Music: Tom Leighton   Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

they move as quick as flowing water
their manners are rough and their spelling’s worse
they laugh too loud, but it doesn’t matter
they’re an unasked blessing and a blessed curse

they throw stones at your window at two in the morning
you say it’s too late and you won’t come down
but they are full of the juice of persistence
they know they can make you come around

and even though you feel delirious
you know you really can’t get serious
not with those young men, that’s who I mean
young men, so young and green
are you shocked and surprised?
are you scandalized?
or are you, admit it, tantalized?

they ask me what it was like in the sixties
did I ever see The Beatles on LSD
one minute they’re making me feel so young
and the next as old as some redwood tree

they’re big on rap and bands like Sonic Youth
sounds just like noise to me if you want the truth
oh God, did I really say that?
I can’t believe I said that
I used to listen to The Fugs, and Hendrix
and Frank Zappa!

save me from those young men
young and strong
young men can dance all night long
are you shocked and surprised?
are you scandalized?
or are you, admit it, tantalized?

oh what would my feminist sisters think
if they knew I consorted with younger fellas
would they suspect me of reverse exploitation
while secretly feeling just a wee bit jealous

I called an older male friend and I cry
I say I’ve fallen for this wonderful guy
but he’s just twenty-three and it’s such a drag
the friend answers dryly, “Don’t brag!”

older men with young women never had a problem
it’s this other way ’round that’s all so new
I find myself doing pathetic arithmetic
when I’m forty-nine, he’ll be thirty-two
and when he’s forty-nine, I’ll be—oh God, forget it
I’ll be ancient and grey, I’ll be out in the cold
’cause he can get wrinkles and he’ll be distinguished
but when I get wrinkles, I’ll just be old

but still and all perhaps I shouldn’t complain
could be I’ll never taste such sweetness again
with those young men
they have no past
young men think love can last
no mistakes to forget
they aren’t jaded yet
young men they’ve got nothing to regret

young men are big on the big questions
why is there a universe?
why are we here?
I guess I too was like that once
but the answers never came clear
so then I switched from why to how
and lately how shares time with when
as in: oh God, how am I going to pay the rent this month?
and somebody tell me
when will I ever get lucky again?

so often these young men think I’m cynical
they can’t believe they’ll ever get that way
but sometimes their dreams rub off on me
if only for a day

nature’s unfair
he can have kids ’til he’s a hundred and one
but with me if I don’t do it now
well, of course it won’t get done

so he’ll leave me some day for a younger woman
he’ll have a family—a girl and two boys
and I’ll be an old friend he can’t quite explain
who drops round to visit with cookies and toys

and I’ll probably have put on some weight
I’ll need glasses for reading
and he’ll be older too, maybe losing a little hair
but when his wife leaves the room he’ll tease me and say
“I’m still younger than you, so there!”

and what will he see when he looks in my eyes?
will he remember his startled delight
decades and centuries and eons ago
when I laid him down so sweet and so slow
and the stars fell around us on that August night

maybe now, now that I know
I’ll find it in my heart to forgive
all those old December guys
who marry sweet May things
pretty young playthings
Picasso, Trudeau
Chaplin and Fred Astaire
’cause mostly it’s men loving younger women
though you could say I’m trying to turn that around
maybe love is just what you can get away with
so maybe love could be whatever we dare

oh young men
that’s who I mean
those young men
but always over eighteen!
oh young men
those young men

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

those clingy black shorts they wear
the tanned and bony knees they bare
the helmets, leather gloves and pumps
the fanny packs upon their rumps
oh I like I like I like—a man on a bike!

even in a navy three-piece suit
with a briefcase on the carrier to boot
a silver clip encircling the shin
to neatly tuck the pant leg in
oh I like I like I like—a man on a bike!
(she likes she likes she likes gentlemen on bikes!)

something ’bout a man on a bicycle
that’s both naughty yet nice-icle
the friendly “Hi”s!
the muscled thighs
I melt just like an icicle
around a man on a bicycle

when it comes to the art of seduction
by now you must have made the deduction
that a fellow in a car doesn’t get very far with me
proving once again that less is more
I say two wheels are much hotter than four
and a five-speed or a ten-speed gives me all the speed I really need
to drive me to ecstasy

what a thrilling non-polluting sight
men pedalling with all their might
crouched like panthers over handlebars
trying not to be run down by cars
oh I like I like I like—a man on a bike!

I just know they must be special guys
I confess they make me fantasize
keep your movie stars for what they’re worth
give me a man who wants to save the earth
oh I like I like I like—a man on a bike!
(she likes she likes she likes gentlemen on bikes!)

something ’bout a man on a bicycle
that’s both naughty yet nice-icle
the friendly “Hi”s!
the muscled thighs
I melt just like an icicle
around a man on a bicycle

Oh I like I really like—a man on a bike!

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond
commissioned by CBC TV’s Midday, with a 2-day deadline

I’m a woman, I lead a woman’s life
I’ve had three kids, I’ve been a dutiful wife
along the way I suffered every female complaint
enough to try the patience of a female saint
now I’m pushing fifty, figured I’ve paid my dues
what’s my reward? It’s the menopause blues

The menopause blues, the menopause blues
hot flashes flashin’ from your hair to your shoes
brittle bones, insomnia and puttin’ on weight
except for the above I guess I’m feelin’ great
you say some women have no trouble, well thanks for the news
the rest of us are stuck with the menopause blues

I went to my doctor, I said is there a cure
she bit her lip and handed me a pink brochure
about the miracle of hormone replacement pills
the modern way to fix those pesky change-of-life ills
but oops! They might cause cancer—and I’m s’pposed to choose?
Good luck with sorting out all your menopause blues

The menopause blues, the menopause blues
hot flashes flashin’ from your hair to your shoes
so where’s the peace and wisdom that old age brings?
I’m feelin’ like a yo yo with these wild mood swings
would Medicare reimburse me for a round-the-world cruise?
I need a little compensation for these menopause blues

They say don’t fret over these changes that are comin’ on
the benefits may well outweigh the pains
they tell us it’s a natural phenomenon
well so are earthquakes and hurricanes—and rattlesnakes!

The menopause blues, the menopause blues
hot flashes flashin’ from your hair to your shoes
at least there’s no more unplanned pregnancy fear
a pity my libido’s also disappeared
comin’ soon to a body near you and you cannot refuse
so we’d better get used to the menopause blues
yes we’d better all get used to the menopause blues

(hey ,is it just me or is it hot in here?)

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

he won’t go to bed for you, but he does for me
she’s never been a sleepy head for you, but she always was for me
they get mad and scream at you, then beam in my direction
so I lead them off like little lambs while you smart at their defection

he won’t say thanks or please for you, but he will for me
she won’t eat her peas for you, but she’ll eat swill for me
now do you wonder why I have such charm and power
to get them doing all the things you can’t
am I some cross between Raffi, and Muammar Qaddafi?
No, it’s simple—you’re the mummy, I’m the aunt

they think my house is prettier
my chesterfield is cozier
my foolish jokes are wittier
my roses they look rosier
my Oreos taste better
and of course my water’s wetter
and the toys you bought that seem to bore them silly
when transplanted over to my house suddenly enchant
am I some cross between Raffi and Muammar Qaddafi?
No it’s simple, you’re the mummy, I’m the aunt

he won’t take a bath for you but he’ll scrub his hide for me
she won’t do her math for you but she’ll divide for me
Still, when disasters happen like a bee sting or a bad dream
and the tears won’t stop for anything not hugs or even ice cream
then a little voice will say
“I want my mummy right away”
because a mother can do special things a mother’s sister can’t
it’s simple—you’re the mum, I’m just the aunt

and though my water may be wetter
only mum can kiss things better
it’s simple—you’re the mum, I’m just the aunt
yes it’s simple—you’re the mum, I’m just the aunt
it’s simple—you’re the mummy, I’m the aunt!

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

something about you I realize
Japanese, Japanese
not your hair or your cheekbones or your blue eyes
none of these, Japanese
but some kind of stillness at the core
a mask that tells a story but hides much more
Japanese

the way you fold our bodies together
origami, origami
light as paper or a feather
floating from me
now we are two white cranes
in an ink-black sky
embracing in silence
as they fly
Japanese

your little house floats in the island mist
self-contained, serene
time opens like a fan with a flick of your wrist
there we are in the painted scene
have we not been here forever
taking tea in the garden green
tea in the garden green

you speak in haiku
when you speak at all
Japanese, Japanese
spare with the words
careful how they fall
Japanese

crimson lily caught
in a porcelain bowl
the tiger of passion
in the net of control

and even though we are only starting
I can see now how will be the parting
smiling and bowing, no tears please
Japanese

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

planes on the runway
jet fighters overhead
planes flying through your dreams
when you’re lying asleep in your bed
and the job means being ready
for a war no one wants to fight
eternal preparation for those sirens in the night
down on the station

so they play it out in war games
the phone rings early dawn
papa says the code word, grabs his gear
and then he’s gone gone gone
and it’s the biggest tease of all now
imagine how it feels
to spend your whole life cocked and ready
but you never get to shoot for real
down on the station

and every year they move you
if you’re lucky every two or three
so you learn to be real adaptable
’cause that’s how a soldier should be
you get good at playing new kid in school
or new wife on the block
you learn not to get too close
you learn when not to talk
down on the station

Operation Nighthawk
mama’s pacing up and down the hall
she says “Go back to bed now, girls
nothing to worry about at all”
and for years of course you believe her
until one night you know the score
all it takes is a little bad timing
a slight miscalculation
a critical malfunction
and someone’s father don’t come home no more
down on the station

and booze was cheap in the mess halls
you can bet it was planned that way
to keep you from thinking too much at night
about what you did all day

so papa stumbles home around midnight
we listen upstairs in fear
he stalks the house like a stranger
mama’s once again in tears
oh god – and now he’s cursing and raging
he thinks no one understands
he feels trapped in this house full of women
where are the sons he’d planned?

because what could you do with daughters
back in 1962
can’t take them hunting
can’t talk about the war and flying
all the glory and the madness
all the tension and the terror
and how it finally gets to you
down on the station

and it’s the biggest tease of all now
imagine how it feels
to spend your whole life cocked and ready
but you never get to shoot for real –

oh papa can’t you see
we’re not the enemy?

but nobody knows who they’re fighting
nobody knows what for
nobody knows who the enemy is any more
down on the station

About This Song
I’m a songwriter who believes in writing – and singing – about what I know. I grew up an air force “brat,” in the fifties and sixties. (Back then we called the air force bases “stations,” hence the title and refrain.) My father and most of his fellow pilots had fought in World War II. Many had started drinking then – who could blame them? – and some just never stopped. The drinking was only censured if it interfered with work. After all, these men were heroes.
Unfortunately, this meant the families bore the brunt of the trauma. No one dared complain of, or admit to, the problem. In those days, with the military’s rigid, closed, feudally hierarchical organization, it would have been considered breaking rank. I think the families of pilots and their crews suffered the most, especially during the Cold War, for reasons the song describes.

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

quand Corinne était jeune she dreamed of love
et toutes les belles affaires that a girl thinks of
but suddenly at sixteen la voilà marieé
and one year later la mère d’un p’tit bébé

mais quelle malchance now it’s all uphill
un autr’ petit garçon and then her husband takes ill
before she’s twenty-three Corinne a perdu son mari
now she’s a poor young widow seule avec ses petits

lundi c’est le lavage, mardi le repassage
chaque jour de la semaine poignée dans l’esclavage
on fait de son mieux, on fait ce qu’on peut
et quand c’est pas assez ben on prie le bon Dieu

un p’tit peu plus tard she meets another man
y’est vieux pis y’est riche and he asks for her hand
she knows she can’t refuse him, faut qu’a pense à ses bébés
besides the old man likes to spoil her, pourquoi pas en profiter?

mais oû est le bonheur, now the money’s disappeared
le travail cà finit pas, a brand new baby every year
her second child is dying, elle se croit perdu
when all of a sudden, voilà l’imprévu…

who is that smiling at the door
à qui ce visage qui hante sa memoire
ribbons of laughter, les dentelles d’amour
it’s a shadow, it’s a dream, ce n’est qu’une histoire

lundi c’est le lavage, mardi le repassage
chaque jour de la semaine poignée dans l’esclavage
on fait de son mieux, on fait ce qu’on peut
et quand c’est pas assez ben on prie le bon Dieu

Corinne’s still knitting mittens à quatre-vingt dix ans
a grey-haired grand’maman to her many p’tits-enfants
où est las jeune fille? the young girl is gone
mais dans son coeur the secrets and the dreams live on

lundi c’est le lavage, mardi le repassage
chaque jour de la semaine poignée dans l’esclavage
on fait de son mieux, on fait ce qu’on peut
et quand c’est pas assez ben on prie le bon Dieu
toujours faut travailler, souvent on veut brailler
mais chaque fois qu’on a la chance bien sur qu’on va danser
mais chaque fois qu’on a la chance bien sur qu’on va danser

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

well he came in to the bar
just as our set was ending
and he didn’t get very far
before he tried to catch my eye

well I’d seen that look before
so when the set was over
I tried to slip out the door
but he was no fool either

and he stood there in my way
saying things about the music
like “I like the way that you play, honey,
you know I play a little bit too.”

Chorus:
“Won’t you let me come up to your room
and we’ll sing and we’ll talk a while
you know I’ve never met a lady quite like you before,
oh won’t you let me come up to your room”
I said, “Sorry, but it’s kind of late
and anyhow, I don’t sleep with strangers anymore.”

oh, he looked about twenty-two
tryin’ to act like thirty
but it was all that he could do
to cover up his surprise

he said, “Listen you’ve got me wrong
I only want conversation, maybe
play you some of my songs
get to know you a little more.

Chorus

No, I don’t sleep with strangers anymore
I’ve had my fill
of one-night stands
in cheap hotels
with dust on the windowsill
and you think it might be worth it
for a moment while you’re touching
oh but after you turn away
then you know it was all for nothing

well then he smiled like a man caught out
confessed that he’d been hoping
he said nothing was gained without a try
and surely I had to agree

that ships passing in the night
could still bring each other comfort
I said, “Maybe, but for me it’s
the harbour light of home that I’m headed for”

“Won’t you let me come up to your room
and we’ll sing and we’ll talk a while
you know I’ve never met a lady quite like you before
oh won’t you let me come up to your room”
I said, “Sorry, but it’s kind of late
and anyhow, I don’t sleep with strangers anymore”

Music & Lyrics: Marie-Lynn Hammond

well it’s sweeping ’cross the nation
but it’s not a dance
it’s sweeping cross the nation
and you don’t stand a chance
with radiation [radiation]
oh yeah radiation [radiation]
you’d better start a demonstration
at your local hydro station *
radiation

well they dump it in the lake
and they dump it in the sea
it gets into the fish
then the fish get into me
it’s radiation [radiation]
ah-ha it’s radiation [radiation]
you’d better start a demonstration
at your local hydro station
radiation

Mulroney** tells me that the levels are safe
but hell, what does that mean?
I woke up this morning
I counted my toes
my God, I had sixteen!

well they give us a choice
as to how we can go
we can either blow up
or we can go real slow
with radiation [radiation]
yeah radiation [radiation]

you’d better start a demonstration
at your local hydro station
start a demonstration
to prevent proliferation
start a demonstration
for to stop the mass mutation
radiation

for you know one head
is better than two

* Electrical power generation plants in Canada are often called hydro stations

** My least favourite Canadian prime minister (1984-93) until Stephen Harper