Frank sings at the Missouri Convention
Frank sings at the Missouri Convention
DEDICATED
CAVER
(author unknown; recomposed/modified by Frank Reid)
tune: "Long, Tall Texan"
I'm a dedicated caver, I wear a hardhat on
my head.
I'm a dedicated caver, I wear a hardhat on my head.
People look at me and say "A-huh, a-huh, is that your head?"
I'm a dedicated caver, I dump my carbide
in a bag.
I'm a dedicated caver, I dump my carbide in a bag.
(He dumps his carbide in a bag)
People look at me and say, "B-duh, B-duh, is that your bag?
I was sneaking through the boonies with my
carbide light,
Cave mud on my boots.
I seen a farmer coming, coming with a gun and
I run before he shoot.
I'm a dedicated caver, I bring my dynamite
along.
I'm a dedicated caver, I bring my dynamite along.
People look at me and say, "A-huh, a-huh, is that your
bomb?"
BUCKNER
CAVE BLUES
author unknown; original title "Crookshank Cave Blues;"
recomposed/modified by Frank Reid
tune: "Folsom Prison Blues" by Johnny Cash
I hear the river flowing, it's flowing
'round the bend.
And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when
I'm stuck in Buckner's Cave, and time keeps dragging on.
But that stream keeps flowing, on down to Blair Hollow.
When I was just a baby, my mama told me,
"Son,
Don't go climbing mountains, or messing 'round in caves.''
Well, I'm caving here in Buckner's, to pass the time away.
How much longer must I stay here? Maybe one more day.
I bet there's other cavers, laying 'round
the barn. ~
They're probably eating pizza, and smoking big cigars.
Well, I know I had it coming, I know I can't be free.
But that water keeps a-rising, and that what tortures me.
If I get out of here if that crawlway I
could find,
I bet I'd move on a little farther down the line.
Far from Buckner's Cave' that's where I want to stay.
And I'd let the old Blair River wash all my blues away.
by Frank Reid (re-parodied
from a song heard at a science-fiction convention)
tune: 'The Boxer" by Garmon and Siphuncle
Well, I'm called a cave musician, and my
story's seldom told.
I massacre folk music with three feet of beat-up plywood and a capo.
I take requests, and play all the ones with just two chords and
disregard the rest.
Li li li, li li li, li li li li.
With my hardhat and my carbide, I go
looking for a trip, and get no takers,
‘cept a come-on from a groupie at the campfire.
I do declare, I was feeling kind of desperate so I had her then and
there.
Lay lay lay, lay lay lay lay lay lay lay.
Now, I play the cave tradition with one
finger in my ear,
'Cause half the songs I'm singing, I just can't stand to hear.
(spoken:) what-great-fun-it-is-to-bust-your-ass-and-catch
diseases-in-some-slimehole... What a load of bullshit!
From bar to bar, to the rhythm of an off-key one-string Japanese
guitar,
Ri ri ri, ri ri ri ri ri ri ri.
Now, to "Gory, Gory" I clean
forgot the 47th verse,
So I sang the 22nd twice as loud and in reverse.
And no one noticed. I crawled for hours, till the mud rolled down my
trouser legs,
I thought I'd messed my drawers.
Li li li, li li li li li li li
On the rope I climb so proudly, a caver to
my trade.
And I carry the reminder of every trip I've made.
Like one night in Kentucky when I fled in mortal fear
With the Imprint of a Mason jar of moonshine on my ear
And a voice that shouted out, "Ain't no caves here!"
Now I've got my thing together man, I
really have no fear.
I smoked up all my garden and I mainlined Billy Beer (it's
inexpensive)
Like all the rest, I've had problems with my sex life since I fell and
sprained my wrist,
And my other songs are even worse than this.
CAVING
AGAINST THE WIND
by Frank Reid
tune: "Running Against the Wind"
It seems like yesterday, but it was long
ago.
A rope and a hardhat were all of my life
There in the darkness, with the carbide burning low.
The charges that we set, the breakdown that we moved
We ran down virgin borehole, out of control
Till there was nothing left to map and nothing left to prove.
And I remember what they said to me
When I swore that it would never end,
I remember that crawlway oh so tight
Wish I didn't know now what I didn't know then.
Against the wind, we were caving against
the wind
we were young and strong and caving against the wind.
(spoken:) If it blow, it goes!
The years rolled slowly past, I found
myself alone
Surrounded by cave walls I thought were my friends
I found myself further and further in the hole.
I guess I lost my way, there were oh so many roads
I was living to cave and caving to live
Never worrying about the NSS or grotto dues I owed
Dropping eight pits a weekend for months at a time
Breaking all the rules and sneaking in,
I began to find myself searching,
Searching for the entrance again and again.
Against the wind, we were crawling against
the wind.
I found myself taking shelter against the wind.
(spoken in falsetto:) Hypothermia!
Those spelunkers days are past me now
I've got so much more to think about
Board meetings and committees
What caves to gate, who to kick out.
Against the wind, we were spitting against the wind.
We were old and tired and spitting against the wind.
spoken:) At the NSS convention.
THE
COVER OF THE NSS NEWS
[Listen
to MP3]
by Frank Reid (1995)
tune: "The Cover of the Rolling Stone" by Dr. Hook
I'm a hard-core cover, I do owners a favor
'Cause they beg me to go in their holes.
I've done the world's deepest pit and the world's longest crawl,
I'm loved everywhere I go. -
I make all kinds of waves to save all kinds of caves
And I always pay my grotto dues.
And they really ought to put my picture _
on the cover of the NSS News .
refrain1
NSS News . . .
Gonna see my picture on the cover,
Gonna get my dad to hide it from my mother,
Doing all those dangerous things on the cover of the NSS News.
I found virgin passage in commercial
Mammoth Cave
And I mapped everywhere I went.
I cultivated speleo-political connections with the
East-Coast establish-ment
I went to the board meeting in the big city,
I licked stamps for the money committee,
I told them my face would sure look pretty
On the cover of the NSS News.
(spoken:) That's cave mud on my nose.
It's from Lechuguilla.
Since you're a special friend, you may touch it!
I got a mile of PHI and a high-tech rack
for sliding down slippery slopes.
I got a 44-D blonde graduate student that wants me to show her the
ropes.
I go on international scientific caving expeditions
And Mixon gives me good reviews.
But I never did get my picture on the cover of the NSS News .
| R-O-O-O-O-O-C-K 'n roll!
I beat claustrophobia and histoplasmosis
There's so many fine things I've seen.
I've been just about every place a caver can go
Except "America's Caving Magazine."
I've been in National Geographic and Discovery Channel
and Outside didn't refuse
But I just can't get my picture on the cover of the NSS News.
Refrain2:
NSS News
Gonna see my picture on the cover
Gonna show it to my stock-broker brother
Me and all the other BNCs on the cover of the NSS News.
NSS News gives me the blues,
‘cause I Just can't get my picture on the cover of the NSS News.
(spoken:) Who you gotta know, anyway?
Is she married?
OH NO! They messed up the color again!
ON
THE ROPE AGAIN
by Frank Reid
tune: "On the Road Again" by W. Nelson
On the rope again, just can't wait to get
on the rope again.
The live I love is going caving with my friends,
And I can't wait to get on the rope again.
On the rope again rappelling down where no
one’s ever been,
Doing caves that I may never see again,
I can't wait to get on the rope again.
On the rope again, down in Georgia,
Tennessee and Alabama.
We're the best of friends,
And we just can't help being what we am-a,
Don't give a damn-a.
On the rope again, just can't wait to get
on the rope again.
The live I love is going caving with my friends,
And I can't wait to get on the rope again.
ON THE ROPE AGAIN
by Warren Hoemann and D. Bradford
On the rope again, I just can't wait to
get on the rope again,
'Cause my whole life is going caving with my friends
And I can't wait to get on the rope again.
On the rope again, going places no one's
ever been,
Seeing spaces of the world that lie within.
No, I can't wait to get on the rope again.
THERE'S
GOT TO BE A MORNING AFTER
Song from movie, The Poseidon Adventure , only slightly modified by
Frank Reid (alone on bottom of Golondrinas at night, Dec. 27,
1973 ).
There's got to be a morning after
If we can hold on through the night
We have the chance to find the sunshine,
Let's keep on looking for the light.
There's got to be a morning after
We're moving closer to the sky.
why don't we climb the rope together
And find a place that's warm and dry?
It's not too late, we should be giving.
Only In love can we fall.
It's not too late, not while we're living.
Let's light our lamps up and crawl.
Oh, can't you see the entrance sunlight?
It's waiting right outside the door.
I know we'll be there by tomorrow,
And we'll escape the darkness
We won't be searching anymore.
WHEN
YOU'RE A CAVER
by Frank Reid
tune: "In the Navy" by The Village People
where can you make music while you learn
to prusik
Relieve al your monotony?
Stay out all night and set off dynamite
And study speleology?
Where can you go crawling, learn how to
keep from falling
Grab a rope and get on down?
Light up your carbide and go on a fine ride
where everybody's colored brown?
When you're a caver, you can do all that
with the best.
When you're a caver, it's alright to be a mess.
When you're a caver, you can join the NSS.
When you're a caver, when you're a caver.
Send some bucks to Huntsville, in a couple
months you'll be
A member of the underground.
Go to the convention where there's no abstention
Drink or climb or hang around.
Night and day, day and night, we want you
for a neophyte.
Hey, man, don't mess with the Boy Scouts.
They got wimpy knots. (Sheetbend! -- Yaaaaaaah CRASH)
They got no high explosives.
They got adult supervision!
When you're a caver, you can help a bat
survive.
when you're a caver, you can really feel alive.
When you're a caver you can map a mile or five
When you're a caver you can get a 4-wheel-drive.
when you're a caver, you don't need a submarine
When you're a caver, be in that yellow magazine
when you're a caver, make your mom and dad turn green.
when you're a caver, you don't feel really clean.
When you're a caver, when you're a caver, when you're a caver.
GHOST
CHICKENS IN THE SKY
author unknown
A chicken farmer went out, one dark and
cloudy day.
By the coop he rested as he went along his way.
All at once a rotten egg hit him in the eye
It was the sight he feared the most, ghost chickens in the sky.
He'd been a chicken farmer since 1964,
working for the Colonel for 30 years or more,
Killing all them chickens, and sending them to fry.
Now they want him dead, ghost chickens in the sky.
Bweak bweak bwaak bwaaaaak, bwaak bwaak
bwaok bweaaaak,
Ghost chickens in the sky.
Their beaks were black and shiny, their
eyes were burning red.
They had no meat nor feathers, those chickens were DEAD!
They picked that farmer up and he died by the claw.
They cooked him extra-crispy, and served him with coleslaw.
Bwaak bwaak bwaak bwaaaask, break bwaak bwaak bweeeaak
Ghost chickens in the sky.
THE
BALLAD OF OBI-WAN KENOBI
by Frank Reid (re-parodied from a cave song by Paul Ash)
tune: "The MTA" (a.k.a. "The Wreck of Old 97")
A long time ago there was a man named Obi
In a galaxy far away.
When a trash can and a kid came knocking at his door
He knew trouble was headed his way.
chorus:
But did he ever get zapped? No, he never got zapped.
He knows all the tricks those storm troopers use
They did trail him all around but they never shot him down
Kenobi is never gonna lose.
Well, they loaded up their droids and they
drove into town
Right into a storm-trooper trap
He faked them with the Force and he fooled them, of course
You can't catch Obi with sh*t like that!
He went in a bar, he met a starship pilot
And a thing with a cold wet nose.
Those storm troopers were a bunch of party poopers
But Obi came out smelling like a rose. Chorus
One more story 'bout Obi-Wan Kenobi
On a tragic and fateful day
Old Darth Vader got left holding the bag
But Obi’s gone clean a-way!
chorus
spoken: Old Jedi never die, they just hang around in a blue haze.
[Question: What would happen in a battle
between Federation Starfleet
security men, who always get killed minutes after beaming down, and
Imperial Storm Troopers, who can't hit the broad side of a planet?]
THE
BALLAD OF O.J. SIMPSON
by Frank Reid
tune: "The Ballad of Lizzie Borden" (Chad Mitchell Trio,
1961)
Yesterday out in Los Angeles, Nicole and
Ronald died
And they busted O.J. Simpson on a charge of homicide
Well, he might not have done it but the media think he did
And Michael Jackson's volunteered to take care of the kids.
'Cause you can't cut your exes up in
California Contrary to all popular belief.
No, you can't cut your exes up in California
You Know it's gonna cause a lot of grief.
Well, he might have used a razor 'cause the airline lost his gun
But he didn't use a hatchet 'cause THAT'S ALREADY BEEN DONE!
Now poor O.J.'s In the jailhouse, and
they're looking for the knife.
For Just ten million dollars, he might get off with life.
'Cause you can't cut your exes up in California
And then blame all the damage on the heat.
No, you can't cut your exes up in California
With evidence upon the Bronco seat.
You can sell a ton of crack and the cops
will turn their back.
You can rape and burn and loot; they don't want another suit.
You can peddle phony stock like they do in Little Rock
But you can't turn your ex into a Pez dispenser.
California is a far cry from DC.
No, you can't cut your exes up in
California,
And then go out and drive around the town.
No, you can't cut your exes up in California
It's almost sure to make the jury frown.
(knuckles on guitar body): KNOCK! KNOCK!
[Rob Stitt note: There are more verses to this. It’s in a later edition of the song book. If someone has them, please e-mail to me.]
by Frank Reid and Don Paquette
tune: "Mama, Don't Let Your Babies Grow up to be Cowboys" (Willie Nelson)
Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be
covers.
Don't let 'em smell carbide and swing on old ropes
Make 'em play tennis and golf with rich folks.
Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be cavers.
They're never around, they're always underground,
Even with someone they love.
Cavers aren't easy to love, and they
sometimes get stoned.
(spoken:) Just like old Floyd.
They'd rather sleep in the woods instead of at home.
With a tape and a compass and an old carbide lantern
He's down in the ground like a mole.
You can send him to college but he'll never get rich,
Cause he'll always be in the hole.
Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be
covers.
The NSS News is gonna mess up their head,
Give 'em the wall Street Journal instead.
Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be cavers.
They're never around, they're always underground,
Even with someone they love.
Cavers like smokey old campfires and clear
moonshine whiskey,
Great yawning shazams, and boreholes, and tight slimy ones too.
Them that don't know 'em don't like 'em,
And them that do often also don't too.
Sometimes he'd rather just dig in a sinkhole
Than find a loose woman and screw.
Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be
cavers.
Don't let 'em smell carbide and swing on old ropes;
Make 'em drive Winnebagos and water-ski boats.
Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be covers.
They're never around, they're always underground
Even with someone they love.
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