Globally Green Living

I’ve been hanging out on YouTube so thought I would share some Environmental songs for Saturday. Enjoy First, Big Yellow Taxi by Counting Crows (originally by Joni Mitchell)

Rush, The Trees.
There is unrest in the forest,
There is trouble with the trees,
For the maples want more sunlight
And the oaks ignore their pleas….
So the maples formed a union
And demanded equal rights.
“The oaks are just too greedy;
We will make them give us light.”
Now there’s no more oak oppression,
For they passed a noble law,
And the trees are all kept equal
By hatchet, axe, and saw.

Rush was one of the first concerts I saw. I got kicked out because I kept creeping up to the front and was on my boyfriends shoulders.

One of my favorites, Rain on the Scarecrow by John Mellancamp. Lyrics:

Scarecrow on a wooden cross; blackbird in the barn;
Four-hundred empty acres that used to be my farm.
I grew up like my daddy did, my grandpa cleared this land;
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand.

Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow;
This land fed a nation, this land made me proud;
And, son, I’m just sorry there’s no legacy for you now . . .
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow;
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow.

The crops we grew last summer weren’t enough to pay the loans;
Couldn’t buy the seed to plant this spring and the Farmers Bank foreclosed.
Called my old friend Schepman up to auction off the land;
He said John it’s just my job and I hope you understand.
Hey, calling it your job, ol’ hoss, sure don’t make it right,
But if you want me to I’ll say a prayer for your soul tonight.
And grandma’s on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand;
Sometimes I hear her singing “Take me to the Promised Land.”
When you take away a man’s dignity, he can’t work his fields and cows . . .

There’ll be blood on the scarecrow, blood on the plow;
Blood on the scarecrow, blood on the plow.

Well there’s ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard—
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms.
I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name,
And some nights I feel like dyin’, like that scarecrow in the rain.

Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow;
This land fed a nation, this land made me proud;
And, son, I’m just sorry they’re just memories for you now . . .
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow;
Rain on the scarecrow, blood on the plow.