 A strong chord variation would be to capo the first fret and play "G/A/D/Em/G/A/F#m/Bm/Em/A/D/Em/A/D."
 Bill Everett provides this about the meaning of the word "bracero": "According to Random House, the word entered the written English language in 1915-20 from Spanish, literally meaning one who swings his arms, i.e., a laborer. Its English meaning, according to the dictionary, is a Mexican laborer admitted legally into the U.S. for a short period to perform seasonal, usu. agricultural, labor."
"When I heard the women wailing I looked down the street and saw a crowd gathering. Somebody called that a boy had been hit. John and I grabbed a blanket and ran to the scene. It was little David Anthony Lee, a boy in our pre-school program -- so little. He had lost a great deal of blood and was lying in it -- half on the pavement and half in the dirt. There was a large hole in his head with three or four pieces of skull embedded in it. His cap was in the middle of the street. A large elderly woman (his grandmother) dropped by his side wailing -- almost as a threat -- "So young." A few women collapsed and had to be helped away. And then everythin was quiet, except for occasional sobs. It had been a hit and run murder.
Now there is another little boy who comes to the Center, Timmy Chapel. And Timmy is the one who gave me the incentive to write JUST A HAND TO HOLD. I tried to write a song about David Anthony but I couldn't. But the feeling I have about David is in the song. You see, it is Timmy who always wanted to walk with me and hold my hand and be pushed on the merry-go-round. His is the face that is like a jewel -- and He is the one who has about as much chance to make it in this world as did David Anthony Lee. In some weird way I thought that by writing this song it might help give him a chance David Anthony did not have." - Mark Spoelstra He was, he was a friend of mine He was, he was a friend of mine Now he's dead and gone This morning my be friend Lay still in his bed His face like a jewel And he was dead. He was, he was only six years old He was, he was only six years old So I'd been told He liked to play games Push me on the swings Push me on the merry-go-round Go round and round. Swing me, oh, swing me - swing me all up and down Spin me, oh spin me - spin me around and around Till my feet touch the ground He never was afraid Cause he was brave and bold And the only thing he ever asked for Was a hand to hold. It makes no difference where he's from or where he's bound And it makes less difference if he's lost of been found. He's dead and gone. But there is no power Anywhere in this land Like the voice that used to say Will you hold my hand. There is a voice that rings loud throughout this land There is a boice that speaks for the black and the tan, And for all of man It's young and it's old It's brave and it's bold And it can't be bought or sold -- Just a hand to hold.  Come round by my side and I'll sing you a song,
I'll sing it so softly i'll do no one wrong. On Birmingham Sunday the blood ran like wine, And the choirs kept singing of Freedom. That cold autumn morning no eyes saw the sun, And Addie Mae Collins, her number was one. At an old Baptist church there was no need to run, And the choirs kept singing of Freedom. The clouds they were gray and the autumn winds blew, And Denise McNair brought the number to two. The falcon of death was a creature they knew, And the choirs kept singing of Freedom. The church it was crowded but no one could see, That Cynthia Weslet's dark number was three. Her prayers and her feelings would shame you and me, And the choirs kept singing of Freedom. Young Carol Robertson entered the door, And the number her killers had given was four. She asked for a bleessing by asked for no more, And the choirs kept singing of Freedom. On Birmingham Sunday a noise shook the ground, And people all over the earth turned around. For no one recalls a more cowardly sound, And the choirs kept singing of Freedom. The men in the forest they once asked of me, How many black berries grew in the Blue sea? And I asked them right back with a tear in my eye, How many dark ships in the forest? The Sunday has come and the Sunday has gone, And I can't do much more than to sing you a song. I'll sing it so softly, it'll do no one wrong, And the choirs keep singing of Freedom. | Folk City, USAWelcome to Folk City, USA. This website aims to serve as a comprehensive archive of topical music. This folk material covers, but is certainly not exclusive to, songs of labor and the American people. Please enjoy learning, playing and singing the songs of our land. ArchivesJanuary 2014 CategoriesAll |
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