If I Cant Dance

If I Can’t Dance

It’s Not My Revolution

Anne Feeney:

Vocals and guitar throughout

Except as noted below, all songs recorded in 2006 at Wilkin Audio

Produced by

Anne Feeney and Doug Wilkin

Engineer: Doug Wilkin

Mastering: Doug Wilkin

Graphic Design: Randy McSorley

Duplication: Discmakers

1. Emma Goldman (2:26)

Words and Music by Paul Gailiunas and Helen Hill © (SOCAN)

Drums: John Schmidt, Bass: Jeff Mangone, Electric Guitar: Jeff Leonhardt

Lead Guitar: Doug Wilkin, Harmony Vocal: Bill Deasy

She told me that the state is my enemy

The lady on the left saying

“Property is theft.”

They ran her out of town

Just to keep her mouth shut

But J. Edgar Hoover couldn’t move her from my heart

Emma, Emma, Emma Goldman

Emma, Emma Hey!

I heard her screaming ‘bout the

Meaning of the black flag

She said “If I can’t dance – it’s not a revolution!”

A year in the slammer

Couldn’t keep her mouth shut

And J. Edgar Hoover

Couldn ‘t move her from my heart

Emma, Emma, Emma Goldman

Emma, Emma Hey!

She told me that the state is my enemy

The lady on the left saying

“Property is theft.”

They ran her out of town

Just to keep her mouth shut

But J. Edgar Hoover couldn’t move her from my heart

Emma, Emma, Emma Goldman

2. Defenders of Marriage (2:07)

Words and Music by Roy Zimmerman ©

Bass: Mark Perna, Percussion: Ken Burris, Keyboards: Laura Daniels

Every time you think

About same sex marriage

Do you get sick to your guts?

I mean, two people who want

To commit to a stable

Monogamous lifelong relationship

What are they? Nuts?

It’s unnatural!

A man must never lie with a person

Who is a guy

A man must only lie to his wife

The Bible is clear

We’re defenders of marriage,

In three button suits

We’ll raise our double standard

And see who salutes

Defenders of marriage,

Defending the institution

From people who want to get married

Now every time we think

About same sex parents

“Oh, my gosh!” we exclaim

I mean, two people who want to provide

A protective and nurturing

Family environment

Have they no shame? It’s so deviant!

“It’s the Lord’s holy word” –

As my second wife said to my third

That a family’s based on

Obligation and fear

We’re defenders of marriage –

Connubial narcs

Ever vigilant patriotic patriarchs

Defenders of marriage,

Defending the institution

From people who want to get married

So, what do you think?

Are people born gay?

Or do they turn gay

To annoy Dick Cheney and Dick Armey?

We’re an army of Dicks

With a militant stance

Getting the government off our backs

And into our pants

Defenders of marriage,

Defending the institution

From people who want to get married

Have their insurance carried

Be beneficiaried

And be with the ones they love

When they are buried!

3. My Feet Are Tired (4:02)

Words and Music by Bernard Gilbert & Jon Fromer ©

Percussion: Ken Burris, Bass: Mark Perna, Keyboard: Nelson Harrison

My feet are tired, my feet are tired

My feet are tired, but my soul is rested

1955 that’s a lifetime ago

Remember “I like Ike” -

Remember Jim Crow?

On a bus in Montgomery -

A southern town

That black woman started something

When she sat down

Thousands walked to work

In the morning light

Thousands walked home

Through the rain at night

Every day for a week,

Every week for a month

It took more than a year

Before it was done!

If you had been there

You could have heard people say

“I always hoped my kids

Would see a better day,”

Lately I must say I’ve changed my mind

I want to see freedom in my time!

4. Dr. Jazz* (2:57)

Drums: George Federonko, Bass: Scott Young, Guitar & vocal: D.C. Fitzgerald, Violin: Sue Cunningham and Bob Banerjee

Hello Central? Give me Dr. Jazz

He’s got just what I need, I know he has

When the world is wrong

And I’m in the blue

He’s the guy that makes me

Try on my dancing shoes

The more I get, the more I want it seems

I feature Dr. Jazz in all my dreams

When I’m trouble bound and mixed

He’s the guy who gets me fixed

Hello Central! Give me Dr. Jazz

5. Amelia Earhart’s Last Ride* (4:21)

Words and Music by Red River Dave McEnery © 1030 Stasny Music

Drums: George Fedoronko, Bass: Scott Young, Guitars: Bryan Rubican

Pedal Steel: Bob Crafton, Violin: Bob Banerjee, Mandolin: Larry Zierath

Harmony vocal: Jan Boyd

Like a ship out on the ocean, just a speck against the sky

Amelia Earhart flying that sad day

With her partner Captain Noonan on the second of July

Her plane fell in the ocean far away

And it’s a beautiful beautiful field

Far away in a land that is fair

Happy landings to you Amelia Earhart

Farewell, first lady of the air

She radioed position

And reported all was well

Although the fuel

Within her tanks was low

She’d stop on Howland Island

To refuel her monoplane

Then on her trip

Around the world she’d go

Half an hour later, an SOS was heard

The signal weak,

But still her voice was brave

In shark infested waters

Her plane went down that night

In the blue Pacific to a watery grave

Now you have heard the story

Of this awful tragedy

We prayed that she might fly

Home safe again

In years to come though others

Blaze a trail across the skies

We’ll not forget Amelia and her plane.

6. Shell Game** (2:25)

Drums: Michael Organ, Bass: Gary Tallent, Guitars: Danny Torroll, Guitar: Tony Bowles, Recorder: Jim Hoke, Soprano Sax: Bryan Cumming, War Drum: Jack Irwin – Woodwinds arranged by Jim Hoke, Mixed by Jack Irwin and Tim Coats

Was it a shell game, from the masters of the cloak and dagger?

When you saw naked aggression did you forget about recession?

When you watched him kick some ass did you forget the underclass?

Who could spare a moment for the homeless or the poor?

Who cares about the deficit, we won a glorious war

Or was it a shell game, from the masters of the cloak and dagger?

If you thought of education did you lose your concentration?

If you thought of unemployment, did it spoil the game’s enjoyment?

As the burning oil wells lit the sky we hailed the New World Order

Don’t think of all those Kurdish children starved along the border –

Caught in the shell game… from the masters of the cloak and dagger

Must we all avert our eyes and walk in lockstep with this man?

What about the 100,000 that lie buried in the sand?

Let Whitney sing the song out, yellow ribbons sea-to-sea

How could Iraq make reparations? Will there be future confrontations?

Have we brought peace to all these nations? Or just restored some monarchy?

7. Let Their Heads Roll (5:15)

Drums: John Schmidt; Bass: Jeff Mangone; Electric Guitar, Jeff Leonhardt; Harmony Vocal: Jack Erdie

I’ll let ya in on a secret

That every scoundrel knows

Whether he’s perched on a pulpit or

Wrapped in a flag that glows

There ain’t no savior

To break bad behavior

No great judgment day in the sky

I’ve got the answer to corporate cancer

All truth-dodgin’ dancers

In high places without a soul.

‘Cause I took a poll

Let their heads roll.

Down the long scroll

Of all that they stole

Thousands have died

In the scapegoat chair fried

For the pride of the crooks in control

Let their heads roll.

While you were working the schemers

Were jerking your fences down

It’s open season on dreamers

They’re posting the signs year round

Let’s get together

And chew through the tether

That ties us to their savage rules.

We’ve got the visions.

We’ll make the decisions.

And conquer collisions with fools

Trade their abacus beads

For sunflower seeds

Let their heads roll. Let their heads roll.

Into a hole darker than coal

You get your head

Above waters of red

They nail lead to

Your threadbare shoe soles

Let their heads roll.

Alla the guards in the watchtowers

Are now on the Judas clock

All ships with angel wing prows

Slipping mercenaries to dock

Meanwhile your children

Are shielding the buildings

That shelter their very own doom

Dad of the bride

Don’t assist suicide

Save your daughter

From this brutal groom

With her birthright in hock

And her mouth full of sock

Let their heads roll. Let their heads roll.

Don’t look so droll. Use ‘em to bowl.

Why waste your time

Wavin’ street corner signs

If you’re just gonna do what you’re told?

Let their heads roll. Let their heads roll.

This is for swindled indigenous folks

Treatied off their lands

This is for innocent blacks slammed

In cells by the crewcut klan

For those who question

The sneering suggestion

That we’re some superior tribe

Every hemp smoker

In jail for some joker

Who’s drunk at the country club

Bragging ‘bout maximum time

‘Cause he’s so tough on crime.

And this is for all teenage girls who

Met alley abortion deaths

This is for all small town boys

Crucified for their choice of sex

This is for project

And trailer park kids

Who sought hope

In the service and died

And for all union martyrs

Who bled for the charters

That brought us the rights

That the rich fought so hard to deny

And because they still try.

Let their heads roll. Let their heads roll

Down the long scroll

Of all that they stole.

For what’s theirs to protect

Let them risk their own necks

Want a war? Send the rich and their old.

Let their heads roll! Let their heads roll!

8. Too Much Monkey Business* (2:14)

Words and Music Chuck Berry © Isalee Music Publishing Company (BMI)

Add’l lyrics: Anne Feeney and Don Bell

Drums: George Fedoronko, Bass: Scott Young, Guitar: Bryan Rubican,

Piano: Faye Kaufman, Harmonica & supporting vocal: Lucy van Sickle

Hardworking at the mill since 1969

Shut it down - left town -

Now it’s the unemployment line

Slinging greasy burgers kitchen’s

Ninety nine degrees

Scrub the floor! Watch that door!

May I take your order please?

Yonder come a salesman

Thinks he’s got me on the ropes

He says the secret to enlightenment

Is vitamins and soaps

Well I got my education

Had to borrow thirty grand

Now no one wants my resume,

Supply exceeds demand

Got a little sweetie

Thinks I ought to change my name

Dirty clothes, dirty house,

Screaming kids –

Sleazy politician comes

A-trying to get my vote

Fancy shoes, phony smile,

Trying not to rock the boat

Down in Nicaragua with the CIA

Secret guns, secret drugs,

Secret war, secret pay

9. Me Casé con un Heroe** (3:55)

Words and music Anne Feeney © (BMI)

Drums: Larry Atamanuik, Bass: Roy Huskey, Jr, Requinto: Rafael Vasquez, Percussion: Brian Hill, Additional Percussion: Jack Irwin, Supporting Vocal: Karen Taylor-Good – many thanks to Amy de Kanter, Michele Feingold, Victor Ruiz de Valle, Miguel Sague, Rudy Arredondo, Ricardo Levins Morales and especially Aileen Vance for help with this Spanish translation of “I Married a Hero.”

Me casé con un heroe,

Hoy sola tengo que estar

Luchaba por la justícia,

Al poder quería desafiar

La causa es noble, pero lo van a matar

Y el dolor no se alivia

En nuestro triste hogar

Me casé con un héroe,

Estoy viviendo sola

Le llaman rebelde –

Nadie sabe donde está

La última vez que lo ví,

Le di mis pocas pesetas

Y me dejó otra bebita

Quien nunca conocerá

Me casé con un heroe –

Sola voy a vivir

Y tras alambre de puas mi amor

Va a sufrir

Dicen que recibe mis cartas –

No tengo mucho que escribir

Y en esta cama tan vacía es difícil dormir

La injustícia maldigo que nos separó

¿Cometí un delito darle mi corazón?

¿Serán heroes y viudas

Mis hijos también?

Cambiaría lugares con él,

¿pero conmigo quién?

Me casé con un heroe,

Hoy sola tengo que estar

En dos empleos he trabajado

Para nuestros hijos cuidar

Temo que el mismo destino

Para ellos también espera

En un infierno viviré

Cuando él descansará en paz.

10. Who’s the Criminal? (3:35)

Words and Music by Ted Warmbrand

Bass: Jeff Mangone, Guitar: Jeff Leonhardt and Doug Wilkin, Clarinet: Janis Coppola, Percussion: Ken Burris, Accordion: Gerry Borish, Harmony Vocals: Charlie Bernhardt, Doug Wilkin, Jack Erdie, Kathy McIntyre-Seltman, Maddie Seltman, Polly Halfkenny, Kathy Merletti

Tell me who, tell me who,

Who’s the criminal here?

Tell me who, tell me who,

Who’s the criminal here?

If you have to leave your land

But you meet your match

On the burning sand

And someone lends a helping hand

Who’s the criminal here?

Borderman can’t let you through

What’s a poor man gonna do?

Businessman’s got work for you

Who’s the criminal here?

Framing laws or aiming guns

Keeps you down and on the run

How will you feed your little ones?

Who’s the criminal here?

Your skin may be red or brown

Or black and blue

On white man’s ground

When your head is pierced

With a thorny crown

Who’s the criminal here?

I know how fear can leave you blind

To the hopeful heart and the open mind

But to make a crime out of being kind

Who’s the criminal here?

You can shut your eyes and turn away

Shut your mouth, nothing to say

But if someone dies in our desert today

Who’s the criminal here?

¿Dime quién, dime quien – quién es el criminal?

¿Dime quién, dime quién – quién es el criminal?

11. Sheik of Araby/Blues My Naughty Sweetie Gives to Me* (3:52)

Drums: George Federonko; Bass: Scott Young; Violin: Bob Banerjee; Guitar and Vocal: DC Fitzgerald

There are blues that you get from lonely,

There are blues that you get from pain.

There are blues when you’re lonely for your one and only

Those blues that’s so hard to explain

There are blues that you get from waiting,

But the meanest, meanest blues that be,

Are the only blues that’s on my mind, the blues that are the meanest kind,

That’s the blues my naughty sweetie gave to me.

There are blues you get from wimmin when you see ‘em goin’ swimmin’

And you haven’t got a bathing suit yourself.

There are blues that start to flicker when you want a shot of liquor

And someone comes and drinks it off the shelf.

There are blues you get a-waitin’ on the dock, wondering if your little boat is gonna rock,

And there’s blues you keep a-gettin’

In a taxicab a-pettin’

Every time you hear

The meter jump the clock.

There are blues you get from tryin’

When you save a guy from dyin’

And he afterwards forgets you in his will.

But the blues much worse than this is when you’re walkin’ with the missus

And another woman shouts, “Hi Bill!”

But the blues that make me hot and cold

And make me want to shiver

The blues that make me want to

End it all in the river,

Are the blues my naughty sweetie

Gave to me.

I’m the Sheik of Araby,

Your love belongs to me

At night when you’re asleep –

Into your tent I will creep

The stars that shine above

Will light our way to love

You’ll rule this land with me –

I’m the Sheik of Araby.

12. Days of the Theocracy (2:45)

Drums: John Schmidt, Percussion: Ken Burris, Bass: Mark Perna, Keyboard: Laura Daniels, Clarinet: Janis Coppola

First they ban abortion

Birth control is next

Then comes sex when

You’re not married

Finally out goes sex

Put the prayers back in the schools

Install paroch-i-aid

Allow for corporal punishment

And then you’ve got it made

We’re going back, back to the good old days

When men were really men

And women knew their place

We’re going back, back a couple of centuries

And welcome back the days of the theocracy

The next to go is day care

It’s all a commie plot

What could be more fulfilling

Than a child, wanted or not

A woman’s work is housework,

God wanted it that way

A salary degrades us

‘Cause we shouldn’t work for pay

The family is so holy

There must be no divorce

And if a wife is not content she must adjust, of course

And if he’s forced to beat her

It’s all for her own good

She must know what her limits are

As every woman should

They teach us women’s lot is

“Love, honor and obey,”

And though their crusty notions seem like jokes to us today

They’re sitting in our capitals

They’re voting on our lives

If we don’t stop them now

Our freedom will not long survive

No going back back to those lousy days

When men were really owners

And women were their slaves

Let’s move ahead, ahead

For future centuries

And build a world that’s based on true democracy

And build a world that’s based on true equality

Ahhhhhhh-Person!

13. Your Mind Is on Vacation* (2:18)

Drums: George Fedoronko, Bass: Scott Young, Keyboards: Jay Kasper

You’re standing yakkin’ right in my face

I hate to have to put you in your place

If silence was golden, you couldn’t raise a dime

Your mind is on vacation and your mouth is working overtime

You’re quoting figures and naming names

Telling stories about the dames

Always laughing when things ain’t funny

Trying to act like you’re big money

But if nonsense were illegal

You’d live a life of crime

Your mind is on vacation and your mouth is working overtime

Life is short, talk is cheap

Don’t make promises that you can’t keep

If you don’t like this song,

Just grin and bear it

All I can say is “If the shoe fits, wear it”

And if you must keep talking

Won’t you make it rhyme?

Your mind is on vacation

And your mouth is working overtime

14. The Dutchman* (4:15)

Drums: George Fedoronko, Bass: Larry Miller, Guitars: Bryan Rubican,

Supporting vocal: Jan Boyd

The Dutchman’s not the kind of man to keep his thumb jammed in the dam

That holds his dreams in – But that’s a secret only Margaret knows

When Amsterdam is golden in the summer Margaret brings him breakfast

She believes him – He thinks the tulips bloom beneath the snow

He’s mad as he can be, but Margaret only sees that sometimes

Sometimes she sees her unborn children in his eyes

Let us go to the banks of the ocean

Where the walls rise above the Zuiderzee

Long ago I used to be a young man

And dear Margaret remembers that for me.

The Dutchman still wears wooden shoes

His cap and coat are patched with love

That Margaret sewed in

Sometimes he thinks he’s still in Rotterdam

He watches tugboats down canals

And calls out to them when he thinks he knows the Captain

‘Til Margaret comes to take him home again

Through unforgiving streets

That trip him though she holds his arm

Sometimes he thinks that he’s alone and calls her name

The windmills whirl the winter in

She winds his muffler tighter,

They sit in the kitchen

Some tea with whiskey keeps away the dew

He sees her for a moment, calls her name

She makes the bed up humming some old love song

She learned it when the tune was very new

He hums a line or two, they hum together in the night

The Dutchman falls asleep and Margaret blows the candle out.

15. Phil the Fluter’s Jam (2:36) ++

Words and Music by Percy French

Drums: George Fedoronko, Bass: Larry Miller, Uillean pipes: Bruce Foley, Banjo: Don Shean, Scratches: DJ Huggy with special thanks to Ernie Sklavos aka Nes

Have you heard of Phil the Fluter

From the town of Ballymuck?

The times were going hard for him –

In fact, the man was broke

So he sent an invitation

To his neighbors one and all

As to how he’d like their company

One evening at a ball

And when writing he was careful

To suggest to them that

If they found a hat of his

Convenient to the door

The more they put in

Whenever he requested them

The better would be the music

For a-batterin’ the floor

With a toot of the flute,

A twiddle of the fiddle

With a hoppin in the middle

Like a herring on the griddle

Up, down, hands around –

Crossing to the wall

Oh hadn’t we the gaiety

At Phil the Fluter’s ball!

There was Mr Richard Dougherty

Who kept the running dog

There was little crooked Paddy

From the Tiraloughett bog

There was boys from every Barony,

And girls from ev’ry “art”

And the beautiful Miss Bradys,

In a private ass an’ cart,

And along with them came

Bouncing Widow Cafferty,

Little Micky Mulligan was also to the fore,

Rose, Suzanne, and Margaret O’Rafferty,

The flower of Ardmagullion,

And the pride of Pethravore.

First, little Micky Mulligan

Got up to show them how,

And then the Widda’ Cafferty

Steps out