John McCutcheon
Water From Another Time

This collection offers a true and full retrospective of the career of the talented folksinger John McCutcheon, drawing on his early recordings for June Appal, Front Hall, and other labels, his more recent work for Rounder, plus three previously unissued songs.

Formats

Compact Disk: Rounder CD:011661155527 Cassette: Rounder CS:011661155541

Produced by Paul Reisler
Year Released: 1989

Lyrics

The Great Storm is Over
words and music by Bob Franke

The thunder and lightning gave voice to the night,
The little lame child cried aloud in her fright,
Hush little baby, a story I'll tell,
Of a love that has conquered the powers of hell.

CHORUS:

Alleluia, the great storm is over,
Lift up your wings and fly!
Alleluia, the great storm is over,
Lift up your wings and fly!

Sweetness in the air and justice on the wind
Laughter in the house where the mourners have been
The deaf shall have music, the blind have new eyes
The standards of death taken down by surprise.

Release for the captives, an end to the wars
New streams in the desert, new hope for the poor,
The little lame children will dance as they sing,
And play with the bears and the lions in spring.

Hush little baby, let go of your fear,
The lord loves his own and your mother is here,
The child fell asleep as the lantern did burn,
The mother sang on 'til her bridegroom's return.

©1982 by Telephone Pole Music Pub. Co. (BMI).

Little Pink
Traditional

Come here, Little Pink
Let me tell you what I think
Think you’re a long time makin’ up your mind
I used to think
You’s the prettiest little pink
That ever the sun shone on

Well, you’ve caused me to weep
And you’ve caused me to mourn
And you’ve caused me to leave my happy home
And you’ve caused me to walk that long, lonesome road
That I never have walked down alone

Now I truly understand that you love another man
And how can your little heart be mine?
So come here, Little Pink
Let me tell you what I think
Think you’re a long time makin’ up your mind

Rubber Blubber Whale
Words & music by Si Kahn

Note: This is an intentionally ridiculous song for interpreters...it is a great favorite from my kids' recording and a lot of fun to do in concert...Susan Freundlich and I worked out some great signs with the signer, in fact, taking a "break".

Daddy bought me a rubber blubber whale (2x)
How I love my rubber blubber rubber blubber rubber blubber
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale blubber whale
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale

Sister she wanted my rubber blubber whale (2x)
You know I really lub her but she cannot have my rubbber blubber
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale blubber whale
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale

So Mama went and bought another rubber blubber whale (2x)
How I love my rubber blubber rubber blubber rubber blubber
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale blubber whale
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale

I took a bath with my rubber blubber whale
It went splish splash with its rubber blubber tail
How I love my rubber blubber rubber blubber rubber blubber
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale blubber whale
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale

I went swimming with my rubber blubber whale
I took it to the water in a little yellow pail
How I love my rubber blubber rubber blubber rubber blubber
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale blubber whale
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale

I'm gonna rubba-dub my rubber blubber whale (2x)
How I love my rubber blubber rubber blubber rubber blubber
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale blubber whale
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale

Everybody rubba-dub your rubber blubber whale (2x)
How I love my rubber blubber rubber blubber rubber blubber
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale blubber whale
Rubber blubber rubber blubber whale

©1981 by Si Kahn/Joe Hill Music (ASCAP).

Christmas in the Trenches
words and music by John McCutcheon 

Inspired by a back-stage conversation with an old woman in Birmingham, Alabama, this song tells a story that is not only true, but well-known throughout Europe. For some of the history behind the 1914 WWI Christmas Truce, click here.

My name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool,
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders to Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear.
'Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung,
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung,
Our families back in England were toasting us that day,
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.

I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
Says I, "Now listen up, me boys!" each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.
"He's singing bloody well, you know!" my partner says to me
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in harmony
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.

As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent
The next they sang was "Stille Nacht," "Tis 'Silent Night'," says I
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.
"There's someone coming towards us!" the front line sentry cried
All sights were fixed on one lone figure coming from their side
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shone on that plain so bright
As he bravely strode unarmed into the night.

Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's land
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell.
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
Young Sanders played his squeeze box and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men.

Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"
'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone for evermore.

My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War I I've learned its lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same.

©1984 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Caught in the Crossfire
words & music by John McCutcheon

Her voice never trembled, her look never waned
As she showed me the photos in the solemn black frames
A cousin, a sister, a daughter, a son
Lost in the night or in the sight of a gun
The Guarda left her father, Luis, on the track
And her son picking coffee just never came back
On the roadside the crosses look always the same
But each has a story and each has a name (They were...)

CHORUS:

Caught in the crossfire, lost in the fray
The battle broke out and they just got in the way
The story is always the same in the end
Caught in the crossfire again
Caught in the crossfire again

Juancito, her husband had visions and plans
Struggled his whole life to work his own lands
His faith was a mountain, but her world would explode
When the wheel of his truck found a mine in the road (And he was...) CHORUS

So many stories, so many lives
The parents, the children, the husbands, the wives
A whole population just pawns in the game
For the East and the West the rest is only terrain (Where they're...) CHORUS

Now I lie in the night and I just try to resist
But a hand that is empty soon curls to a fist
The cry in the cradle, the knock on the door
The blood in the speeches we've all heard before (We are...)
CHORUS (2x)

Copyright 1987 by John McCutcheon. Published by Appalsongs (ASCAP).

Wild Rose of the Mountain
words and music by Si Kahn

Honey from the honey comb
Water from the fountain
Sugar from the sugar cane
And my wild rose of the mountain

When I think of home sweet home
It makes my eyes grow misty
Poppa singing gospel songs
And Momma sippin' whiskey
Whiskey from a white oak barrel
Sure does make good liquor
Makes the nights seem twice as bright
And the days go by much quicker

Chorus

If I had a pickup truck
I'd fill it up with water
Paint a catfish on the side
And make believe I'd caught her
Drive it slowly down the road
Try to keep from bumpin'
Park it down beside the creek
And watch those fish come jumpin'

Chorus

If I had a new made quilt
I'd fill it up with feathers
Take my Rosie by the hand
And lay down there together
Oh the days that I was young
Thoughts that keep returning
Drive the winter night away
Just like a log fire burning

Chorus

© Si Kahn

Water From Another Time
words and music by John McCutcheon

New mown hay on a July morn
Grandkids running through the knee-high corn
Sunburned nose and a scabbed-up knee
From a rope on the white oak tree
Just another summer's day at Grandpa's farm
With Grandma's bucket hanging off my arm
You know, the old pump's rusty but it work fine
Primed with water from another time

It don't take much, but you gotta have some
The old ways help the new ways come
Just leave a little extra for the next in line
They're gonna need a little water from another time

Chorus

Newborn cry in the morning air
The past & future are wedded there
This wellspring of my sons and daughters:
The bone and blood of living waters
And, though Grandpa's hand have gone to dust,
Like Grandma's pump: reduced to rust,
Their stories quench my soul and mind
Like water from another time 

Chorus

The Red Corvette
words & music by John McCutcheon

One morning while reading the paper
In search of a new set of wheels
The classifieds had a most curious ad
In their listing of automobiles
I read in suspicious amusement
What seemed like a wild stroke of luck
"Corvette Stingray," it said, "low mileage, bright red,
"'83 model, 65 bucks."

I was used to my newspaper's typos,
Still I called up that number straightway
"'Bout that '83 'Vette: have you sold that thing yet?"
She said, "No, you're my first call today."
I said, "There's been some mistake in the paper,
"They've printed the price wrong somehow."
"Oh no," replied she, "they got that from me."
I said, "Don't sell that thing, I'm leaving now!"

Her address was in part of the city
Where I'd ventured just one time or two
Where the doctors, bank presidents, and lawyers are residents
And the houses are massive and new
And as I turned up her half-mile driveway
There in the cool of the day
In the sunlight it gleemed: the car of my dreams
Just $65 away

The interior was done in white leather
It had a 587 V-8
Gull-wing-span doors, Hurst four on the floor
And the 8-channel tape deck was great
There was chrome on the chrome on the fenders,
An aerodynamic design
A bar, a TV, and it was boggling to me
That for 65 bucks it was mine

Now I expected that this woman was crazy
To sell off this car at that price
But as we walked down the lane she seemed perfectly sane
She was charming and really quite nice
And she smiled in such great satisfaction
As she handed me title and keys
I said, "I've just got to know why you've let this thing go
"What's wrong with this car? Tell me please!"

Says she, "I'll be 60 come Tuesday
"And I've lived here with my husband, Earl.
"Well, after 30 years wed and without a word said
"He left me for a young teenage girl.
"But with his credit cards left here behind him,
"I knew that he couldn't get far.
"Last night from Florida he sent a wire to me:
"Said, 'I need money, dear, sell the car!'"

©1986 by John McCutcheon. Published by Appalsongs (ASCAP).

Cut the Cake
words & music by Tina Liza Jones

We're gonna let 2nd grade out early today
Which made little Mikey kinda blue
He just turned 7 years old that day
And he thought he'd get a party at school
He walked back home and he's taken off his guard
There's chairs and tables all over the yard
And his friends jumped up and they hollered real hard,
"Happy Birthday to You!"

CHORUS:

It makes me think of the good old days
Happy birthday to you
You sure grew out of your baby ways
Happy birthday to you
(7th 23rd, 92nd) birthday we wish you many more
Health and wealth and friends by the score
Cut the cake and let's eat some more
Happy birthday to you

Now Mike's 22 and he's working for his Pop
And his head's full of business thru and thru
He was planning out a whole new system at the shop
And he forgot he had a birthday due
He drove back home and he's taken off his guard
There's chairs and tables all over the yard
And his friends jumped up and they hollered real hard,
"Happy Birthday to You!"

CHORUS

Now it's old man Michael in a rocking chair
Admiring the view
He's still got all his teeth and he's still got all his hair
And today he's 92
He turns in his seat and he's taken off his guard
There's chairs and tables all over the yard
And his friends jumped up and they hollered real hard,
"Happy Birthday to You!"

CHORUS

One Strong Arm
Words & music by John McCutcheon

One humble shoemaker
From a small Polish town
One of twelve German children
His life seemed so small
One heart rent with sorrow
As the Church closed its door
“A priest needs two hands
“To embrace all the poor”

One last child at home now
He watched them all go
Nursing mother and father
As their health stumbled so
Quiet voice in the parlor
Reading Grandma the news
Giving sight to her darkness
I saw visions, too

One strong arm to hold you
One firm hand to shake
One clear voice to guide you
One good heart to break

As a child I remember
His back bent with toil
Over sick beds, shoe forms
Children and soil
Tending roses and loved ones
The family business at hand
Tending one nephew longing
To be such a man

One strong arm to hold you
One firm hand to shake
One clear voice to guide you
One young life to shape

One form in the screen door
His eyes dancing with glee
With a single red rose
That he’s cut just for me
My sons sees his first birthday
As I reach for the phone
Takes his first stumbling steps
As his Uncle’s called home

One strong arm to hold you
One firm hand to shake
One clear voice to guide you
One good life to last

One humble shoemaker
From a small Polish town
We are all lifted up
As we lower him down

©1984 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Featherbed
words and music by John McCutcheon

A love song, originally written for the wedding of my friends, Malcolm Dalglish and Judy Klein.

If I were a featherbed in your house so fine
I'd hold you in my arms each night, keep you warm in the wintertime

If I were an old banjo, felt your fingers on my strings
I'd play the sweetest little song that a banjo e'er did sing

If I were a drop of rain that trickled down you chin
I'd run right up and kiss your lips and kiss them twice again

If I were a breath of wind on your cheeks as you walked by
I'd pick you up upon my back and teach you how to fly

If I were a hair ribbon and my color it was blue
I'd be ten times as beautiful, cause I'd be wearing you

And if I were a big wool rug sitting in your front hall
I'd tickle your feet and make you laugh if you stepped on me at all

If I were a featherbed... (whole verse repeated)

© 1984 John McCutcheon /Appalsongs (ASCAP)

No Mas
Words & music by John McCutcheon

It's snowing in the valley, ice chokes the river's mouth
But the air is still and silent in the mountains to the south
Here the fire in the cookstove drives the winter's chill away
While the silent, southern sentries pass the watchful hours till day
From the mountains of Virginia to the hills of Salvador
The mothers and the fathers send their children off to war
And the hand that drove the plow is on the trigger in the night
Killing other sons and daughters, fighting someone else's fight

CHORUS

No mas, no more shout the hills of Salvador
Echo the mountains of Virginia, we cry out, "No mas, no more!"
No mas, no more shout the hills of Salvador
Compañeros, compañeras, we cry out, "No mas, no more!"

As the government of Poland looks to Moscow for her schemes
So the junto turns to Washington to work behind the scenes
The white hand of the death squads, the rumble of the tanks
Keeps the coffee on our tables and the money in our banks

CHORUS (in Spanish)

No swords shall turn to plowshares till the land is theirs to plow
Till the name is on the ballot that rots in the prison now
And the weapons of the victory shall be schools and food and jobs
And the song from every mountaintop is "Paz y Liberdad"

CHORUS

©1984 by John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP).
 

Step By Step
Traditional

Step by step the longest march can be won, can be won
Many stones can form an arch, singly none, singly none
And by union what we will can be accomplished still
Drops of water turn a mill, singly none singly none

How Can I Keep From Singing?
Traditional

My life flows on in endless song
Above earth's lamentation.
I hear the real, thought far off hymn
That hails the new creation
Above the tumult and the strife,
I hear the music ringing;
It sounds an echo in my soul
How can I keep from singing?

What through the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
What through the darkness round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth.
No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that rock I'm clinging.
Since love is lord of Heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?

When tyrants tremble, sick with fear,
And hear their death-knell ringing,
When friends rejoice both far and near,
How can I keep from singing?
In prison cell and dungeon vile
Our thoughts to them are winging.
When friends by shame are undefiled,
How can I keep from singing?

Kindergarten Wall
Words and Music by John McCutcheon

When I was a little kid not so long ago
I had to learn a lot of stuff I didn't even know
How to dress myself, tie my shoes, how to jump a rope
How to smile for a picture without looking like a dope
But of all the things I learned my favorite of them all
Was a little poem hanging on the kindergarten wall

CHORUS:

Of all you learn here remember this the best:
Don't hurt each other and clean up your mess
Take a nap everyday, wash before you eat
Hold hands, stick together, look before you cross the street
And remember the seed in the little paper cup:
First the root goes down and then the plant grows up!

Well, it was first, second, third grade, fourth grade, too
Where I had to learn the big things the big kids do
To add, subtract, and multiply, read and write and play
How to sit in a little uncomfortable desk for nearly half a day
But of all they taught me my favorite of them all
Was the little poem hanging on the kindergarten wall

Chorus

But lately I've been worried as I look around and see
An awful lot of grown-ups acting foolish as can be
Now I know there's lots of things to know I haven't mastered yet
But it seems there's real important stuff that grown-ups soon forget
So I'm sure we'd all be better off if we would just recall
That little poem hanging on the kindergarten wall

Chorus

©1988 by John McCutcheon. Published by Appalsongs (ASCAP).