Fun ITT we post random song lyrics out of context

So long sad times
Go long bad times
We are rid of you at last
Howdy gay times
Cloudy gray times
You are now a thing of the past
Happy days are here again
The skies above are clear again
So let's sing a song of cheer again
Happy days are here again

 

Gray skies are gonna clear up,
Put on a happy face,
Brush off the clouds and cheer up,
Put on a happy face.

 

I'm sick and tired of your excuses
Can't deal with living anymore
I'll give you reasons to continue
While you lie writing on the floor

I'll wash away your lies
And have you hypnotized
There'll be no compromise today
I'll share your life of shame
I think you know my name
I'll introduce myself today

 

Look for the silver lining
Whenever a cloud appears in the blue
Remember somewhere the sun is shining
And so the right thing to do is make it shine for you

 

So we'll cast off all our shackles,
we'll seek our name that's true.
We'll swap out all our livery to black,
from red or blue.
We'll find our lollygagging masters
and we'll take his huts for garters!

So drink for power!
Drink for the flame!
And find that bloody blackened name!

 

A British tar is a soaring soul,
As free as a mountain bird,
His energetic fist should be ready to resist,
A dictatorial word.

His nose should pant,
and his lip should curl,
His cheeks should flame,
and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave,
and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready,
for a knock-down blow.

 

Your journey, it began because
YOU DIED
Out of your cell you ran and then
YOU DIED
You pause to catch your breath and die another gruesome death
So now you creep around each corner terrified

 

Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of our crew,
No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
For death has broached him to.
Tom's form was of the manliest beauty,
Tom's heart was kind and soft,
Faithful below he did his duty.
But now he's gone aloft.

Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare;
His friends were many, and true-hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair:
And then he'd sing, so blithe and jolly,
Ah! many's the time and oft!
But mirth is turn'd to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When He, who all commands,
Shall give, to call life's crew together,
The word to pipe all hands
Thus death, who tars and kings dispatches,
In vain Tom's life has doffed,
For though his body's under hatches,
His soul is gone aloft.

 

At first I was afraid, I was petrified,
Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side,
But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong,
And I grew strong,
And I learned how to get along,
And so you're back,
From outer space,
I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face,
I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have made you leave your key,
If I'd known for just one second you'd be back to bother me.

 

Hey la hey la
My boyfriend's back
You're gonna be sorry you were ever born
Hey la hey la
My boyfriend's back
Cause he's kinda big and he's awful strong

 

You see my boy, it's nature's way,
Upon the weak, the strong ones prey,
In human life, it's also true,
The strong will try to conquer you,
And that is what you must expect,
Unless you use your intellect.

 

School days, school days
Dear old golden rule days
Reading and writing and 'rithmetic
Taught to the tune of a hickory stick

 

Your story's sad to tell,
A teenage ne'er do well,
Most mixed up non-delinquent on the block.
Your future's so unclear now,
What's left of your career now?
Can't even get a trade in on your smock,

Beauty school dropout,
No graduation day for you,
Beauty school dropout,
Missed your mid-terms and flunked shampoo,
Well at least you could have taken time,
To wash and clean your clothes up,
After spending all that dough,
To have the doctor fix your nose up.

 

Don't know much about history
Don't know much biology
Don't know much about a science book
Don't know much about the French I took

 

Incredible as he is inept,
Whenever the history books are kept,
They'll call him the phony king of England.
A pox on the phony king of England!

 

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?

 

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp,
Dare its deadly terrors clasp!

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears:
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

 

Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey
A kiddley divey too, wouldn't you?
Yes! Mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey
A kiddley divey too, wouldn't you?

 

Mary had a little lamb,
She ate it with mint sauce,
And everywhere that Mary went,
The lamb went too, of course.

 

The screen door slams, Mary's dress waves
Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays
Roy Orbison singing for the lonely
Hey, that's me and I want you only
Don't turn me home again, I just can't face myself alone again
Don't run back inside, darling, you know just what I'm here for
So you're scared and you're thinking that maybe we ain't that young anymore
Show a little faith, there's magic in the night
You ain't a beauty but, hey, you're alright
Oh, and that's alright with me

 

Mary, Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells and cockleshells,
And pretty maids all in a row.

 

Silver bells
Hear them ring
It's Christmas time
In the city

 

Morning in Paris, the city awakes,
To the bells of Notre Dame,
The fisherman fishes, the bakerman bakes,
To the bells of Notre Dame,
To the big bells as loud as the thunder,
To the little bells soft as a psalm,
And some say the soul of the city is,
The toll of the bells,
The bells of Notre Dame.

 

Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement's.

You owe me five farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin's.

When will you pay me?
Say the bells of Old Bailey.

When I grow rich,
Say the bells of Shoreditch.

When will that be?
Say the bells of Stepney.

I do not know,
Says the great bell of Bow.

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,
And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!

 

I married my wife in the month of June,
Ristle-tee, rostle-tee, Now, now, now,
I brought her home by the light of the moon,
Ristle-tee, rostle-tee, hey, donnie-dostle-tee,
Knickety-knackety, rustical quality,
Willow-tee, wallow-tee, Now, now, now.

She combs her hair but once a year,
Ristle-tee, rostle-tee, Now, now, now,
With every stroke, she shed a tear,
Ristle-tee, rostle-tee, hey, donnie-dostle-tee,
Knickety-knackety, rustical quality,
Willow-tee, wallow-tee, Now, now, now.