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Mother, Mother, now I'm married
No full textvoiceCollected by
Mary Celestia Parler;
Transcribed by
Neil Byer
Mrs. Jim Crymes
DeVall's Bluff, Ark
July, 1954
Reel 202, Item 2
Willie Weaver
Mother, Mother, now I'm married
And I wish I'd longer tarried,
For my wife she declares
That my britches she will wear.
Oh, my son, what is the matter?
Does she frown or does she flatter?
Or is she moping around?
Tell me quick, my loving son.
Go on home and learn to love her,
Let me hear no more discover,
And if she does revel,
Take a stick and whip her well.
On his road a stranger met him,
Told him something that would fret him,
What do you reckon I spied
As I passed by your doorside?
Saw your wife and Willie Weaver
Going around the house together,
They walked and they talked till they came to the door,
In they went and I saw them no more.
I went on home in a terrible wonder,
Knocked on the door and it roared like thunder,
Who is that, the weaver cried,
That's my husband, you must hide.
Open the door and in he entered,
Up the chimley Willie ventured,
Where have you been so long, my love?
Leaving me poor girl alone?
Reel 202, Item 2, con't.
Hush, oh, hush, you false deceiver,
While I look for Willie Weaver
Put on the pot and do it quick,
Make some gruel, I'm awfully sick.
Built him on a roasting fire,
All on his own desire,
His wife cried out with a free good will,
Stir them coals, the man you'll kill.
Looked up the chimley all amazing,
There sat Willie all a-gazing,
Poor old Bill, the wretched old soul,
Sitting astraddle of a pot-a-rack pole.
Up he retched and down he fetched him,
Like a raccoon dog he shook him,
Sent him with a great surprise,
A bleeding nose and two black eyes.
At the gate his wife she met him,
Over the head with a shovel she beat him,
Where it was black she made it red,
Now poor Bill wished he was dead.Funding for digitization provided by the Arkansas Humanities Council and the Happy Hollow Foundation
Way down in Hogumbottom
No full textvoiceCollected by Mary Celestia Parler
Transcribed by Nathaniel Lucy
Sung by Zula Crymes
De Valls Bluff, Arkansas
July 1, 1954
Reel 202, Item 8
Frankie Lee
Way down in Hogumbottom
I thought I heard a bulldog bark
It was nothing but - - - Albert
A-hiding in the dark
Well he’s my man
But he won’t come home
Frankie Lee was a good girl
As everybody knows
Albert Lee was a rounder
But he sure did wear good clothes
He’s my man
But he won’t come home
Frankie went down to the depot
To meet the morning train
She payed one hundred dollars
For Albert a watch and chain
Well he’s my man
But he won’t come home
Frankie went out a walking
She did not go for fun
All under her apron pocket
She carried a forty-one
Gunna kill her man
Cause he’s doing her wrong
Frankie went down to the barroom
She purchased one glass of beer
She whispered low to the bartender
“Is Albert Lee not here?
Well-a he’s my man
But he won’t come home
The bartender said “Frankie
- - - as you’re leaving here
Albert Lee’s in the backroom
And women a-buying him beerHe’s your man
He’s not treating you right”
Frankie slipped up on Albert
And Albert started to run
She said “Come back here to the girl you love
I’ll shoot you with your own gun”
Well-a he’s my man
But I’ve got him now
Frankie shot poor Albert
She shot him through the head
The very next shot she took at him
Albert fell over dead
I’m your man
You’ve got me down
Frankie shot poor Albert
She did not shoot him but twice
Don’t shoot me anymore Frankie
For you’ve done and took my life
I’m your man
But you’ve got me now
Come turn me over Frankie
Come turn me over slow
But do not touch my bleeding side
For my heart may overflow
I’m your man
But you’ve got me now
Frankie was arrested next morning
At a half a past three
All in a silver seated baggage
Drunk as she could be
All of her man
Cause he couldn’t come home
A rubber tired buggy
And a rubber tired hack
Carried little Albert to the cemetery
But it never will bring him back
Well he’s my man
But he won’t come home
Frankie went to the graveyard
She fell down on her kneesOh speak to me poor Albert
To give my heart some ease
Oh you’re my man
But you won’t come home
Frankie’s sister came up and said
“Frankie why do you weep so
If it had been my man
I’d killed him long ago
He’s your man
But he won’t come home
Some gave Frankie a nickel
Some gave Frankie a dime
I gave Frankie a five dollar bill
Cause she used to be a girl of mine
She’s my girl
But she won’t come homeFunding for digitization provided by the Arkansas Humanities Council and the Happy Hollow Foundation
Come, listen to my story I'm now a-going to tell,
No full textvoiceCollected by
Mary Celestia Parler;
Transcribed by
Neil Byer
Mrs. Jim Crymes
DeVall's Bluff, Ark.
July, 1954
Reel 202, Item 1
The Galveston Flood
Come, listen to my story I'm now a-going to tell,
It's of a noted city you all remember well,
'Twas on a southern island where the tide and waves
rolled high,
A fine commercial seaport with beautiful sunny skies.
On the eighth day of September, one awful stormy night,
A storm swept o'er the country with a dreadful power
and might,
It blew the waves all over the city everywhere,
And many a people sink nevermore to appear.
The tide came o'er the island and hit it from our side,
And man a father and mother were drownded t he night
And buried in the ocean beneath the briny deep,
Remained until the angels awaked them from their sleep.
The storm was waging dreadful, the waves were dashing
high,
And many of the people thought they surely must die,
But they couldn't leave the island, for there was no
retreat,
The flood was raging angry, and water in every street.
The storm was drifting northward, and struck a southern
coast
And spread death and destruction on every street and
coast,
It shook the very island on which the city stood,
Reaching from coast to country with a dreadful raging
flood.
Some places in the city the people all were drowned,
And not a trace of some of them evermore be found,
Until the great archangel comes from the other shore
And says in thundering trumpet that time shall come no
more.
Reel 202, Item 1, con't.
It fills my heart with sadness while thinking of that
time,
While many a thousand of people in a fine southern
clime,
Were swept from earth forever and buried in the deep,
And some poor child and mother are left on earth to
weep.
And so for poor Galveston, the storm that laid her low
And many of her people this place will ne'er more know
They've gone from earth forever, their graves are in
the deep,
Where thousands of her people in the ocean waters
sleep.
This fine commercial city, the pride of a great state,
Will evermore remember its sad and awful fate,
When rolling waves were dashing and houses falling
down,
The city (cries?) of many a people were heard throughout
the town.
The story now is finished, I've told you all I know
About the storm of Galveston, where the dreadful winds
did blow,
The dashing of water with the awful overflow
And drowned so many people in the Gulf of Mexico.Funding for digitization provided by the Arkansas Humanities Council and the Happy Hollow Foundation
And it's GLORY to know We're SAVED,
No full textvoiceCollected by
Mary Celestia Parler;
Transcribed by
Neil Byer
Mrs. Jim Crymes
DeVall's Bluff, Ark
July, 1954
Reel 202, Item 5
Some Folks
Some folks jump up and down all night
At a D A N C E,
And on their face is great big spots
Of a P A I N T.
And then they go to church to show
Their brand new H A T,
And laugh at us because we say
We're S A V E D.
Chorus: And it's G L O R Y to know
We're S A V E D,
It's H A P P Y to tell
We're F R double E;
Once F O U N D
In the chains of S I N,
It's V I C T O R Y
To know I'm Christ within.
I once knew a man
His name was B R O W N,
He prayed for prohibition
And voted R U M.
He helped to put the poison
In his neighbor's C U P,
And then he had the brass to say
He was S A V E D.
Some folks drinks lots of R U M
Till their nose is R E D,
And stagger home in the morning
To their W I F E.
(Chorus)Funding for digitization provided by the Arkansas Humanities Council and the Happy Hollow Foundation
Hard, hard, but true,
No full textvoiceCollected by
Mary Celestia Parler;
Transcribed by
Neil Byer
Mrs. Jim Crymes
DeVall's Bluff, Ark.
July, 1954
Reel 202, Item 3
Hard, Hard, But True
Some of these mornings bright and early,
You're going to call my name,
And I'll be gone with some other woman
On that morning train.
Chorus: Hard, hard, but true,
Hard, hard, but true,
Hard, hard in this wide world
To love one who don't love you.
Hand me down my telescope
And the rest of my broadcloth clothes,
And if anyone should come and inquire of me,
Just tell them I just stepped out of doors.
Nine big coaches and and engine,
Running down the line,
Send a telegram just ahead
To bring back that babe of mine.
Rocks in the mountains may divide us,
Many a miles apart,
Some other man may have your company,
But, babe, I will have your heart.
When I am dead and in my coffin,
My friends all standing round,
Someone have a little sympathy,
Let a teardrop fall on the ground.
One more question I have to ask you,
I can hardly see
Why you'll take another man on your knee
And tell him what you won't tell me.
(Chorus)Funding for digitization provided by the Arkansas Humanities Council and the Happy Hollow Foundation
Biographical detail
No full textCollected by Mrs. Jim Crymes
Mary Celestia Parler; DeVall's Bluff, Ark.
Transcribed by July, 1954
Neil Byer
Reel 202, Item 7
Biographical Detail
MCP: Have you always lived around here?
Mrs. C: Well, around Hazen, Lonoke, and Pine Bluff.
MCP: What was your name before you were married?
Mrs. C: Williams, Zula Williams.
MCP: Do you mind telling me how old you are?
Mrs. C: Forty-seven.
MCP: How many children have you got?
Mrs. C: I have ten living and three dead.
MCP: This ballet book you're singing out of , you say it belong
to...
Mrs. C: My uncle, Dalton Williams, from Des Arc...
MCP: Where did your folks come from...?
Mrs. C: Mississippi and Tennessee....My mother's came from
Mississippi and my father's from Tennessee.Funding for digitization provided by the Arkansas Humanities Council and the Happy Hollow Foundation
As I was a-walking down the street
No full textvoiceCollected by
Mary Celestia Parler;
Transcribed by
Neil Byer
Mrs. Jim Crymes
DeVall's Bluff, Ark.
July, 1954
Reel 202, Item 4
Betsy Brown
As I was a-walking down the street
A pretty girl I chanced to meet,
She was dressed so sweet and looked so neat
I could not pass her by.
Said I, Kind Miss, I cannot pass you by,
You've go my heart, now take my hand,
Or I will surely die.
She took my hand and away we walked,
Side by side we chattered and talked,
We came to the house and in we walked,
She would not let me go.
Prettiest little girl in all the town,
Her father was a butcher and his name was Brown,
You bet, boys, she was a good old soul,
But she's the girl for me.
I got an introduction to her pa and her ma,
Her brother and her sister fine,
You bet they're all pretty, but nothing to compare
With the pretty little girl of mine.
Coal black and sparkling eyes,
Teeth as white as pearls,
Oh, she's a darling, you bet she is,
She's one of those girls.
Her old daddy is a fine old man,
The best old man in town,
He's gonna give me a house and a lot
To belong to Betsy Brown.
Going to get married next Friday night,
Asked her dad, and he said, All right,
I felt so good I wanted to get drunk,
But I knew that would not do.Funding for digitization provided by the Arkansas Humanities Council and the Happy Hollow Foundation
Brinkley storm
No full textvoiceCollected by
Mary Celestia Parler;
Transcribed by
Neil Byer
Mrs. Jim Crymes
DeVall's Bluff,
July, 1954
Reel 202, Item 6
The Brinkley Storm
It was one evening in March
When the storm struck Brinkley town,
It seemed like God in heaven
Looked down on Brinkley and frowned.
It was a mighty time that evening,
That evening it was a mighty time,
It was a mighty time that evening
When the storm struck Brinkley town.
The town was all in a motion,
The clouds looked dark and blue,
We could hear the people crying,
Oh, God, what shall we do?
The people started to running,
Trying to make their escape,
But the dashing o'ertook them,
Their running was too late.
The storm it passed England,
Destroyed some houses there,
It passed the church Macedonia
And blew it away in the air.
The people that lived in Tomlin (?)
Can witness the scene,
While the power of God was hasting by
They hid in their storm den.
There were two people found,
A woman and a child, I'm told,
The woman was dead and the child unharmed,
Oh, God, what pity in that storm.Funding for digitization provided by the Arkansas Humanities Council and the Happy Hollow Foundation
Going Beyond Counting First Authors in Author Co-citation Analysis
Get PDFThe present study examines one of the fundamental aspects of author co-citation analysis (ACA) - the way co-citation
counts are defined. Co-citation counting provides the data on which all subsequent statistical analyses and mappings
are based, and we compare ACA results based on two different types of co-citation counting - the traditional type that
only counts the first one among a cited work's authors on the one hand and a non-traditional type that takes into
account the first 5 authors of a cited work on the other hand. Results indicate that the picture produced through this non-traditional author co-citation counting contains more coherent author groups and is therefore considerably clearer. However, this picture represents fewer specialties in the research field being studied than that produced through the traditional first-author co-citation counting when the same number of top-ranked authors is selected and analyzed. Reasons for these effects are discussed
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