John McCutcheon
Welcome the Traveler Home
The Winfield Songs

In the spring of 1979, Art Coates called wondering if I'd attend a festival he was booking in Kansas. He's heard my recordings and figured his neighbors might enjoy my music. I suggested he hire me as part of the band I was working with at the time–Wry Straw. He said yes, and so did I.

That visit to the small town of Winfield would be the first of many. I returned often in twenty-five years, forging lasting friendships and discovering musical collaborators. I learned about wheat firming, cattle ranching, local legends, hometown orchestras, hobo eggs and calf fries.

I've seen romances bloom, and fade. Seen children come, and grow. And I've buried friends. Through mud, drought, dust storms and September 11, I've joined this far-flung family that gathers for one weekend each year. It is unlike any other festival I attend and I'm humbled to be welcomed by these good people.

I'm a Midwestern kid at heart. I came from a small town, with small town sensibilities. And as I wedded the remembrances of my past with the things I learned from these sturdy Kansans—the songs nearly wrote themselves. Songs which fell naturally between the fencerows of Walnut Valley. More songs followed. But I always knew where they came from...and belonged. Most years I composed a new song with these people in mind: waiting to be sung just for them. Oh, other audiences may have heard them first. But no one ever listened to them, understood them, in the way Winfield did.

So, this is my gift to the Winfield family: a collection of thirteen songs, birthed over the years, from 1979 through 2004. The newest, "Just One Voice." speaks best of what I've learned from this diverse, generous audience: that from the simplest, humblest beginnings, amazing things may spring.

John McCutcheon
Charlottesville, Virginia
July 2004

Formats

Lyrics

No Turning Back Now
words and music by John McCutcheon

Well, I think I finally understand
What they meant when the old folks said
How you go to sleep wishing that you'd never been born
And you wake up in the morning dead
But with four young ones and another on the way
There ain't no time to fret
There's another 30 acres and there's only just me
The winter's comin' and I ain't done yet

CHORUS:

So I'll hitch my team in the morning
And I'll put my hand to the plow
'Cause you know, by damn, I'm a freeborn man
And there ain't no turning back now

Was back 'bout 15 years ago
Though it seems like a hundred now
I left the Allegheny with Liza and the wagon
A pair of oxen and a bull tongue plow
Through the doubts and the fever and the snowstorms
We plowed out on our own
And we must have though of turning back a dozen times a day
Till we forded the Missouri to our newfound home

CHORUS

Well, the price won't rise and the rain won't fall
And the cow went dry last week
The money's short and the weeds are tall
And the barn's got a hell of a leak
But I'm a lot better off than the others up river
'Cause at least this land is mine
Still sometimes I think the distance 'tween a fool and a farmer
Ain't more than a damn thin line

CHORUS

Well, bye and bye I'll up and die
And there'll be some rest for me
And I won't have to worry 'bout the drought or the floodin'
When they plant my final seed
Oh, dig my grave with a bull tongue blade
Lay me down in an old feed sack
Then sharpen your hoe 'cause, don't you know,
I'll be a damn tough weed when I grow on back

CHORUS

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

Just One Voice
words and music by John McCutcheon

©2003 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

One More Mountaintop
words & music by John McCutcheon

John: guitar and vocal
JT: bass
Jos: drums and percussion
Mike: banjo
Moondi: harmony vocals

Growing up it was my dream to play this game
And like ten million other kids I guess I knew I dreamt in vain
But still at night I never could forget
So I got this job as close as I could get

I knew that it was gone, headed for the left field stands
To a million waiting fingers, a hundred thousand outstretched hands
It only had enough to barely clear the outfield wall
Now lying at my feet is the million dollar ball

There is always one more mountaintop to dream
There are choice to be made and visions to be seen
Some do it in the spotlight, some do it for the show
Some do it in the shadows so no one will ever know
Whether you carry the water or whether you carry the team
There is always one more mountaintop be dream

Now, you know, I ain’t got much but I do alright
Working on the crew I’ve got a front row seat at night
And it still thrills me just to see the grass so green
And I marvel the heroes I have seen
Sometimes I’ll bring the kids if the Cubbies are in town
And he always stops to talk to ‘em if he knows that they’re around
My life would be so different if I called this ball my own
I could give my kids the things they’ve never known

There is always one more mountaintop to dream
There are choice to be made and visions to be seen
Some do it in the spotlight, some do it for the show
Some do it in the shadows so no one will ever know
Whether you carry the water or whether you carry the team
There is always one more mountaintop be dream

So picked up the ball and wiped off all the dirt
Wrapped it in a rag and stuffed it deep inside my shirt
Walked into the fireworks, the lights and endless roars
Said, “I think that I have something that is yours”
At the end of the evening when the crowds have gone away
And you’re left with your decisions and the price you chose to pay
Some will go to Cooperstown and some will just go home
And we’ll marvel at the heroes we have known

There is always one more mountaintop to dream
There are choice to be made and visions to be seen
Some do it in the spotlight, some do it for the show
Some do it in the shadows so no one will ever know
Whether you carry the water or whether you carry the team
There is always one more mountaintop be dream

Winfield, KS, September 1998
©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Dearest Martha
words & music by John McCutcheon

Dearest Martha, when you find this, there'll be nothing you can do
To change the way our lives have turned out, it's not up to me and you
All the bills are paid through New Years, all the notes are in the drawer
The insurance ought to help, I wish I could have left you more

Now, no one could call me lazy and I know that I ain't dumb
And no one in this valley knew these awful times would come
As the costs keep climbing higher, the prices never rise
While our mouths are filled with questions they just fill our ears with lies

That banker I made wealthy just ten short years ago
Now sits across his pin-striped desk politely saying "No"
Men who've never known a hard time or soiled their soft white hands
Turn farmers into failures and drive us from our lands

In years to come there'll be the stories, such tales they're sure to tell:
"A fourth generation farmer, and he let it go to hell!"
I know that I'm a good man, but I never can forget
There's nothing left to leave the children but a thousand acre debt

But I read it in the papers and I see it on TV
How everything is back on track, what the hell is wrong with me?
I've worked as hard as any man to bring the ground to grain
But each September brings the harvest, the heartache and the blame

So, Martha, lay me in the orchard underneath the flowering plum
And face me to the east so I can see the rising sun
And remember when the days were young and happy ones for me
And the land was ripe with promises as far as I could see

repeat 1st verse

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

Ask Any Farmer
words and music by John McCutcheon

Come fill up your glasses and gather on around
And I'll tell you the truth what's a going on down
All through the country people sounding the alarm
Everyone's a-wondering what's happening on the farm
The businessman says, "Let the strongest ones survive"
But if he ain't got food how's he gonna stay alive
And the politician says, "Everything's a-getting better"
But you might as well be standing 'hind a compost spreader

CHORUS

Just ask any farmer in Kansas
Ask any farmer in Carolina, too
Out in Dakota, Kentucky, Minnesota
And I guarantee you'll find that what I'm telling you is true

Now, I believe it all started 'bout a dozen years ago
Everybody scratching just to make a little dough
The bankers saw the land prices go high
So they went to the farmer, said, "Buy, buy, buy
"Don't you need a little money? Don't you need a little loan?
"Don't you need some new machinery? A mortgage on your home?"
Then the land went down till everything's a debit
And the banker came back, said, "You ain't got the credit
"And I'd really like to help you, but it's out of my control"
And now the farmer's in hock, but the banker's on a roll

CHORUS

But all through time, I'm telling you
Trouble on the farm ain't nothing new
It's the fever or the government,
The flooding or the drought,
Hard times is something every farmer know about
How the cost goes up and the price goes down
Till you don't get nothing when you haul it into town
But nobody's worried yet, you got to understand
And now I'm gonna tell you when it really hits the fan:
When the farmer can't pay for the low, low prices
And the banker's in trouble, then we got a crisis
Uncle Sam steps in and the banker's in clover
And the newspapers tell us that the trouble's all over
And they call it a solution but the facts all mock it
'Cause the money all stays in the pin-striped pocket

CHORUS

Then we sat down the farmer and we told him what to do
Said, "Feed the world and keep the price cheap, too!"
So he doubled the production, and he kept the prices down
By loading up on chemicals and spreading them around
Now you got cheap food and you know there's plenty of it
Don't taste like nothing but your checkbooks love it
And the topsoil washes and the land gets dry
And the farmer gets sick and the earthworms die

CHORUS

You know, it's mighty hard to figure and I'll never understand
We got so much food and there's hunger in the land
You might get a little bite of that surplus cheese
But most of that food is getting shipped overseas
Where it's sold so cheap that the farmers over there
Go belly-up broke but we don't care
'Cause the plan is for the food of all them nations
Be raised over here by big corporations

CHORUS

They say you better get bigger or you better get out
The way to get bigger is for another to get out
They pit the farmers of the land against each other
When really we ought to be sisters and brothers
No, we're never gonna make it until we realize
That we got to get together, yes, we got to organize
Stop killing our farmers, stop killing our land
Stop handing all the profits to the middle man
It's like all this time we've been going to the till
Saying, "Charge it! And send my kids the bill!"
How they gonna make it? What they gonna do?
How they gonna pay it when the note comes due?"

CHORUS

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

Welcome the Traveler Home
Words & music by John McCutcheon

John: vocal & autoharp
Tom: vocal & 12-string guitar
Bobby: piano
Michael: harmony vocal & bass

John—Written for the Twenty Fifth Walnut Valley Festival in Winfield, KS.

Though dark is the night
And narrow the way
Though the tempest may rage
And chill to the bone
Still the promise is bright
Like a beacon of light
That will welcome the traveler home

Chorus

Welcome the traveler home
As out in this wide world
We wander alone
Though our ways twist and bend
We know in the end
We will welcome the traveler home

Though late is the hour
And long is the road
And I stumble and stray
From the path I have known
But for this prodigal son
The long journey's done
When you welcome the traveler home

Chorus

Bridge

The winds they may bellow
The seas they may rise
Like ships on the deep
Far from shore
We look for the harbor
We look to the skies
For the wide open heart
And the wide open door

Now five years and twenty
Here gathered again:
A harvest so ripe
From the seeds we have sown
Five and twenty years more
Still our spirits will soar
As we welcome the traveler home

Chorus

©1996 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Doing My Job
Words & Music by John McCutcheon

John: vocal and guitar
Tom: harmony vocal and electric guitar
Bobby: saxophone
Michael: bass and harmony vocal

John—Written after Cal Ripken's record-breaking stretch of 2,131 consecutive games on September 6, 1995.

It was one for the ages
You just had to see
So we sat on the couch
My two kids and I
And we watched on TV
It was in the fifth inning
The game it had to be stopped
The whole ballpark went nuts
When the number was dropped
My kids they clapped and they hollered
Me, I choked up with tears
Thinking back on the grace
He brought to that place
For over thirteen years
And as he stood in the spotlight
He looked so awkward and shy
When they asked to say a few words on that day
This was his reply

Chorus

I'm only doing my job
Like folks everywhere
Where I come from
It's just how things are done
Doing my share
I did not love every part
Still I don't think it odd
Give your best
And to hell with the rest
Doin' my job

She gets up every morning
Gets the kids out the door
Then it's carpool and shop
Vacuum and mop
Until they're back home at four
Then it's supper and homework
Until they're all tucked away
It's a kiss and goodnight
And you turn out the light
For the four thousandth day

Chorus

We deliver the mail
We grow all the crops
We teach in the schools, we put out the fires
And we clerk in the shops
We enter the data
We build the bridges and roads
We show up every day
We work for our pay
We carry the loads

Chorus

©1995 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Immigrant
Words & music by John McCutcheon

John: guitar & vocal
Jon Carroll: piano, organ & harmony vocals
JT Brown: bass & harmony vocals
Pete Kennedy: 6 & 12 string electric guitars
Robert “Jos” Jospé: drums
Bob Dawson: percussion
Maura Kennedy: harmony vocals

The chorus is based on the inscription on the base of the Statue of Liberty:

Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!
Emma Lazarus (1849-1887)

I am an immigrant
I am a stranger in this place
Here both for the grace of God
Go I
I am an immigrant
I have left everything I own
To everything I've known
I say goodbye

Chorus

She said, “Give me your tired”
Lord, you know I’m weary
When she said “Give me your poor”
She’s talking to me
One of your huddled masses
Yearning to breathe free
And I never have lost sight of
What this journey has been for
See how she lifts her lamp
Beside that golden door

I am an Irishman
The famine put us to the test
Away into the West
Like wild birds flying
We put our backs to the wheel
With a heart that always yearned for home
We made this place our own
And about died trying

Chorus

I am Chinese
I worked your mills, your yards, your mines
Laid your railroad lines
With my two good hands
I am a Chicano
In your orchards and your fields
I have gathered in the yields
For this hungry land

Chorus

I am Nigerian
I am Iranian, a Jew
From Laos, Katmandu
I am your story
I am a long, long line
One you have forgotten that is true
I am everything you knew
I am your glory

She said, “Give me your tired”
Lord, you know we're weary
When she said, “Give me your poor”
She’s talking to you and me
We are the huddled masses
Yearning to breathe free
And we never will lose sight of
What this journey has been for
As we lift her lamp
Beside the golden door

©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Stonington, ME, August 1999
Produced by John McCutcheon & Bob Dawson
Engineered by Bob Dawson at Bias Studios, Springfield, VA
Mastered by Charlie Pilzer at Air Show, Springfield, VA

Monkeys
words and music by John McCutcheon

When the Kansas School Board mandated that creationism be given equal weight in classroom instruction back in 1999 songwriters around the world rejoiced.

I went to school this morning
It was the first day of the year
Took out my paper and my pencil
And I opened up my mind and my ears
The teacher said, “Now students take your places
“Everybody settle in your desk
“The first class in going to be science
“Gonna use the Bible as our text.”

Chorus
There ain’t no monkeys in you
There’re none in me, I know
And there ain’t no monkeys in Kansas
‘Cause the school board to me so

So let’s get rid of Pythagoras
Relativity and all the rest
Cause if you can’t find it in Genesis
It ain't gonna be in our test

Chorus

Now, the land is flat in Kansas
As anyone can see
And if the school board says that the world is flat
Well, that’s good enough for me

Chorus

Every culture has a way to see creation
Each religion has a version of its own
So if you aren’t Christian or Jewish
You better hope Kansas ain’t your home

Chorus

I’ve learned that faith is one thing
And knowledge is something else
One doesn’t rule the other one out
As Einstein said himself

Chorus

Now, God gave us intelligence
And God he gave us brains
But I guess he ran just a little bit short
On that school board on the plains

Chorus

Stonington, ME & Winfield, KS

©1999 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

One Man's Trash
words and music by John McCutcheon

Well, I was twelve years old, just a wild young buck
When Daddy gave me a foal from the old brood mare
And with a spring full of training and a summer full of luck
We won every race at the county fair
He used to run like the wind so wild and free
But now he can't pull a plow and she's crippled in the knee
And my Daddy wants to send him to the factory
But he's a whole lot more to me than hoof and hide
And he still loves to take me on a long slow ride

CHORUS

One man's trash is another man's treasure
One man's ceiling is another man's floor
One man's pain is another man's pleasure
And nothing's for certain, mister, that's for sure
No, nothing's for certain, mister, that's for sure

She was singing on the corner so soft and slow
As the crowds pushed by on the avenue
With her old hands gnarled and her back bent low
She played her guitar so clean and true
And one or two would stop if they had a little time
Searching in their pockets for a nickel or a dime
Searching all the faces like she's looking for a sign
And when I dropped six bits in her old tin cup
She had a hundred dollar smile when she looked on up

CHORUS

I saw him by the roadside, looking crooked and funny
Stuffing tins cans in an old brown sack
I was out for a run and he was out for the money
He gave me one look and then he never looked back
No, he didn't have a dollar and he didn't have shame
And I never knew his story and I never got his name
But every now and then I had to wonder, all the same
How he'd ever fill his belly at a nickel on the pound
But he was gone from the ditches when I came back around

And I shouldn't have to tell you cause you know it's true
'Cause you can see them in the city, in the country, in the town
Hard working folks like me and you
Who rise right up when they're beat on down
Who struggle all their lives just as hard as they're able
And only get the crumbs from the rich man's table
Makes me think about the king who was born in the stable
Or how they marched with the singing and the trumpets' sound
Till the walls of the city came a-tumbling down

CHORUS

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

Follow the Light
Words & music by John McCutcheon, Tom Chapin & Michael Mark

The weekend following September 11th I played at the Walnut Valley Festival in Winfield, KS, as I’ve done for twenty years or more. Without the option of flying, I drove all night that Thursday to make my Friday afternoon and evening performances. When I finally got to my hotel room it was nearly midnight and, like most of the rest of America, I immediately turned on the television. I caught the very end of a prayer vigil in Manhattan. As the credits rolled the camera focused on a small circle of candles left by now-long-gone participants. In the center of this circle of candles was a hand-lettered sign, “Follow the Light Home to Me.” At breakfast the next morning I showed Tom and Michael the first draft of this song. We finished it that afternoon and debuted it that night.

John: vocal & guitar
Tom Chapin: vocal
Michael Mark: vocal
Jon: harmony vocal, piano & organ
JT: harmony vocal & bass
Pete: electric guitar
Jos: drums
Maura: harmony vocals

We were 7 and 8
My sister and I
Lost in the woods
When lightening filled up the sky
As we ran through the ran
We knew where to head
To the light on the porch
“Come home!” like Mama said

Chorus

Follow the light
When you’re lonely and lost
When out on the ocean
You are tumbled and tossed
Follow your heart
Wherever you may be
Follow the light on home to me

Out on the sea
The waves heave and rise
Far from the shore
When a storm mounts the skies
We look for a sign
For some welcoming sight
A beacon from home
To guide us on this night

Chorus

Bridge

There’s a hole in our skyline
There’s a hole in our town
There’s a hole in our hearts
The whole world around
How do we heal?
How do we see
The mercy that shines in you and me?
(We follow the light…)

When the world feels so big
And we seem so small
And you wonder if life
Has any meaning left at all
When you’re losing your heart
When you’re losing the fight
Hold on to my hand
And we will follow the light

©2001 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)
Winfield, KS  September 2001

Ashcroft’s Army
words and music by John McCutcheon

Operation TIPS! Sign me up! I wanna be a spy!

I saw him on TV last night
In a suit of somber blue
He said it was time for all Americans
To do what we must do
Take out your x-ray glasses
And your decoder rings
We need ordinary people
To keep an eye on things

So…

I wanna be in Ashcroft’s Army
I wanna be a spy
I wanna watch my neighbor’s doings
Kiss your rights goodbye
In this legal devolution
A perfect chance for retribution
Let’s just can the Constitution
I wanna be a spy

I wanna be in Ashcroft’s Army
I wanna be a fed
I might look like the meter man
But I’m a spook instead
Delivering pizza or the mail
Buddy, you can never tell
I’ll haul your sorry ass to jail
I wanna be a spy

I wanna be in Ashcroft’s Army
I wanna be a sleuth
I wanna catch some terrorists
Don’t worry ‘bout the truth
If I see you hanging ‘round
Wearin’ a turban and your skin is brown
You’re gonna take a ride downtown
I wanna be a spy

I wanna be in Ashcroft’s Army
I’m gonna be a mole
It’s time to show the rest or my neighbors
Just who’s in control
The Vice-President said, “Shame on you!”
The Attorney General said it too
“Don’t you question what we do!”
I wanna be a spy

I wanna be in Ashcroft’s Army
I wanna a G-Man
He used to be a Senator
But now he is a free man
He’s a Attorney General instead
‘Cause the people of Missouri said
“We’d rather vote for a guy who’s dead!”
I wanna be a spy

I wanna be in Ashcroft’s Army
But still I’ve gotta wonder
Where was all this spying
When Adelphia went under
When Enron ran off with the loot
And Worldcom went right down the chute
Some terrorists wear pin-striped suits
I wanna be a spy

Charlottesville, VA August, 2002

©2002 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

Wish You Goodnight
words and music by John McCutcheon

Now the day has slowing faded
And the sun has slipped from the western heights
The stars are hung and the moon is rising
And I wish you good dreams, good morrow, and I wish you good night

All the songs and tales from across the ages
That will set our eyes on a greater sight
Are a port of calm as the battles rages
And I wish you good dreams, good morrow, and I wish you good night

Chorus

And I wish you songs to speed you through the evening
And I wish you rest at the close of the day
And a harbor safe till the morning light
And I wish you good dreams, good morrow, and I wish you good night

All those who've gone and left our number
Who have raised their voices and their wings in flight
Still guide our way in their quiet slumber
And I wish them good dreams, good morrow, and I wish you good night

All those who'll come and take our places
Take up our work and join the fight
We leave our hearts, our history, and our faces
And I wish them good dreams, good morrow, and I wish you good night

Chorus

So gather `round, you friends and lovers
Let the darkness come for the fire is bright
Though the road is long, love makes us stronger
And I wish you good dreams, good morrow, and I wish you good night

Chorus

© 1993 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)