Psst! Did you
hear?
Arlo Guthrie, lefty hatemonger and anti-war activist extraordinaire, has become a (gasp!) Republican.
Doc's List of Great Lefty Hatemongers:
Weathermen — Advocated anarchy, mayhem and violence
SDS — Advocated anarchy, mayhem and violence
SLA — Advocated anarchy, mayhem and violence
Arlo Guthrie — Advocated walking into a military recruitment center, singin' a bar of "Alice's Restaurant", then walking back out
Great hatemongers, all.
But now that Arlo is officially one of the good guys, we'll allow him to preach his virulent, scathing, anti-war screed to the world. God help the ears of any poor recruiting sergeant should someone actually walk in and pull off such a stunt. It sounds a bit cruel to say, but most people don't sing very well.
For another Guthrie tune (and me seriously screwing with your head when it comes to his politics), please...
Pictured: Former lefty hatemonger Arlo Guthrie hanging out with other (probable) lefty hatemongers
(I'm sure glad nobody we know plays any of those angry, hateful songs!)
Please remember that you're subject to propaganda machines from both the Left and the Right. And while it's in both sides' ideological interest to portray events back in the 60's and 70's as having the same us-versus-them flavor that times have today, such is far from the truth. They'll portray someone like Arlo as a 'Lefty' because he wrote an anti-war song or two (really scathing stuff, like the above), conveniently disregarding his songs about romance, heartbreak, motorcycles, life on the road, and the sad, slow disappearance of America's past.
Ridin' on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central, Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors, twenty-five sacks of mail.
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out of Kankakee
And rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin' trains that have no name
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles.
Good morning, America, how are ya
Said, don't you know me, I'm your native son
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Dealin' card games with the old men in the club car
Penny a point, ain't no one keepin' score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
Feel the wheels rumblin' 'neath the floor.
And the sons of Pullman porters and the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel
Mothers with their babes asleep
Rockin' to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel.
Good morning, America, how are ya
Said, don't you know me, I'm your native son
I'm the train they call the City of New Orleans
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.
Nighttime on the City of New Orleans
Changin' cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we'll be there by mornin'
Through the Mississippi darkness rollin' down to the sea.
But all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rail still ain't heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again
The passengers will please refrain
This train's got the disappearin' railroad blues.
Good night, America...
