Actually, what I usually hear during a desperate moment is the same useless, esoteric sh*t that's floating around in my mind at any other time.
("Pink and orange just don't complement each other.
Seems that the wrath of the gods got a punch on the nose and it's starting to flow, I think I might be...
Will Vettel win the championship this year?
Scotch.
0 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89 144 233 377 610 987 1597 2584 4191 6765 10956 17721")
I have had many a songs get me through climbs. It seems whatever I listened to last, from pantera to massive attack. Regardless I do keep a certain song throughout the climb.
Ha! For some reason when I'm on a route that is run-out or not obvious, Axl Rose is screaming in my ear "Where do we go......where do we go now.......where do we goooo..where do we go now....."
Weigh heigh and up she rises (/Hoo-ray and up she rises)
Weigh heigh and up she rises (/Patent blocks of different sizes)[2]
Weigh heigh and up she rises
Early in the morning
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
What shall we do with a drunken sailor,
Early in the morning?
Put/chuck him in the long boat till he's sober.[7]
Put him in the long-boat and make him bale her.[8]
What shall we do with a drunken soldier?[2]
Put/lock him in the guard room 'til he gets sober.[7][2]
Put him in the scuppers with a hose-pipe on him.(x3)[12]
Pull out the plug and wet him all over[12]
Tie him to the taffrail when she's yardarm under[12]
Heave him by the leg in a runnin' bowline.[12]
Scrape the hair off his chest with a hoop-iron razor.[2]
Give 'im a dose of salt and water.[2]
Stick on his back a mustard plaster.[2]
Keep him there and make 'im bale 'er.[2]
Give 'im a taste of the bosun's rope-end.[2]
What'll we do with a Limejuice skipper?[2]
Soak him in oil till he sprouts a flipper.[2]
What shall we do with the Queen o' Sheba?[2]
What shall we do with the Virgin Mary?[2]
Shave his chin with a rusty razor.[20]
Shave his belly with a rusty razor.[21]
Give 'im a hair of the dog that bit him.[22]
Put him in the bilge and make him drink it.[23]
Put him in bed with the captain's daughter.[24]
So you know I haven't even dreamed of leading yet, but this song rattled along on a loop as I was following Ed and Anders on the approach to the Footstool last Sept. (Damn, it was HOT):
It ain't gonna rain no more, no more,
It ain't gonna rain no more,
How the heck can I wash my neck
If it ain't gonna rain no more?
And on the 10-mile-all-downhill hike that same insanely hot week and during the first and last (all hills) half-marathon I'll ever run:
The Clash - Guns of Brixton
When they kick out your front door
How you gonna come?
With your hands on your head
Or on the trigger of your gun
When the law break in
How you gonna go?
Shot down on the pavement
Or waiting in death row
You can crush us
You can bruise us
But you'll have to answer to
Oh, Guns of Brixton
The money feels good
And your life you like it well
But surely your time will come
As in heaven, as in hell
You see, he feels like Ivan
BORN under the Brixton sun
His game is called survivin'
At the end of the harder they come
You know it means no mercy
They caught him with a gun
No need for the Black Mariah
Goodbye to the Brixton sun
You can crush us
You can bruise us
But you'll have to answer to
Oh-the guns of Brixton
...and so on.
Edit:
Capt, that's one of my favorite songs. V cool.
When I'm stressed on a lead, I almost always sing songs from Ween's Twelve Golden Country Greats to relieve the stress.
mr. richard smoker...you're a poopy poker...chardonay and cocaine in the spa....
i've had that f*#kin song stuck in my head for weeks now. "help me scrape the mucous off my brain" is another one on that album that's great for stress relief.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmA0iXDB1xI]
u can tell urself id's music but it's wars in music and it's a devil's club that u need, my friend, to beat off destrungshinghammerung.
that that led u hear u shoed obey and keep ur own shoes tie-dyed
don't u read this it's fast and dirty and ditty and bulbous like all ur stuff u writhe
wither u know me or nowt ur a lout to scrape off my cronies
read/sing/jack away
Cleft for my knob is the slitty. . .
workin’ in my staff with a slight delay.
But soon it has crossed: inward it is leapin’;
buryin’ belaying pin—drive it in.
Big wield—seed spawn germ in,
prowed Mary keeps on squirmin’.
Polin’, polin’, polin’ till she quivers.
Gleaned was my substrate of spending
pumped into domain round with sluice bore seamed,
lovely, like a maw in which I put my fishy—
my big fish sticks inside of this quimmer-moat, teemed.
Big wield seeps on her in,
prowed Mary keeps on squirmin’.
Polin’, polin’, polin’ till she quivers.
Festooned with down is her quiver.
Yessir, poon is fine when pee pole there lives.
The opening furry, unless wax from honey
bees is put on then ripped off till shagginess gives.
Big squeal ’cause it’s burnin’;
loud Mary gets de-furrin’.
The captain touched his swagger stick
Up to his golden eye
And boogied through the vestibule
While bidding us goodbye
The enemy surrounds us
And our spirits almost gone
The Devil take the cavalry
That sold us for a song
There's Chi-Chi's on the starboard, lads
And Chi-Chi's in the stern
And hashish in the hookah pipes
And bonny grass to burn
Our mission is a secret
But we're fool enough to try
We'll sail the bloody ocean, boys
Or drink the bastard dry
"If I'd've been a carpenter," the swarthy
sergeant said
"I'd never seen this ugly thing
That hangs above my head
The hell with all your heros
And the wounds they hope to show
I'm just a simple soldier, son
With one more year to go"
The Albatross was tiring
And the cook was in a stew
The filthy little cabin boy
Was whizzing in my shoe
The Captain's wife was aging
And the first mate heard her scream
When Tommy slipped tabasco in the
Captain's vaseline
"Our time will soon be gone," he said
"It's all we've left to lose
We've shot our ammunition
And we're all but out of booze
So here's to Irma Donegal
Here's to Nellie Blye
And here's to my old friend," he said
And kissed his ass goodbye
"Give off! give off! You sorry lot.
Give off!," the Captain cried
"we've lost our bloody anchor
And we're driftin' with the tide
The swollen surf is pounding
Like a thousand cannons roar
And I shake the hand of any man
Who guides us into shore."
"We're saved! We're saved!"
The soldiers said
"We're saved!," the sailors cried
And soldiers climbed aboard
While sailors left from either side
Some swabbies hit the minefield and
The rifles got the rest
And somewhere there's a schooner
Sinkin' slowly in the west
by Kris Kristofferson, Bob Neuwirth, Roger McGuinn, Seymour Cassell
When I get into that mode, I'll usually hum classical tunes to calm myself down. Usually Mozart or Handel, but one of the most effective for me is Strauss' Blue Danube. Hey, whatever prevents a meltdown!
That's a good one. I like it. So from now now it will be that on easy cruiser terrain than High Speed Dirt when faced with the hard move. High Speed Dirt is actually about skydiving but I just dig that song when I'm way out there.
Weeeelllll, it smells like poop and it shore looks crappy (*shore looks crappy*)
Poopship Destroyer:
Let me lock in the system at Warp 2
Push it on into systematic overdrive, you know what to do
Let's cruise past all the golden poo
That makes me blue
This thing gonna dooodddooooddooo on the...
Poopship, poopship destroyer
On the poopship, poopship destroyer
Let me jam all the frequencies on channel 2
I've been chewin' on this brownie
And I thinks I'm almost through
Let's cruise, the chocolate stew was you know who
I told you to jam the frequency
This sector's chartered by you
Everybody
Poopship, on the poopship destroyer
The poopship, poopship destroyer
Poo, poo, poop
The Blarney Stone:
Get off my ass you wee bitty f*#k
If I pull out the Claymore you're sh#t outta luck
Who's that girl, that pretty young thing
After I f*#k her she'll get up and sing
Aye Aye Aye -- sharpen your boot, and bludgeon your eye
Aye Aye Aye -- the Blarney Stone brings a tear to me eye
Down to the pub for a two shilling ale
The bread on the counter is going stale
If I don't get some fresh bread soon
Gonna punch you in your face and bark at the moon
Aye Aye Aye -- sharpen your boot, and bludgeon your eye
Aye Aye Aye -- the Blarney Stone brings a tear to me eye
Ain't got no girl 'cuz I haven't the time
Got too many other things on me mind
Patty was nice she was pale and cute
But I threw her away like an old piece of fruit
Aye Aye Aye -- sharpen your boot, and bludgeon your eye
Aye Aye Aye -- the Blarney Stone brings a tear to me eye
Got ooze in my pores my feet are all wet
Got mold in my ears but I ain't dead yet
Got stones in me bladder got a crack in me head
When Patty starts cryin' this is what I said
Aye Aye Aye -- sharpen your boot, and bludgeon your eye
Aye Aye Aye -- the Blarney Stone brings a tear to me eye
The Irish Rover, one of my favorite all-time sailor songs...
On the year of Our Lord eighteen hundred and six
We set sail from the port quay of Cork.
We were sailing away with a Cargo of bricks
For the grand City Hall of New York.
We'd a near-leaking craft, it was rigged fore and aft.
And how the trade winds drove her.
She had twenty-three masts and she stood several blasts,
And they called her the Irish Rover.
There was Bobby McGee from the banks of the Leith.
There was Hogan from county Tyrone.
There was John D. McGirk, who was scared stiff of work,
And a chap from Westmeath named Malone.
There was Slugger O'Toole, who was drunk as a rule,
And Fighting Bill Tracy from Dover,
And a man, Mick McCann, from the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover.
We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags,
We had two million barrels of pone.
We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails,
We had four million barrels of bone.
We had five million hogs,
And six million dogs,
Seven million barrels of porter.
We had eight million sides of poor blind horses' hides
In the hold of the Irish Rover.
We had sailed seven years when the mizzens broke out
And the ship lost her way in the fog.
And that whale of a crew was reduced down to two.
Twas meself and the captain's old dog.
Well, the ship struck a rock, and Lord what a shock!
I nearly tumbled over.
Turned nine times around and the poor old dog was drowned
I'm the last of the Irish Rover
+1 for Ween, good to to know I'm in good company. More than one non-Ween listening belayer has been slightly startled by my apparent request for them to piss up a rope as I contemplate a crux move.
Other favored tunes include whistling Alpha Beta Gaga (Air) or the sung bass part of "Don't eat the yellow snow" (Zappa).
When things get more hairy I'm accused of making Yoda-like noises.
I go with something from Air Supply's Greatest Hits
Or the doors:
"Tell all the people that you see,
you'll be free,
follow me down"
Or "Davey, Davey Crockett, king of the wild frontier"
Or
"Goodnight sweet love, well, it's time to go.
Goodnight sweet love, well, it's time to go.
I hate to leave you but I really must say,
Goodnight sweet love, goodnight"
Or "Ba-ba-ba, ba-bar-baraaaan..."
Or
"In the days of my youth,
I was told what it means to be a man.
Now I've reached that age,
I try to do those things the best I can.
Good times, Bad times, you know I've had my share..."
Or
"Did you ever know that you're my hero
You're everything I would like to be
If I could fly higher than an eagle
You are the wind beneath my wings"
Let us know!