InaBell Sale by Greg Brown ru-vid.com/video/%D0%B2%D0%B8%D0%B4%D0%B5%D0%BE-OVrF5IUxAtE.html InaBell is dead, Savior, and we pray that Thou would'st give us the strength to lift her and carry her to her grave. InaBell is dead, and, Jesus, we'll never again hear her gravel-on-the-window voice, her tail-in-the-door Voice. We'll never again see her goiter shake like an old apple in a Windstorm. InaBell is dead and gone home to Thee, oh Precious Lord. Welcome her with open arms and spread 'em wide. She's dead, oh Precious Lamb, we're sure of it this time. She went over in her kitchen with a thud, scattering her Chicken Surprise for her ill-tempered, little Pop-eyed, slobbering dog, who ate most of it. InaBell is dead and gone and left us here to carry on and carry her big, fat, annoying ass out to the grave and bury her deep so she won't get up even in dreams to HOLLER HER INSANE SHIT AT US! THANK YOU, JESUS! THANK YOU, LORD, FOR TAKING INABELL! I bet she was hard to lift, even for Thee. InaBell is dead. She killed her husband, poor old Pete. She screamed and hollered him to death with her helium woodpecker voice, pulled at him and yelled at him and hit him and screamed at him until he had fits and slapped his own face and talked in tongues (talks in tongues) at the dinner table. OH, SWEET JESUS CHRIST! INABELL IS FINALLY DEAD! HALLELUJAH! HALLELUJAH AND AMEN! There's a big sale on Tuesday. Big sale on Tuesday, who will buy her angry purse, forty pounds of frozen pot pies? Who will buy her stiff hairnets for failed perms, her fly-speckled glasses? Who will buy her girdle that didn't fit? Who will buy her hippo bra, and her nylons that woulda fit pylons? Hey Who'llgivemeanickelwho'llgivemeadime who'llgivemeanickelwho'llgivemeadime Who'll give me sumpin' for this SHIT?! Who'll buy the little plastic church that used to light up, the busted pink hairdryer, and half a carton of menthol cigarettes? Who will buy her cracked bowling ball and enough knickknacks to sink the Titanic?! Who will buy her sidewalk made out of storm doors and cardboard and a blown Pontiac full of sparrows and saplings? Oh, who will buy? Who will buy? Step right up! Who will buy? Who will buy? Who will buy? Put a big ol' stone on top of her that says, "InaBell finally shut up and kicked the bucket!" Big sale on Tuesday.
45th Parallel Struggling to breath Fighting out for freedom Living through some wicked hell Didn’t know what he’d become to mean While suffocating below the knee Of the 45th parallel Where everybody looks away Turn their heads and pray Up on the wishing well Where nobody takes the blame It’s hard to say the name When it doesn’t sell And you thought nothing bad happens On the 45th parallel From the Yellowstone to The Big Horn The bullets ripped and the bullets tore And the people fell 38th and Chicago, Miss Frazier on her cell phone Watching George’s farewell Now the city’s on fire, calling out the liars And the Liberty Bell Yeah you thought nothing bad happened On the 45th parallel I blew all my money, I smoked it all down In a Mohawk Motel It’s hard to forget time living on the borderline Between the barrel and the shell You thought nothing bad happens on the 45th parallel Three Nations Crossing on The 45th parallel Did you think God was out there on the 45th parallel You thought nothing bad happened on the 45th parallel
I've seen him live several times, he always ends his session with "Ain't no grave can hold my body down". Simply amazing cover of a great song. He is a real gem.
My favorite song of Charlie's so far. First heard it in a historic barn at Forestville/Mystery Cave State Park in southern Minnesota. The ending always gets me. That was the second time I saw/heard Mr. Parr live. The first time was on a bend of the Turkey River in northeast Iowa. Private concert with Barbaro. Thanks for the song, Mr. Parr. Hope to see you again someday.
New to Mr Parr and let me say I can't get enough. Was told he has a song about the labor riots in International Falls . If anyone could help much appreciated.
Charlie Parr is one of the greatest living folk singers and poets he truly knows the beauty of simple things and the songs he crafts are new gems for future generations
