Tom McCracken

Tom McCracken

 Seattle, Washington, USA
BandFolkAcoustic

I'm not a bandl.

Other Info

Cover band: 
No

Lyrics

The Twelve Mile Road

Written By: Tom McCracken

Mama, oh Mama, she cried
Where's my Daddy, where's my Da?
Hush little one, try not to cry
He'll return to us, by and by.

Fighting wind and snow and bitter cold
They gathered to walk the twelve mile road
Their strength run low, they soldiered on
If no relief was gained, they'd soon be gone.

When a few have it all and most have none
There's no good will come to anyone.

The lands we till are rocky and dry
Our crops are thin, hard as we try
Your rents are high, we canno pay
So we've come to hear what you have to say.

No landlord came to hear their plea
Inspectors had little sympathy
With all hope dashed, away they strode
And now half lay dead on the twelve mile road.

When a few have it all and most have none
There's no good will come to anyone.

Mama, oh Mama, she cried
Where's my Daddy, where's my Da?
Hush little one, try not to cry
He'll return to us, by and by
He'll return to us, if he did not die.

I Don't Think So

Written By: Tom McCracken

Sitting with an old friend drinking beer
Not the first time this week we've been here
Talk is of the weather, sports and such
Nothing, you can see, that matters much
In she walks, takes a stool at the bar
Faded looks of a silent movie star
Friend asks, "Think I should have a go?"
I say, "I . . . no, I don't think so."

Years and years ago I knew her well
It's a story I don't often tell
True lovers we were, and good friends
No reason I could see it should end
I made my plans, yeah, the old fashioned way
Popped the question on Valentine's Day
"Will you marry me when it snows?"
She said, "I . . . no, I don't think so."

Facing uncertainty we try not to repeat
The empty victories, the pointless defeats
Alone, one thread of memory may cut like a knife
All told, they weave the fabric of life.

She smiled when she saw that I was there
Came to join us, I pushed back a chair
Filling in the years was little strain
But laughter rekindled a deep pain
She rose to go, we said our goodbyes
Some regret I could see in her eyes
I said to my friend, "Now you know."
He said, "I . . . no, I don't think so."

Facing uncertainty we try not to repeat
The empty victories, the pointless defeats
Alone, one thread of memory may cut like a knife
All told, they weave the fabric of life.

Signs of Getting Older

Written By: Tom McCracken

When your back pain seems to mystify your whole medical team
You know you're getting older
When your prostate starts to choke off your urinary stream
You know you're getting older
When your feet are still freezing in the middle of the night
Or you grab a cold beer and your fingers turn white
You try to open up your pills but the lid's too tight
You know you're getting older.

There's a new sign shows up every day if you just look around
But you got to make sure they don't come early to put you underground . . .

When your wife has finished shedding all those menopausal tears
You know you're getting older
When you think about a little lovey-dovey but it's been too many years
You know you're getting older
When you get frustrated, try to pull out your hair
But you reach up to do it and there's not enough there
When you puff like a choo-choo as you climb a flight of stairs
You know you're getting older.

There's a new sign shows up every day if you just look around
But you got to make sure they don't come early to put you underground . . .

When you can't find your new bifocals on the top of your head
You know you're getting older
When you stay up to watch the late news but you fall asleep instead
You know you're getting older
When you tell your grandkids about old rock and roll
Say the music they're playing ain't got any soul
When you slam down the phone on the politician's poll
You know you're getting older.

You know, you know, you know
You know you're getting older.

Wounded Welcome Home

Written By: Tom McCracken

It was not always about me
But from her point of view I can see
How it sure could have seemed that way
I would sing and play music at night
Hang with friends ‘til the morning light
Then stumble in and sleep all day.

We have tried to talk about change
Some priorities to re-arrange
Listed steps she wants me to take
I made a vow to give it a go
Real progress is achingly slow
Ingrained habits are hard to break.

Chorus:
I came back in from out on the road
Found her sitting there all alone
It was a sad and defeated
Not to be repeated
Wounded welcome home.

Extra space could be a luxury
That I’m not sure will benefit me
Kind of looks like that’s what it’s about
She said, “I know that it’ll be rough
But I’m coming to get my stuff”
A whisper, laden with doubt.

Repeat chorus twice

Wounded welcome home
Wounded welcome home.

9/8/11
Copyright 2011 Tom McCracken

This New Paradigm

Written By: Tom McCracken

“With so many of your assets not too prime
You need a whole new investment paradigm.”
That’s what my broker told me, straight to my face.
I said, “You got some ideas, I’ve got some time
But, where do I find me a pair of dimes?”
He said, “Deal with it, you’ve got to start over from someplace.”

I still live in my house, worth half of what it was
My banker tells me, “Son, well, that’s because
Some guys in New York sliced and diced up your mortgage.
They sold the principal in London, interest in Beijing
You’re good ‘til they see how to foreclose the damn thing.”
It’s not hard to see why there’s widespread moral outrage.

When government and banking are over half of GDP
You wonder what’s left of the good old Land of the Free
I say to myself, “What’s the lesson in this for me?”
It’s better to be the screwor, than the screwee.

I had good paying work and my wife was employed
And when we lost both jobs we were pretty annoyed
That diligent searching failed to turn up a replacement
So now I’m flipping burgers, she teaches part time
And we’re starting to see that this new paradigm
Comes with a whole lot of stress and living in the basement.

So we sent a bunch of folks off to Washington
And hoped they’d have the stones to rein it in some
Turns out that they’re all beholden to super PACs
When the corporates, the bankers and the Congressmen
Are all in bed together it’s no wonder, then,
It’s taken some time to get the train back on the tracks.

When government and banking are over half of GDP
You wonder what’s left of the good old Land of the Free
It all has me singing, “Ooo wee, ooo ooo wee!”
It’s best to be the screwor, not the screwee.

1/20/12
Copyright 2012 Tom McCracken

The Twelve Mile Road

Written By: Tom McCracken

Mama, oh Mama, she cried
Where’s my Daddy, where’s my Da?
Hush little one, try not to cry
He’ll return to us, by and by.

Fighting wind and snow and bitter cold
They gathered to walk the twelve mile road
Their strength run low, they soldiered on
If no relief was gained, they’d soon be gone.

When a few have it all and most have none
There’s no good will come to anyone.

The lands we till are rocky and dry
Our crops are thin, hard as we try
Your rents are high, we cannot pay
So we’ve come to hear what you have to say.

No landlord came to hear their plea
Inspectors had no sympathy
With all hope dashed, away they strode
And now half lay dead on the twelve mile road.

When a few have it all and most have none
There’s no good will come to anyone.

Mama, oh Mama, she cried
Where’s my Daddy, where’s my Da?
Hush little one, try not to cry
He’ll return to us, by and by
He’ll return to us, if he did not die.

4/3/11
Copyright 2011 Tom McCracken

This New Paradigm

Written By: Tom McCracken

“With so many of your assets not too prime
You need a whole new investment paradigm.”
That’s what my broker told me, straight to my face.
I said, “You got some ideas, I’ve got some time
But, where do I find me a pair of dimes?”
He said, “Deal with it, you’ve got to start over from someplace.”

I still live in my house, worth half of what it was
My banker tells me, “Son, well, that’s because
Some guys in New York sliced and diced up your mortgage.
They sold the principal in London, interest in Beijing
You’re good ‘til they see how to foreclose the damn thing.”
It’s not hard to see why there’s widespread moral outrage.

Chorus:
When government and banking are over half of GDP
You wonder what’s left of the good old Land of the Free
I say to myself, “What’s the lesson in this for me?”
It’s better to be the screwor, than the screwee.

I had good paying work and my wife was employed
And when we lost both jobs we were pretty annoyed
That diligent searching failed to turn up a replacement
So now I’m flipping burgers, she teaches part time
And we’re starting to see that this new paradigm
Comes with a whole lot of stress and living in the basement.

So we sent a bunch of folks off to Washington
And hoped they’d have the stones to rein it in some
Turns out that they’re all beholden to super PACs
When the corporates, the bankers and the Congressmen
Are all in bed together it’s no wonder, then,
It’s taken some time to get the train back on the tracks.

Repeat chorus.

It all has me singing, “Ooo wee, ooo ooo wee!”
It’s best to be the screwor, not the screwee.

1/20/12
Copyright 2012 Tom McCracken