|
It's been over 150 years since Absalom made this "Run" at 23 years of age.
He made it back to Sarah Jane and died in his sleep in 1926. I've received a fair amount of flak in daring to write this song. While I don't claim to know all aspects of Absalom's life and beliefs, I do have a grasp of what he most likely thought during the fourth year of that conflict. I call the listeners attention, again, to the first verse:" * "One more morning in this world One more thought to the old folks back home One more dream of Sarah Jane Damn this Cause Damn this fight!" * To the fragile and witless, have a nice day.
ONE MORE RUN
James Hooker Copyright 2017, TipJarMusic/ASCAP One more morning in this world One more thought to the old folks back home One more dream of Sarah Jane Damn this Cause Damn this fight One more run through the meadow One more run through the Valley Of The Shadow One more run up that hill One more run, Lord willin’ we’ll be done And if it’s fight we must, we will Cause it’s a long long way back to Georgia If it’s fight I must, I will It’s a long long way back to Sarah Jane One more run We got one more run One more, and Lord willin’ we’ll be done. Lord willin’, one more run In ’61, I rode with Cobb In ’63, I rode with Longstreet In ’65, half froze, half starved, my horse eats better Word comes down, “Boys, one more run!” So if it’s fight we must, we will Cause it’s a long long way back to Georgia If it’s fight I must, I will It’s a long long way back to Sarah Jane One more run We got one more run One more, and Lord willin’ we’ll be done. Never thought I’d live to see the day my world burned down And here I am, helpin’ to fan the flames But if it’s fight I must, I will It’s a long long way back to Georgia If it’s fight I must, you know I will It’s a long long way back to Sarah Jane One more run, we got one more run One more and we’ll be done Lord Willin’, one more run 
Comments
 Well it's Friday night and I ain't got a nickel
What am I gonna do? Got a little beer and a radio and a little bitty girl named You Turn on the radio We can dance to the radio Got a livin' room rug gon' cut it up Don't care what the neighbors think They can blow their top, call the cops If they think I'm gonna care, I ain't Turn on the radio Gotta have my radio I'm sick and tired of watchin' that damned old CNN Turn on the radio Turn the radio up! Well I'm sick and tired of politics and the crisis of the day Sick and tired of talk shows tellin' me what to think I'm a hundred million zillion miles from Memphis Tennessee And if I never go back, there's always you and me and the radio We can dance to the radio I'm sick and tired of watchin' the same ol' DVD's Turn on the radio Turn the radio up  "Life's a bitch, and then you gotta die Screamin' and kickin' from the womb they drag you And never say why Throw you out on a cold dark road No signpost in site But you're a clever boy You're a Renaissance Man"  When I was 14 years old (1962) my dad would drive me to what we called the "Black Bottom" section of town at 9:00 PM a couple of nights a week. He dropped me off in front of radio Station WOIC. Inside was "Charlie". Charles Derrick was a coal black man with a loud, but smooth voice, who came in over my transistor radio - every night, and talked to me, and many other people in Columbia, but to me, it was a personal link-up. I discovered Charlie after becoming ill at the thought of listening to Pat Boone sing another note. I found him after I started, what we called then, 'fanning the band', which is the act of desperately searching for anything other than Pat Boone. Charlie caught my ear late one night, and I locked on to the static emitted by that strange AM Shangri-La. It wasn't Pat Boone. It wasn't Annette and Paul. I had discovered Race Music! His show was broadcast, if memory serves, from 8 to 11 PM, and then, the whole station went off the air until the next morning. Race Music! That, kiddies, was a real term. I would sit there in that cramped control booth while my dad waited (probably asleep) in the car - just me and Charlie, and the sounds of quite the mixture of Rhythm and Blues, Jazz, soul, gospel - if Charlie liked it, Charlie played it. I don't recall him liking Pat Boone. Poor Pat, maybe I should lighten up. Charlie taught me a lot about life in that booth. During commercials, we would discuss many things, one of which was the subject of race. I was taught, by my elders, to listen to my elders, and learn from my elders. Charlie taught me a lot, and it stood me in good stead later in my carrier as I found myself playing Hammond B3 and electric piano with many of the artists I first heard in that control booth. Charlie's gone now, but I think of him often when, even on a rotten day, his memory can fetch a smile to my face. Thank you Charlie Derrick, b.1923 d.2006. You inspired this song. |
RSS Feed