Writing songs is a spill, followed by the clean-up.  You throw down your emotions and then you mop up the mess.  You must love the editing process as much as the inspiration.  It’s the right brain collaborating with its crazy left brain partner.

A song is a writer’s child.  Born intensely if not with pain.  But once they are born they are on their own, whatever their fate.  They don’t have to be famous.

Here are a few of my ballpoint children…

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(I Used To Be A) Brooklyn Dodger

Yesterday somehow slipped by me.
It died like an old forgotten friend.
Didn’t I just turn sixteen in May?
Now twilight’s just around the bend.
I threw the dice in all of the alleys.
Come on baby, let ‘em roll.
And boys if you weren’t from Flatbush…
Jack, you didn’t have any soul.

I used to be a Brooklyn Dodger
But I ain’t a hitter any more
You know, I had a reputation…
I loved to hear the home crowd roar.

You know I never had a nickel,
Just my freedom, a girl, and the time.
And now all I have is a memory,
Of a street dodger in his prime.
Now, Haley’s Comets are remembered,
As a flash across the sky,
But if I had my leather jacket,
You know, I’d give it all another try!

I used to be a Brooklyn Dodger
But I ain’t a hitter anymore.
You know I had a reputation…
I loved to hear the home crowd roar.
I used to be a Brooklyn Dodger…
But I don’t live there anymore…

By Dan Beck

 

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Midtown American Main Street Gang

Through nights of irresponsibility
And a lack of self-control,
I feared the friends I ran with,
But I loved to live the role.
Five of us in Levi jeans,
We passed on basketball.
We all live on Presley’s 45’s
And were beckoned to the call

Every night was Halloween
When they picked me up at eight
We raced the moon to madness
Before midnight made our fate
Drinkin’ beer and smokin’ burnt out butts
Till the Camels killed our lungs
And the liquor sent us spinning out
And brought a thickness to our tongues.

Roamin’ in the halls
Rackin’ up the balls
Climbin’ up the walls
Don’t you hear the calls?
The midtown American Main Street Gang

An afternoon’s boredom
Was cured by a quarter and a cue.
Stealin’ things from the counter top
When there was nothin’ else to do.
But Bobby knocked up Sherry,
And we ushered him out one day.
And Dave and Johnny took the buddy system
And went the Army way.
Two stolen cars took Larry,
He got three to five for each
And I came to grips with growing up,
But it’s still too far to reach.
Now the memories old and the story’s told
In all the songs that Presley sang.
Hey, you’re puttin’ me on,
Is the D.A. gone?
Like the midtown American Main Street Gang.

Roamin’ in the halls
Rackin’ up the balls
Climbin’ up the walls
Don’t you hear the calls?
The midtown American main street gang.

By Dan Beck

 

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No Valentines for Vagrants

I’ve been broker than that cheap wrist watch
I pawned off in Ohio
I beat it out of fleabag rooms
Cause of all the doe that I owed.
Your dreams can come to haunt you
When you got no one to care
If you don’t know where you’re going
You never know when you get there.

There’s no valentines for vagrants,
Vagabonds or drifters…
As romantic as the road is said to be.
But if you take the time to travel…
Let me tell you mister…
A woman alone will set you free.

Now my leather shoes and broken suitcase
Have seen the “Show Me” state.
I sold a year of Life and Look,
Through screen doors and rusty gates.
I pushed off on a Pullman train
When my woman ask me to stay,
I left her to face the questions…
My answer was to run away.

There’s no valentines for vagrants,
Vagabonds or drifters…
As romantic as the road is said to be.
But if you take the time to travel…
Let me tell you mister…
A woman alone will set you free.

I spent a winter in Chicago,
With no one there to hold.
You think it’s cool to leave her…
Well, I found out that it’s just cold.
I sent her humble flowers…
She’s a February rose.
And I bought a one-way ticket home,
Cause this rambler finally knows…

There’s no valentines for vagrants,
Vagabonds or drifters…
Romantic as the road is said to be.
You can take the time to travel,
But let me tell you mister…
A woman alone will set you free.
A woman… alone… will set you free.

By Dan Beck

 

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Blue Notes

I got that feeling again…
Sometimes it’s good to be blue.
Just that melancholy sweet sensation…
I’d like to share it with you.

There’s a man I know…
He’s playin’ sax in the back street bars
He’s bringin’ it back to music,
Bringin’ it back to where we are.
And he’s rollin’ those blue notes…
Smokin’ those Old Gold filter kings,
Drinkin’ that sweet red wine,
Flashin’ them big old diamond rings…
And he’s rollin’ those blue notes tonight…
Oh, yes he is…

Sometime the world stops turnin’
It should for all that we know.
I’d like to steal you away tonight,
To where we could take it nice and slow.

There’s a man I know…
He’s playin’ sax in the back street bars.
He’s bringin’ it back to music,
Bringin’ it back to where we are.
And he’s rollin’ those blue notes…
Smokin’ those Old Gold filter kings,
Drinkin’ that sweet red wine,
Flashin’ them big old diamond rings…
And he’s rollin’ those blue notes tonight…

By Dan Beck