Do you remember? Wedding Song (There Is Love) He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts Rest assured this troubadour is acting on his part The union of your spirits here has caused him to remain For whenever two or more of you are gathered in his name There is love There is love Well a man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home They shall travel on to where the two shall be as one As it was in the beginning, is now until the end Woman draws her life from man and gives it back again And there's love There is love Well then what's to be reason for becoming man and wife Is it love that brings you here, or love that gives you life For if loving is the answer, then who's the giving for? Do you believe in something that you've never seen before? Oh, there's love There is love ________________________________

TRAVELLING BILLBOARDS Here's a frightening concept I'd like to share with you. According to an AP newswire I read several days ago, apparently BILLBOARDS and taxi cab placards aren't obnoxious enough. Several California-based advertising companies (it figures) are going to pay drivers to "wrap" their personal vehicles with gaudy advertisements which will be blatantly visible to the public when driving to work, picking the kids up from school, shopping---you name it. Evidently, some companies will pay $300 to $400 per month for the service. Imagine pulling up to a long traffic light and being surrounded by paper wrapped Whoppers, Depend diapers, and AOL advertisements... And you thought bi-weekly CD mailings were bad? I think we should stay with bumper stickers.

Do you remember? The Battle Of New Orleans Johnny Horton Words and Music by Jimmy Driftwood In 1814 we took a little trip Along with Colonel Jackson down the mighty Mississip We took a little bacon and we took a little beans And we caught the bloody British in the town of New Orleans We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin' There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago We fired once more and they began to runnin' On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico We looked down the river and we seed the British come And there must have been a hundred of 'em beatin' on the drum They stepped so high and they made their bugles ring We stood behind our cotton bales and didn't say a thing We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin' There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago We fired once more and they began to runnin' On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico Old Hickory said we could take 'em by surprise If we didn't fire our muskets till we looked 'em in the eyes We held our fire till we seed their faces well Then we opened up our squirrel guns and gave 'em ..Well....we... .fired our guns and the British kept a'comin' There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago We fired once more and they began to runnin' On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico Yeah they ran through the briars and they ran through the brambles And they ran through the bushes where a rabbit couldn't go They ran so fast that the hounds couldn't catch 'em On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico We fired our cannon till the barrel melted down So we grabbed an alligator and we fought another round We filled his head with cannonballs 'n' powdered his behind And when we touched the powder off, the gator lost his mind We fired our guns and the British kept a'comin' There wasn't nigh as many as there was a while ago We fired once more and they began to runnin' On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico Yeah they ran through the briars and they ran through the brambles And they ran through the bushes where a rabbit couldn't go They ran so fast that the hounds couldn't catch 'em On down the Mississippi to the Gulf of Mexico SPOKEN TAG Hut, hut, three, four Sound off, three, four Hut, hut, three, four Sound off, three, four Hut, hut, three, four

AT THE MIDDLE PASSAGE By Walter Mills Gray Smoke at Evening The big cannon fired while I was still a ways off and a line of flame leapt from the barrel toward the line of trees. The sound echoed back against itself off of the nearby ridge and the young boys and the men in gray coats put their hands over their ears to keep their eardrums from bursting with the concussion. The big gun fired again and the sulfurous smell of battle floated over the field of grass and lingered in the dampness of evening. At any moment I expected to see a thin blue line of troops moving out of the trees and advancing on the small band of Confederate soldiers, Hampton's Artillery of the Army of Northern Virginia. But the Pennsylvania forest was empty tonight, 135 years after the events I imagined as I walked toward the scout troop and the local Civil War reenactment division on the grounds of the Valley Bow and Gun Club. Capt. Stephen Harter, was showing the boys, who ranged in age from 12 to 17, why it took seven men to handle a cannon of this size, and why the soldiers stood back from the chest high wheels when the cannon fired. With a half pound of blasting powder heavily wrapped in aluminum foil but without a ball, the cannon has no recoil when fired. In actual battle the gun would leap backward 6 to 9 feet, crushing anyone in its path. Even on a quiet 21st century evening in Penns Valley, the destruction and violence of war seemed near at hand. Lt. Edward Beward, something of a scholar in the troop, though all of them study the Civil War, talked about the poor quality of Southern armament, the likelihood of cannons like this one early firing and shooting into their own troops. The Civil War remains real to us mostly because it was fought on our own plot of earth, in places we can drive to on an afternoon excursion. The names of battles are always evocative, none more so than Civil War battles Chancellorsville, Manassas, Antietam, Gettysburg, The Wilderness. We hear their names and they mean this one thing and no other. This was a place where our ancestors gave their lives for the idea of a union, or for a romantic ideal of a mythical region sometimes called Dixie. In a strange and lovely essay in an old book from the early 1920's, the English author J.B. Priestley tells a tale about the origins of Dixie. According to Priestley, at the beginning of the 18th century a slave owner by the name of Dixie moved his household of slaves from Manhattan Island to the South where their lot was much worse. Over time their memories of the pleasant Dixieland to the north were turned into the dream of an ideal kingdom, "where the sun shineth night and day." There was a damp mist hovering over the field mixed with gray smoke from the cannon and the side arms the troop began to fire into the woods. I lifted a heavy Navy Arms .44 caliber pistol, a gun made for Confederate troops from Texas, and fired smoke into the breeze. The boys took their turns, firing blank loads at a distant target, and as I looked at them, boys I knew named Sam and Andrew and Matthew, 13, 14, 15 years old, I thought I could see how boys not much older than these had put on the heavy wool uniforms of Confederate or Union soldiers and gone off to battle. It was a war fought, not by professional soldiers for the most part, but by people like Steve Harter and Ed Beward, plumbers and shoemakers, booksellers and teachers, by farmers who beat their ploughshares into swords, and left their farms for their wives to run forever. We are still fighting a civil war, trying to form a more perfect union, a place where the sun shineth night and day on everyone. When the mist and the smoke from the guns parted momentarily, I thought I saw a movement among the trees, ghosts of our ancestors in a thin blue line - carpenters and plumbers, a minister with a Bible in his coat pocket and schoolboys with bayonets fixed on their rifle tips.

Time One night my stomach was bothering me, so I went to the grocery store to buy a roll of Tums. On my way out, I stopped to say hello to the store manager, a friend. We spoke briefly and I turned to leave as a burly guy came in through the exit door. I didn’t notice, at first, the stocking over his face. I stepped back and said, "Excuse me." He grabbed me, showing the glint of the .45 automatic in his hand, and slammed me up against the wall of the office. "Don’t move," he said as he jammed the pistol into the small of my back. "Don’t move." I heard other voices. I felt someone brush by as he climbed into the office and had the manager open the safe. I heard someone at the exit door say over and over "Time. . .time. . .time. . .time. . ." like the beating of a metronome. The man behind me pushed the pistol into my back every few seconds saying, "Don’t move. . .don’t move. . .don’t move. . ." I stood there with my forehead pressed against the wall, arms dangling at my sides. "What if he fired?" I wondered. If a bullet entered there at my back I would be dead or paralyzed. "Dead," I thought. "dead would be best. Don’t let them take my wedding ring." Time stretched. "Time. . .time. . .time. . . .Don’t move. . .don’t move. . .don’t move." Why wasn’t I more afraid? Why hadn’t I wet my pants? I didn’t know. It was all too surreal. "Time. . .don’t move. . .time. . .don’t move. . . ." How would they explain this to my wife and children if I were to die? How does anyone explain senseless idiocy? Did I survive a year in a war in Vietnam only to have it end in a grocery store a mile from my home? The pistol pushed into my back. The voice told me not to move. "Time. . .don’t move. . .time. . .don’t move. . . ." I wondered if I would feel pain as the bullet tore through my body. "I will go bravely", I thought. "I will not cry." I was so self-absorbed I didn’t even notice that the voices were gone until the store manager told me. "Are you okay?" he asked me. I nodded. And I was okay until I called my wife. "I’m fine," I told her. "I’m alive." My voice cracked. I waited for the police and gave my statement and finally went home. I hugged my family. I searched for a forgotten bottle of bourbon, finally found it, and had a shot. . .and another. I badly needed the roll of Tums I’d bought.

Do you remember? MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS Dean Martin and The Easy Riders written by Terry Gilkyson, Richard Dehr, and Frank Miller (sweet, sweet memories you gave-a me you can't beat the memories you gave-a me) Take one fresh and tender kiss Add one stolen night of bliss One girl, one boy Some grief, some joy Memories are made of this Don't forget a small moonbeam Fold in lightly with a dream Your lips and mine Two sips of wine Memories are made of this Then add the wedding bells One house where lovers dwell Three little kids for the flavor Stir carefully through the days See how the flavor stays These are the dreams you'll savor With His blessings from above Serve it generously with love One man, one wife One love through life Memories are made of this Memories are made of this

Do you remember? (one of many versions) Will The Circle Be Unbroken A.P. Carter I was standing by my window On a cold and cloudy day, When I saw the hearse come rollin' For to take my mother away. Will the circle be unbroken? By and by Lord, by and by, There's a better home a-waitin' In the sky Lord, in the sky. I told the undertaker, "Undertaker, please drive slow, For this lady that you're haulin' Lord, I hate to see her go." Well I followed close behind Tried to hold the family grace, But I could not hide my sorrow When they laid her in the grave. I went back home, my house was lonesome Cause my mother, she was gone All my brothers, sisters, crying What a home, so sad and lone One by one the seats were empty, One by one they went away Now my family, they are parted, Will they meet again someday ...CHORUS...

AT THE MIDDLE PASSAGE By Walter Mills Mabel and Elsie Are Leaving Now that I have gotten to the point in life where I spend a few moments every morning with the obituary section of the newspaper, I have come to realize that we are fast losing a generation of Elsies and Lotties, Minnies and Mabels. These are the women in their 80s and 90s who saw the Great Depression in its entirety, whose fathers were off fighting the First World War while there was still something called the Austro-Hungarian Empire to fight against. They were young women in their 20s and 30s when the Second World War left them alone on the Home Front, listening to radio reports from Europe where their husbands and brothers were fighting the last good war of the century. Their obituaries often have a great similarity - "She was a homemaker who enjoyed quilting and gardening. She had six children, two of whom preceded her in death. She was active in her church and was a member of the Ladies Auxiliary Fire Department and the Ladies Aid Society." They lived in a time when the country was still largely rural, when canning and quilting were both necessities and social activities. Many of them attended one room school houses, and were married in the same country church where their parents had wed and next to which their great grandparents were buried. They did not often move far from the place where they were born. In the small-town newspapers of fifty years ago, their comings and goings were recorded on the social page: "Charles and Sadie Tewksbury report a visit for the month of June from her cousin, Minnie Cooper and her husband Roy Cooper of Elmira, New York along with their four children." Family reunions, church suppers, Red Cross meetings were the everyday entertainments and news events in the times between and after the wars. For the most part these women stayed at home and took care of the house and children, or worked on the family farm. Most of them married for a lifetime, and almost all of them outlived their husbands, and often a child or two. They were accustomed to loss, to hard work and their rewards were usually intangible - a clean home, respectful children, a place in the community. Along with the loss of the Netties and the Irmas we are seeing a decline in the great tradition of sociability, of social and civic activities, that was a defining characteristic of America for its first 150 years. I recently came across an article by Robert Putnam, a Harvard sociologist, called "Bowling Alone: America's Declining Social Capital". By almost any calculation, Putnam says, we are losing our connectedness to each other as well as our sense of civic responsibility. In one whimsical example he discovered that although more people than ever go bowling, bowling leagues are in a drastic decline. Shriners and Lions Clubs, Elks and Jaycees, women's clubs and Red Cross volunteering have all taken nose dives. Alexis de Tocqueville, one of the earliest of American observers, saw us a nation of joiners, forever forming associations. Our habit of civic democracy on a local level was what made our national democracy so successful. As I write this I can glance out the window and see across an open field to the Grange Hall, an old building with peeling white paint. One Thursday evening a month a small group still gathers for Grange meetings, but I cannot imagine that it is not the last remnants of what was only one of many strong and active civic organizations. Putnam's disheartening message is that it is social interconnection that assures a healthy democratic society, and from voting to volunteering at the parent-teacher group, to regular church-going to bowling in leagues, we are no longer a nation of social people. Instead we are small units, wrapped up in our own insularity in front of the television with a video, or plugging ourselves into the disembodied internet. Their names sound strange to our modern ears - Lottie and Minnie and Mabel. The sound of a far different, and some would say, better generation. Funny old ladies with old fashioned names. But will the Grange Hall be empty when they have gone away?

Thanks Janis, I always liked this one. Mary Do you remember? Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport Rolf Harris SPOKEN: There's an old Australian stockman lying, dying. He gets himself up onto one elbow and 'e turns to his mates, who are all gathered around and 'e says: Watch me wallabies feed, mate Watch me wallabies feed, They're a dangerous breed, mate So watch me wallabies feed All together now! CHORUS: Tie me kangaroo down, sport Tie me kangaroo down Tie me kangaroo down, sport Tie me kangaroo down Keep me cockatoo cool, Curl, Keep me cockatoo cool Ah, don't go acting the fool, Curl Just keep me cockatoo cool All together now! (CHORUS) 'n' take me koala back, Jack Take me koala back He lives somewhere out on the track, Mac So take me koala back All together now! (CHORUS) Let me abos go loose, Lew Let me abos go loose They're of no further use, Lew So let me abos go loose All together now! (CHORUS) And mind me platypus duck, Bill Mind me platypus duck Ah, don't let 'im go running amok, Bill Just mind me platypus duck All together now! (CHORUS) Play your didgeridoo, Blue Play your didgeridoo Ah, like, keep playin' 'til I shoot thru, Blue Play your didgeridoo All together now! (CHORUS) Tan me hide when I'm dead, Fred Tan me hide when I'm dead So we tanned his hide when he died, Clyde And that's it hangin' on the shed!! All together now! (CHORUS)

Let me add my thanks too , Turk. The list has been so quiet lately, I sure hope everyone is ok, and just busy. It's good to see my mailbox full of Folklore and less porn spam! Aol has beenrec'ing lots of forwards from this address! Take care everyone and hurry home. Sharon When friends meet, hearts warm...proverb

Thanks. I'm glad other folks enjoy the Do You Remember songs and stories as much as I do. Turk (Janis) Kerniep@aol.com wrote: > Turk, > I have just copied the words you put down for "Davy Crocket". Thanks very > much. When our children were still home, they would hardly miss an episode > of "Davy Crocket". > Allene Petree >

Turk, I have just copied the words you put down for "Davy Crocket". Thanks very much. When our children were still home, they would hardly miss an episode of "Davy Crocket". Allene Petree

1 star hangover * No pain. No real feeling of illness. Your sleep last night was a mere disco nap, which is giving you a whole lot of misplaced energy. Still able to function relatively well. However, you can drink 10 bottles of water and still feel as parched as the Sahara. Even vegetarians are craving a Cheeseburger and chips. 2 star hangover * * No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay but you have the attention span and mental capacity of a stapler. The coffee you chug to try and remain focused is only exacerbating your rumbling gut, which is craving a full English breakfast. Although you have a nice demeanor about the office, you are costing your employer valuable money because all you really can handle is some light filing, followed by aimlessly surfing the net and writing junk e-mails. 3 star hangover * * * Slight headache. Stomach feels crappy. You are definitely a space cadet and so not productive. Anytime a girl walks by you gag because her perfume reminds you of the random gin shots you did with your alcoholic friends after the bouncer kicked you out at 1:45 a.m. Life would be better right now if you were in your bed with a dozen donuts and a litre of coke watching sh*te Breakfast Time TV. You've had 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water, 2 Sausage Rolls and a litre of diet coke yet you haven't peed once. 4 star hangover * * * * You have lost the will to live. Your head is throbbing and you can't speak too quickly or else you might honk. Your boss has already lambasted you for being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of booze. You wore nice clothes, but that can't hide the fact that you either missed an oh-so crucial spot shaving or it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the dodgems, depending on your gender. Your teeth have sweaters, your eyes look like one big vein and your hairstyle makes you look like a reject from the class picture circa 1976. You would give a weeks pay for one of the following - home-time, a duvet and somewhere to be alone, a time-machine so you could go back and NOT have gone out the night before. 5 star hangover * * * * * You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually annoying the employee who sits next to you. Vodka vapour is seeping out of every pore and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth. Your body has lost the ability to generate saliva, so your tongue is suffocating you. You'd cry but that would take the last of the moisture left in your body. Death seems pretty good right now. Your boss doesn't even get mad at you and your co-workers think that your dog just died because you look so pathetic. You should have called-in sick because, let's face it, all you can manage to do is breathe... very gently. 6 star hangover * * * * * * You arrive home and climb into bed. Sleep comes instantly, as you were fighting it all the way home in the taxi. You get about 2 hours sleep and the noises inside your head wake you up. You notice that you bed has been cleared for take off and is flying relentlessly around the room. No matter what you do you know you're going to chuck. You stumble out of bed and now find that your room is in a yacht under full sail. After walking along the skirting boards on alternating walls knocking off all the pictures, you find the toilet. If you are lucky you will remember to lift the lid before you spontaneously explode and wake the whole house up with your impersonation of walrus mating calls. You sit there on the floor in your undies, cuddling the only friend in the world you have left (the toilet), randomly continuing to make the walrus noises, spitting and farting. Help usually comes at this stage, even if it is short lived. Tears stream down your face and your abdomen hurts. Help now turns into abuse and it usually goes back to bed leaving you there in the dark. With your stomach totally empty, your spontaneous eruptions have died back to 15-minute intervals, but your body won't relent. You are convinced that you are starting to turn yourself inside out and swear that you saw your bum come out your mouth on the last occasion. You lie there cold and shivering, with eruptions now occurring at 1 hour intervals. It is now dawn and you pass your disgusted partner getting up for the day as you try to climb into bed. She/he abuses you again for trying to get into bed with lumpy bits of dried vomit in your hair. You reluctantly accept his/her advice and have a shower in exchange for them driving you to work. (as above Hangover 4 Star) you finally feel well enough to eat again on the following day, with the mention of alcohol making your stomach churn. This effect of sight or smell of alcohol making your stomach churn lasts for a week and publicly you vow never to do it again..... Until next time.......

Do you remember? Sealed With A Kiss Brian Hyland in 1962 Gary Lewis and the Playboys and The Toys in 1968 Bobby Vinton in 1972 Written by Gary Geld and Peter Udell 'Tho we gotta say goodbye for the summer Darling I promise you this I'll send you all my love every day in a letter Sealed with a kiss Guess it's gonna be a cold lonely summer But I'll fill the emptiness I'll send you all my love every day in a letter Sealed with a kiss I'll see you in the sunlight I'll hear your voice everywhere I'll run to tenderly hold you But darling you won't be there I don't wanna say goodbye for the summer Knowing the love we'll miss Oh let us make a pledge to meet in September And seal it with a kiss Guess it's gonna be a cold lonely summer But I'll fill the emptiness I'll send you all my love every day in a letter Sealed with a kiss Sealed with a kiss Sealed with a kiss

HANDICAPPED ZONE If there's one thing I hate more than unauthorized cars parking in a HANDICAP zone, it's AUTHORIZED cars parking in a handicap zone when the driver is NOT handicapped. I see this with those hang-em-from-the-mirror blue handicapped cards meant for some other driver of the car. Usually you can tell that when the driver bounds from the car and skips merrily across the parking lot they are certainly NOT handicapped. But I could be wrong. Which reminds me of an incident I witnessed in a Baton Rouge parking lot. Someone had parked a non-handicapped sports car in a handicapped zone near a shopping mall. A van pulled up right next to the space. After a while the side door opened and a wheelchair was tightly wedged between the parked vehicles. A man with no legs then crawled around the van and pulled himself up into the chair, waiting patiently in the hot sun for the driver of the other car to return. After a while a sheepish 30-something businessman approached the car. Some words were exchanged and a crowd began to gather. I wandered up to the scene. The owner of the sports car was now trying to extricate the wheelchair. The van's owner had hopped down from the chair and had crawled to the curb on his hands. A half dozen folks were soon tugging on the wheelchair, which gouged large patches of paint off of BOTH vehicles as it was dragged to freedom. Afterwards, the legless man jotted down the sports car owner's insurance information and license tag number while the crowd looked on and shook their heads disdainfully. I'll bet that sports car driver will NEVER park in a handicapped zone again.

CATS' TONGUES 1/4 cup unsalted butter -- softened 1/3 cup sugar 2 egg whites 1/8 teaspoon vanilla extract 1/3 cup all-purpose flour Pinch of salt Beat butter at medium speed with an electric mixer until fluffy; gradually add sugar, beating well. Add egg whites and vanilla, beating just until blended. Combine flour and salt; gradually add to butter mixture, beating just until blended after each addition. Drop batter by level teaspoonfuls onto lightly greased cookie sheets; pull a knife through batter until each cookie is about 5 inches long (one end will be wider). Bake at 425 degrees F. for 4 to 5 minutes or until edges are lightly browned. Immediately remove from cookie sheets; transfer to wire racks to cool. Yield: 2-1/2 dozen, 2 cookies per serving.

MYSTERY CANS Shortly after moving to a new home, Mom began unpacking the large cardboard shipping boxes marked “KITCHEN”. Two of the boxes contained nothing but canned goods, which had somehow become water damaged between here and there. All of the labels had slipped off the cans. Needless to say, for the next several weeks we had some very strange pot luck dinners.

Do you remember? Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport Rolf Harris SPOKEN: There's an old Australian stockman lying, dying. He gets himself up onto one elbow and 'e turns to his mates, who are all gathered around and 'e says: Watch me wallabies feed, mate Watch me wallabies feed, They're a dangerous breed, mate So watch me wallabies feed All together now! CHORUS: Tie me kangaroo down, sport Tie me kangaroo down Tie me kangaroo down, sport Tie me kangaroo down Keep me cockatoo cool, Curl, Keep me cockatoo cool Ah, don't go acting the fool, Curl Just keep me cockatoo cool All together now! (CHORUS) 'n' take me koala back, Jack Take me koala back He lives somewhere out on the track, Mac So take me koala back All together now! (CHORUS) Let me abos go loose, Lew Let me abos go loose They're of no further use, Lew So let me abos go loose All together now! (CHORUS) And mind me platypus duck, Bill Mind me platypus duck Ah, don't let 'im go running amok, Bill Just mind me platypus duck All together now! (CHORUS) Play your didgeridoo, Blue Play your didgeridoo Ah, like, keep playin' 'til I shoot thru, Blue Play your didgeridoo All together now! (CHORUS) Tan me hide when I'm dead, Fred Tan me hide when I'm dead So we tanned his hide when he died, Clyde And that's it hangin' on the shed!! All together now! (CHORUS)

TURTLE BOY I remember finding a turtle once and painting my name on its back with red fingernail polish. I kept it for a few days, very proud of how the red TIM showed up against the dark green shell. Eventually I took the turtle to a secret neighborhood pond (kids always know where secret ponds are located) and gently released it on the bank. It blinked at me for a few minutes and then swam slowly away, the sun glistening off the fingernail polish until it disappeared below the surface. How foolish it was to have painted my name on the back of a turtle, and how utterly arrogant. But I guess back then and at that age I had not yet discovered that we can never truly own anything, least alone a frightened turtle.

Do you remember? SEE YOU IN SEPTEMBER THE HAPPENINGS I'll be alone each and every night While you're away, don't forget to write Bye-bye, so long, farewell Bye-bye, so long See you in September See you when the summer's through Here we are (bye, baby, goodbye) Saying goodbye at the station (bye, baby, goodbye) Summer vacation (bye, baby bye, baby) Is taking you away (bye, baby, goodbye) Have a good time but remember There is danger in the summer moon above Will I see you in September Or lose you to a summer love (counting the days 'til I'll be with you) (counting the hours and the minutes, too) Bye, baby, goodbye Bye, baby, goodbye Bye, baby, goodbye (bye-bye, so long, farewell) Bye, baby, goodbye (bye-bye, so long) Have a good time but remember There is danger in the summer moon above Will I see you in September Or lose you to a summer love (I'll be alone each and every night) (While you're away, don't forget to write) See you (bye-bye, so long, farewell) In September (bye-bye, so long, farewell) I'm hopin' I'll See you (bye-bye, so long, farewell) In September (bye-bye, so long, farewell) Well, maybe I'll See you (bye-bye, so long, farewell) In September (bye-bye, so long, farewell) _______________________________________