Songs for my father: “Red” Eugene Cline

Yellow Rose for Red

She Plants the little thorny thing
Inside the flower bed
And the thorns will grow a yellow rose
A yellow rose for Red

Her mind looks back and wonders
Through the years and memories
As the sky turns black and thunders
She hums his melody

**The yellow rose of Texas
Still shines for you my love
Though the nights are cold and lonely
It’s you I’m dreaming of

And if you could only hear me, Red
I’d sing this song for you
I’d sing… the yellow rose of Texas
Loves you forever true**

Not long after she met him
He sent a yellow rose
And she knew that if she’d let him
Soon he would propose

So she slipped off to Texas
Her folks she said to see
But just as sure as he’s a Texan
He followed his bride to be

He said you are my yellow rose
The only rose for me
Then he took the lady by the hand
And got down on bended knee

But the thunder crashed and the rain fell
And disturbed her memory
So she walked back in the lonely house
To sing is melody


Well I’m sure glad he chased her
And that they were finally wed
You see, I’m the product of their love
The Cline’s, Melba and Red

She told me once she always knew
He’d be the first to go
So for a little company
She plants a yellow rose

Momma’s Wall

Written for my mother, on the first anniversary of my father’s death.

Written on the 28th anniversary of my father’s death. Amazed as to how I continue to keep him alive in my heart.

A Bum?

A Bum

A bum? I guess so,
It’s true I haven’t a dime
My clothes are dusty and dirty
And I’m lousy ‘bout half the time

But I’ve got a reason stranger
And a pretty good one too
Sit down on this bench right here
And I’ll spin a yarn for you

My story begins in Joplin
Where I was born and raised
My father was a preacher
So you know that I’d been saved

I worked in a bank as a teller
I was a singer in the baptist choir
Why everyone said that my future
Was all that anyone could desire

Then a show came to our city
It was called the Broadway Pips
It had some almost naked women
That could surely shake their hips

Now the one that fills my story
Was a little blued eyed dream
With a body like Milo de Venus
And a face of peaches and cream

She did. Dancing double
With a slick haired guy call Al
And I guess from all that happened
She was more than just his pal

But she said she could learn to love me
If only I had a roll
So blinded by her sly suggestions
I closed my eyes and I stole

I paid over half a million dollars
For just one night of her charms
Then I awoke in a distant city
With nothing but empty arms

Yes she flew the coup with the money
The slick haired guy was gone too
The coppers came and got me
And my brief romance was through

Yes I’m an ex convict stranger
That’s why I’m only a bo
I can’t go to work in the city
For I’m hounded where ever I go

I can’t get a job with a Union
They find out my past overtime
So how’s that for a story stranger
And say, could you slip me a dime!

Give Me Truth

I like the lyrics and poetry in this song. But I would, right? I wrote it.

In a world as complex as ours how can one ever land on a rapidly moving square and say, “This is truth?”. Only those that live in a black and white world can do that. You can ask Galileo how that black and white attitude turned out for him. I am an artist… I am just saying. If I can make you think. I have done my job.