Tonalité : Bb major•
Verse 1
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During the last year,
my family and me,
we tried to do just that.
We traveled around the world
and sang to people
in about two dozen different countries.
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An d I tried to give them a taste of,
just a hint of,
the different kinds of people
that live in these United States.
And I also tried to sing at least one song
in their language
because, you know, Americans have a kind of a
bad reputation throughout the world
that we don't ever extend ourself
to try and learn their language.
We seem to always expect
that they've got to learn our language.
So I found myself trying to sing,
although I couldn't do it too well,
in Japanese and Indonesian,
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Hindi, Swahili, Yoruba, Hebrew, Italian,
Russian, Polish, Czech.
Now of course I can't really sing those
songs.
I'm not gonna try even here to sing
them.
I'd make a damn fool of myself.
I remember Mahalia Jackson
once told me, she says, Pete
I love to hear people sing their
own songs
because they can sing them so much better
than anybody else.
But there was one country we visited
which spoke a language
a little bit like English and I
I thought I'd try singing one
of their songs.
We were up in Glasgow, Scotland
and I heard a young fellow
named Matt McGinn
sing a song he'd
written himself.
Now I can't pronounce the
words exactly right
but I'll do my best.
It can't be translated into English
you know you lose the poetry
when you try and translate it.
Matt McGinn says this
is a song
about the transport revolution
that has changed Glasgow into
a one -horse tun.
Tun is the way they say town.
Town, down, around.
In Glasgow they say tun, dun, run.
I've heard men complain
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for the jobs that they deign
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while hawking the coal or digging the drain
but whoever they are
there is none that compare
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with a man that's a shoveling
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Gm
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manure ammonia
It's a sweet chorus,
you can help me out on it.
Ah, the streets o 'er the Tyne
were a -covered a -run
With stuff that was beautiful,
golden and brun
It was put there, of course,
by a big Clydesdale horse
And its name was Maneura Maneura
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Manea, we Maneura Manea
I followed its track with a shovel and sack
And as often as no
with a pain in me back
It was all for the rent,
and the beautiful scent.
Oh maniora, maniora.
Maniora mania.
Everybody.
Oui maniora mania.
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Oui maniora mania.
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Oui maniora maniora.
But I'm feeling so sore,
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for me job's been took o 'er
and everything new is mechanical power.
And there's not left for me
but the sweet memory of Manura,
Manura,
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Manura, Manura.
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Once more, with feeling.
We're Maniola, Mania.
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We're Maniola, Mania.
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We're Ma niola, Maniola.
Maniola, Mania.
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Ah
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