Victor Harrison

© Copyright 1973, 2022 Victor Harrison and Peter Lloyd

Four little fishies in a red, hot bowl
Two got rhythm and two got soul
When along come a tomcat with bright, white teeth 
Long, sharp claws slippin’ outa they sheath
And he say, “Let me teach you fish how to dance!” Gulp!

Three little fishies in a red, hot bowl
Two got rhythm and one got soul
When up jump the tomcat in one fell swoop 
Takes another helping of that gold fish soup Gulp!
And all of a sudden the soul fishy cries

“Oh I-yi think it's cri-yime! We’re still in our pri-yime
Let’s rock this little pond, roll this little bowl 
Shake the lake while we’ve still got ti-yime”

Two little fishies in a red, hot bowl
One got rhythm and the other got soul
When whoop go the tomcat as quick as a wink 
Scoop some more sole food right outa the drink Gulp!
And all of a sudden the rhythm fish cries

“Oh I-yi think it's cri-yime! We’re still in our pri-yime
Let’s rock this little pond, roll this little bowl 
Shake the lake while we’ve still got ti-yime”

No more fishies in that red, hot bowl
Just one cat left with his tummy full
He’s sufflin’ about just as happy as can be
Singin’ “I got four fish dancin’ rock ‘n’ roll inside of me 

Be bop a shoo be do wha. I do like fish!”

I'm Not From Around Here

Ahdoolak Fish Shuffle

Words and music © Copyright 1995, 2015 Victor Harrison and Peter Lloyd

Can you hear the bankers holler, “You’re leveraged to the hilt.”
You’ve bet bottom dollar just to get your business built
There’s little satisfaction and you’re under lots of stress
You toss and turn and wonder, how’d I get into this mess?

You got the cash-flow blues
You got the cash-flow blues
No remedy’s been found 
That can turn that flow around
You got the  cash-flow blues

Your accountant tells you gently, you can’t service all your debt
Your operation’s suffering, your boys are upset
Your hair’s gone gray from worry, your body’s lying limp 
You used to be so macho, but you’re feeling like a wimp

You got the cash-flow blues
You got the cash-flow blues
No remedy’s been found 
That can lift you off the ground
Boy, you got the  cash-flow blues

The IRS is after you for always paying late
Your bills are piling higher than the bridge called Golden Gate
Your wife’s about to leave you, cuz you’re never ever home
Your kids can never talk to you, you’re always on the phone

You got the cash-flow blues
You got the cash-flow blues
No remedy’s been found 
That can turn that flow around
You got the  cash-flow blues

Can you hear the bankers holler, “You’re leveraged to the hilt.”
You’ve bet bottom dollar just to get your business built
There’s little satisfaction and you’re under lots of stress
You toss and turn and wonder, how’d I get into this mess?

You got the cash-flow blues
You got the cash-flow blues
No remedy’s been found 
That can turn that flow around
You got the  cash-flow blues

Cash Flow Blues

There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who search for gold 
The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold 
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see 
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee

Now Sam McGee hailed from Tennessee, where he left his sweet Marie 
Why he’d quit his home and his love to roam ‘round the Pole bewilders me 
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him under its spell 
Though he’d often say in his down-home way that he’d sooner burn in hell

On a Christmas Day as we mushed our way across the Dawson trail 
The wind so cold, through our parka folds stabbed like a driven nail 
If our eyes we’d close, then our lashes froze till I swear we could not see 
No, it weren’t much fun, but the only one to whine was Sam McGee

And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our bags beneath the snow 
The dogs were fed, and overhead the stars danced heel and toe 
Sam turned to me and, “Cap,” says he, “I will die this trip, I guess 
“And if I do, I’m asking you, don’t refuse my last request.”

Well, he seemed so low, I could not say no, then he soft began moan 
“It’s the cursed cold, and it’s got right hold, and I’m chilled clean to the bone 
“Though I’m still not , it’s my awful dread of an icy grave that pains 
“So please do swear that, foul or fair, you’ll cremate my last remains.”

Now a pal’s last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail 
Then we carried on at the streak of dawn, but he looked so ghastly pale 
He drove his sleigh and raved all day of Marie in Tennessee 
And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee

There was not a breath in that land of death, as my burden I conveyed 
A corpse turned blue that I could not lose, for the promise that I made 
The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore not to give in 
And I’d often sing to the frozen thing, as it mocked me with its grin

Then I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a grounded ship I did see 
It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the Sweet Marie 
Well, I looked at it, and th[F6]ought a bit, and looked back at my chum 
Then “Here,” said I, with a grateful sigh, “is your crematoreum.”

Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire 
Some coal I found that was lyin’ ‘round, and I heaped the fuel up higher 
The flames just soared and the furnace roared, such a blaze you seldom see 
So I dug a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee

Then I took a hike, for I did not like to hear him sizzle so 
As the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow 
It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, I don’t know why 
And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking ‘cross the sky

I do not know how long in snow I wrestled grisly fear 
But the stars came out and they danced about till again I ventured near 
I was sick with dread, but I bravely said, “I’ll just take a peep inside 
“I guess he’s cooked, and it’s time I looked.” So the door I opened wide

There sat McGee, looking right at me in the heart of the furnace roar 
And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said, “Please close that door! 
“It’s fine in here, but I greatly fear you’ll admit the freezin’ storm. 
“Since I left Marie, down in Tennessee, it’s the first time I’ve been warm.”

There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who search for gold 
The Arctic trails have their secret tales that would make your blood run cold 
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, but the queerest they ever did see   
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge I cremated Sam McGee

Words adapted from Robert Service, music by Peter Lloyd 
© Copyright 2016, 2025 Robert Service and Peter Lloyd
Music by Suno.com AI

The Cremation of Sam McGee

Songwriter since 1966. Can't believe I still have to write protest songs. Prefer writing love songs and songs of praise for stand-up women and men, parodies, lyrical nonsense, blues and adaptations.