Альбом The Kingston Trio

(Spoken) He rode easy in the saddle. He was tall and lean, and at first you'd a-thought nothing but a streak of mean could make a man look so down right strong, but one look in his eyes and you knowed you was wrong. He was a mountain of a man, and I want you to know. He could preach hot hell or freezin' snow. He carried a Bible in a canvas sack and folks just called him The Reverend Mr. Black. He was poor as a beggar, but he rode like a king. Sometimes in the evening, I'd hear him sing:

Chorus:
I gotta walk that lonesome valley. I got to walk it by myself. Oh nobody else can walk it for me. I got to walk it by myself.
(2nd & 3rd times) You got to walk that lonesome valley. You got to walk it by yourself. Oh nobody else can walk it for you. You got to walk it by yourself.

If ever I could have thought this man in black was soft and had any yellow up his back, I gave that notion up the day a lumberjack came in and it wasn't to pray. Yeah, he kicked open the meeting house door and he cussed everybody up and down the floor! Then, when things got quiet in the place, he walked up and cusses in the preacher's face! He hit that Reverend like a kick of a mule and to my way of thinkin' it took a real fool to turn the other face to that lumber jack, but that's what he did, The Reverend Mr. Black. He stood like a rock, a man among men and he let that lumberjack hit him again, and then with a voice as quiet as could be, he cut him down like a big oak tree when he said:

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It's been many years since we had to part and I guess I learned his ways by heart. I can still hear his sermon's ring, down in the valley where he used to sing. I followed him, yes, sir, and I don't regret it and I hope I will always be a credit to his memory 'cause I want you to understand. The Reverend Mr. Black was my old man!

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I'm gonna walk that road that we walked long before, many years ago, and we'll walk a hundred more.

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And we're comin' one by one. You didn't see us two by two. Ev'ry time you turn around another's comin' through.
So we'll sing it long and proud so ev'ryone will know that the road to freedom is a long, long way to go.

Turn and look out over there, just as far as you can see. There are many more who have died for liberty.

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Oh, the river run down but the stream ran dry. Big strong man don't ever cry.
Just stands to watch his love go by. Oh, the river ran down but the stream ran dry.

Yes, he loved a woman but he let her get away. Didn't ever think he'd regret that day.
The laugh and the smile, he'd still play the game, but he knew that day would never by the same.

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There walks a man, he could've had a home, fine baby children, a woman of his own.
He walks all alone. He doesn't have a care but he keeps on thinking that he sees her ev'rywhere.

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Well, there's a big ball in Boston, big ball in town. Big ball in Boston, I'm gonna get on down.

The birthplace of our nation is Boston so they say. They try to keep it as it was but it's changing ev'ry day.

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The Red Coats, they were comin', their cloth was made of tweed. Some say their shirts were button down (The tradition is Ivy League.)

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We met a chap from Harvard, very slim and pale. The last time that we saw him he was dancing with a cat from Yale.

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And just a mile from Harvard's a campus you should see. M I T K E Y M O U S E

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The folks who come from Boston are said to be quite dated. So whadda ya have to say, my friend?
Well, uh, Bobby and Teddy and I made it.

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Delia's gone, one more round. (Repeat twice)
Dellia's gone.

Woke up this mornin'. Looked out 'cross the room. Delia, oh Delia, why did you leave me so soon?

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Police was a-knockin', knockin' at my door. He said, "Son, I got to tell you, you ain't gonna see your Delia no more."

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Delia in the wagon headin' for marble town. So all of those who loved her, sing it one more round.

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Oh Joe Hannah, don't you work so long. (Repeat twice)
Don't you know the river is wide? Don't you know the mountain is high? (Last time - Oh Joe Hannah!)

Thirteen years I've been workin' on the river. Thirteen years since you've been gone.
Thirteen years and you'd better go home. Don't you know the river is wide? Don't you know the mountain is high? Oh!

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Thirteen years I've been workin' on the river. Thirteen years that ain't so long.
Thirteen years and you'd better go home. Don't you know the river is wide? Don't you know the mountain is high? Oh!

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Thirteen years I've been workin' on the river. Thirteen years I've been alone.
Thirteen years and you'd better go home. Don't you know the river is wide? Don't you know the mountain is high? Oh!

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Well, I hope to tell you, Johnny, that I lay that rifle down but leave the noose and the calaboose and headed for another town.

Well, I've got your name in San Jose and your picture's there to see.
And they're shootin' men in Texas just because they look like me.

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And we will run the ridges of our green land Tennessee
And we will hide for forty years if that's what's meant to be, meant to be, meant to be.
Meant to be, meant to be, meant to be.

Maybe we could try Mexico and cross the desert sand,
But they're guardin' 'cross the border 'case we swim the Rio Grande

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Well, they'll rope and tie you, Johnny, and they'll throw you to the ground
And they'll let you hang a week or two 'fore they cut your body down.

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Try to remember the kind of September when life was slow and oh, so, mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September when grass was green and grain so yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September when you were a young and callow fellow.
Try to remember and if you remember, then follow, follow.

Try to remember when life was so tender that no one wept except the willow.
Try to remember when life was so tender that dreams were kept beside your pillow.
Try to remember when life was so tender that love was an ember about to billow.
Try to remember and if you remember, then follow, follow.

Deep in December it's nice to remember although you know the snow will follow
Deep in December it's nice to remember without a hurt the heart is hollow
Deep in December it's nice to remember the fire of September that made you mellow
Deep in December our hearts should remember and follow, follow. Follow.

My granddad used to tell me, "Boy, when I was just your age, I was a river pilot on a showboat called The Stage.
I'd hobnob with them southern belles and ev'ry roustabout. I'd listen to them paddle wheels and hear the leadsman shout!

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Mark Twain, it's two fathoms deep below. Mark Twain, heave the gang plank. Start the show.
Mark Twain, play those banjos as we go down the Mississippi, 'round the Gulf of Mexico.

There were gamblers, crooks and fakers and a minstrel man who'd dance. A singin' gal, Simone Lamour, imported straight from France.
It was a floatin' palace, boy, that showboat called The Stage, and granddad was the king of it when he was just my age."

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The calliope is quiet now. The rudder's thick with rust. The main deck and the paddle wheels are covered high with dust.
But granddad's in his glory, still standin' on the bow. A halo 'round his pilot's cap and I can hear him now.

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Low bridge, ev'rybody down. Low bridge for we're comin' to the town.
So you'll always know your neighbor and you'll always know your pal
If you've ever navigated on the Erie Canal. If you've ever navigated on the Erie Canal.

I got a mule and her name is Sal. Well, fifteen miles on the Erie Canal.
She's a good old worker and a good old pal. Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal. There's a

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Get up, there, mule, here comes a lock. We'll reach town about six o'clock.
Six o'clock's just an hour away, so make your tracks while we still got day.

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Damn that mule, she shore is lazy. Bound to drive a body crazy.
Looked at me the other day. Said, "I ain't a-goin' till I eat my hay!"

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Oh, I stood watchin', oh, I stood waitin' and as the rivers of freedom run through this land
I'll be there for to lend you my hand.

(Spoken:)
Well, I listened to the shouting of those with their lies who tore at the heart of this country of mine.

But here's where a quiet man with truth in his hand can make a stand and be heard in this land. So,

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So I stood by the watch road till the October of their days
With the winds to my left and then far from the right, blowing my way

But now is the hour. The time I can see when we'll win with the truth that has made us free. So,

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Baila baila baila bamba. Baila, baila, baila bamba, seres a si' una poca de gracia.
Una poca de gracia para mi para ti y'ariba, y'ariba.
A y' ariba, ariba, por ti sere, yo no soy marinero. Yo no soy marinero, por ti sere por ti sere.
Bamba, bamba. Bamba, bamba. Bamba, bamba. Bamba, bamba.