Advanced syncopation, mastering So/Mi (M6),
and a raised/sharped supertonic (2, Ri).
Description |
|
- Grade: Fifth
- Origin: Bahama Island, Nassau Folk Song
- Key: G Major
- Time: 4/4
- Form: AB - verse/chorus
- Rhythm: advanced: | ti ta ti ta ta | syncopation,
| ta/a (ta) ta |
ta/ ta ti ta | syncopation, |
| ta/a ti ta/ | syncopation, | ta/a ti ti ta | ta/a/a/a |
| ta (ti) ta ti ta | syncopation, | (ta) ti ta ti ta | syncopation, | (ta/a) ta ta | ta ti ta ta/ | syncopation, | (ta/a) (ta) ta | ta/a (ta/a) |
| ta/ ta ti ta | syncopation, | ti ta ti ti ti ta | syncopation, | (ta) (ti) ta/ ta | syncopation
- Pitches: intermediate: So La Ti Do Re Ri Mi Fa So - raised/sharp supertonic (2, Ri)
- Intervals: intermediate: So/Mi (M6), Mi\So (M6), Re\So (P5), Mi\Ri/Mi (m2), Mi\Do (M3)
- Musical Elements: notes: whole, half, dotted quarter, quarter, eighth; rests: half, quarter, eighth; pickup beat, two double barlines, syncopation, tied notes, vocal slur; verse/chorus
- Key Words: world geography: Bahama Islands, Nassau Town; sloop (boat), grandfather, roam, sights, breakup, hoist, ashore, drunk, first mate, broke, constable, sheriff, John Stone, cook, caught, fits, throw, grits, worst; contractions: I've (I have) abbreviations: walkin' (walking), seein' (seeing), mains'l (main sail), capt'n (captain) possessive: people's
- Recorder: advanced: introducing F# and A#
|
|
|
"The John B. Sails"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
1. |
Oh, we come on the sloop John B.
My grandfather and me,
Around Nassau town we did roam.
Walkin' all night
Just seein' the sights,
Well, I feel so breakup, I want to go home. |
|
|
|
|
|
Chorus: |
|
|
|
|
|
So hoist up the John B. sails,
See how the mains'l sets,
Send for the Capt'n ashore,
Let me go home,
Please let me go home,
I want to go home,
Well, I feel so breakup
I want to go home. |
|
|
|
|
2. |
First mate, he got drunk.
Broke up the people's trunk.
Constable had to come and take him away.
Sheriff John Stone,
Why don't you leave me alone?
Well, I feel so break-up, I want to go home. |
|
|
|
|
|
Chorus |
|
|
|
|
3. |
Well, the poor cook he caught the fits.
Throw away all of my grits.
Then he took and he ate up all of my corn.
Let me go home.
I want to go home.
This is the worst trip since I've been born. |
|
|
|
|
|
Chorus |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Back to top. |
|
Additional Formats |