Specatacatah, Croixtgairg Jubwuff! When I was a young man working in the mines, The boss he drove us hard. He pushed us 'til our fingers bled And our lungs were shriveled and charred. I still recall his swagger grin As he led us down below; We slaved beneath the gates of Hell, A hundred in a row. One day the fellow next to me, He fell right down and died, And as he lay upon the ground His ghost rose up and sighed: "Young man," it said with vacant stare, "You mustn't go my way. If again you want to breathe fresh air Then list to what I say: (CHORUS) Specatacatah, Croixtgairg, Jubwuff, And if you don't think that is enough, Then I'll be nice and say it twice (If you don't like that, you'll pay the price;) Specatacatah, Croixtgairg, Jubwuff!" Then the Lusitania fell. Our country rose to fight; They told us we must join the ranks for Democracy and Right. They put us on a battleship and sent us overseas While all of those who fell at home fell down upon their knees. At Flanders Fields I won my stripes and then moved to Verdun. We marched along with rising hope to finally beat The Hun; My buddy was the first to fall as shots burst overhead. As I laid him in my bloodstained arms, this to me he said: (CHORUS) When I returned to my home town, they greeted us with glee, But the only one I yearned to kiss was my green-eyed Selma Lee: We married ere the day was out amidst a din of cheers--- I built for her a sturdy home to spend the passing years. We raised ten children tall and strong and nurtured them with care, Our joys sustained us through the day- our sorrows, they were rare One day our youngest, Marmaduke, came to me for advice; I looked at him with folded arms and said this to him twice: (CHORUS) Now I'm old, the days grow short- my mission soon will cease, I meditate and spend my days in search of inner peace. One thing for which I truly wish and often think about Is to have a solemn Requiem when my hour glass runs out. With sacrament and ritual I shall be lain to rest; A rising wave of smoke will bear my soul upon its crest. A somber priest will lead the rites with splendor, grace and care; In sacred raiment shall he stand and chant this holy prayer: (CHORUS) Lyrics and Music by Timothy Aurthur Alan Seidler ©1974 by Simian Press, A Div. of Ook Ook Productions, Inc.