there’ll never be another.
How’ll he ever learn to clean up all her mess?

And here she comes, lettin’ him down.
Inviting him over and then skippin’ town
He’ll try to forgive her.
That’ll be the hardest part,
Here she comes, raisin’ his hopes.
There she goes, breakin’ his heart.

(Brian Woodbury)

Man, that trucker’s got a load to haul:
watermelon piled ten feet tall.
I’m just tailin’ him until they fall.
Mm-mm-mm, I brake for watermelon.

Migrant farmer sweatin’ in the sun,
working hard until the day is done.
Bet his kids are happy he kept one
Mm-mm-mm, he breaks for watermelon

(Water-) Crack it open at the middle
(melon) Red to the rind
(Watermelon) Cool me down and have a little
I don’t even use a spoon for mine
Who wants watermelon?

Soldier comin’ home from overseas,
holds his family, fallin’ on his knees,
Can’t believe the sight of one of these
Mm-mm-mm, let’s have some watermelon!

Baby child at a picnic spot.
“Mama, looky at what those folks brought.”
First taste of melon that I ever got.
Mm-mm-mm, thanks for the watermelon!

(Water-) Now you know that summer’s startin’.
(melon) Fourth of july.
(Watermelon) Eve told Adam in the garden,
“We can eat a whole one if we try!”
Who wants watermelon?

Summer in the city, gettin’ mean and cross
in the heat from the deli’s AC exhaust.
Found the last container underneath the frost.
Mm-mm-mm, I break for watermelon

Little later, come on by your place.
Watermelon drippin down my face.
Lean on over let you have a taste.
Mm-mm-mm, let’s break for watermelon.

Rise up early, pull it off the vine.
Wipe the dew away and watch it shine.
Cool it in a tub o’ water, bide your time.
Mm-mm-mm, I break for watermelon

Take it out back to the shade of your house.
A cool breeze blowin’ from north to south.
Taste America tricklin’ down your mouth.
So let the juice run, spit the seeds out,
for next year’s watermelon

(Water-) Friday lunch and Sunday dinner.
(melon) Juicy and fine .
(Watermelon) Savin’ all the rain o’ winter.
Soakin’ up the sun o’ the summertime.

(Water-) Crack it open at the middle.
(melon) Red to the rind.
(Watermelon) Duddn’t matter if you dribble.
I don’t even use a spoon for mine
Who wants watermelon? etc.

(Brian Woodbury)

When the world came tumbling down,
you didn’t know what hit you.
Screaming, crawling. Bodies falling.
Then it hit you.

You never knew how good you had it
till it slipped right from your hand.
Buried in debris and dust,
with no place for you to stand.

But there’s a pale and distant glimmer,
faintly seen and growing dimmer.
Just don’t let it leave your sight.
You can hang on through the night
Keep your head in the light, etc.

Rescue ropes come fumbling down,
but you don’t know what hits you.
You’re still hoping. You’re still groping.
Then it hits you.

Brought into a different future,
in a world you hadn’t planned.
Now the knot is tightening
and you don’t know where you stand.

Should you still think men are brothers
or give up now like the others?
Wrong is easy, what is right?
Struggle on with all your might
to keep your head in the light, etc.

When your bombs go bumbling down,
they’ll never know what hit them.
They’ll be praying, you’ll be praying,
when you hit them.

And sinkin’ down to reach the bottom
won’t restore your promised land.
When it’s done and over,
is there anywhere to stand?

So will you rise up from the rubble?
Face the truth and trace the trouble?
Walk against this growing night
and the terror and the fright
and the rockets’ red blight?
Keep your head in the light. etc.

(Brian Woodbury/Michael Webster)

I want to work in the Brill Building,
writin’ the hits for some new girlie group to sing.
And all of the song-pluggers give me a ring,
instead of nothin’.

I want to work in the Brill Building,
hackin’ away there in some publisher’s wing,
with Lieber and Stoller and Goffin and King,
at the Brill Building…

The business today, well, it isn’t the same.
They won’t let you in if they don’t know your name.
So pound the pavement and play the game.

But where is the place to bring my song
to someone who won’t ignore it?
And three back-up girls to sing along?
An orchestra cat to score it?
I’d hop in a cab and floor it
for that Brill Building.

I cannot work in the Brill Building.
No music now, it’s just your standard corporate thing:
temping and typing and coffee to bring,
and doin’ nothin’.

So I’m singin’ this song to the Brill Building,
till the cops show up and haul me off for loitering.
My tin pan is out, but there’s no ka-ching,
at the Brill Building.

You can’t send a song to some old yesteryear.
Or bury it now for the future to hear.
But I’m not ready to disappear.

So give me back all the dues I’ve paid,
with no interest to show for it.
Give back the struggle that I made.
Give back the hope that bore it,
having the world ignore it.

And you can keep your Brill Building.
Yeah, you can keep your Brill Building.
’Cause I don’t need your Brill Building.
I’ll build my own Brill Building.
Song by song, I’ll build my own Brill Building.

(Brian Woodbury/Elma Mayer)
Spanish translation Bernardo Palombo

When I was just seven,
at Grandma’s Thanksgiving,
she brought out the biscuits.
I grabbed three or four.

But Grandma said, “Honey,
we don’t take so many.
We share what we’re given.
There’ll be plenty more”

So pass down the gravy
and pass down the dressing.
Around this big circle,
we pass down this blessing.
From the Indian to the pilgrim
from the parents to the children,
we give thanks and we pass it down
Pass it down, pass it down.

Now I find myself traveling
to another Thanksgiving.
Over rivers, through seasons,
comin’ back to this day.

Through the good breaks and the heartaches,
and each turn this life takes.
Though Grandma’s not with me,
she shows me the way.

To pass down the gravy
and pass down the dressing.
Around this big circle,
we pass down this blessing.
From the Indian to the pilgrim
from the parents to the children,
we give thanks and we pass it down
Pass it down, pass it down.

Through the troubles
that may face us.
For the good earth
that will grace us.

Now, old friends and new neighbors,
we sit down together
to Thanksgiving dinner
at long tables or small.

Every town, every county,
each home shares this bounty.
However we came here,
there’s room for us all.

Pasen los frijoles
Pasen la canción
Que en esta gran ronda
va la bendición.
De los padres a sus niños
del nativo al peregrino.

We give thanks and we pass it down.
Pass it down, pass it down.