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Grow Long Thy Hair, Samson

from Words, Words, Words by Sam Steffen

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lyrics

Yes, there’s a storm a comin, it’s on the Times front page
With a black and white photo of some kind of giant tidal wave
On account of how everybody’s gone ahead and behaved
The street preacher’s wound-up, screaming none will be saved

“By the pharaoh’s order,” cries the fouled referee,
“There’s a new law round here says that the curfew will be
From ten in the morning til quarter past three
Anybody outside after that’s gonna haveta answer to me!”

you better get your name cleared, Bluebeard, fore they make you walk the plank
Better call off your watchdogs, General, fore they all pull rank
You better get your children, Mama, bow your head and give thanks
You better grow your hair long, Samson—you gonna need your strength

You’re tween a rock and a hardplace they’re still trying to construct
When the bombs fall, Know-It-All, you better have the good sense to duck
At the rodeo, John Doe, keep your seat on that truck
and bring along your timepiece, Maurice, you gonna need some luck

well everyone’s getting bored, but I’ve already had me a few
Better take a knee, Bruce Lee, if you need something to do
It’s a sure-thing, Sherlock, but you ain’t got a clue
Aw, get out of here, Shakespeare—nobody asked you

Chorus

Jumpin Jupiter, Lucifer, what’s become of your pride?
Didn’t anybody tell you that the sooth-sayer lied?
For a sheckel, Dr. Jeckyll, we can go for a ride
I’ll show you someplace remote where you can lay low and hide

Now I’m no Houdini and I’m no Jesse James
But you’re gonna need brass keys, Ulysses, to get out of them chains
You better smell the roses, Moses, and talk some sense to these brains
Otherwise all of your guys is gonna wind up changing their trains

Chorus

Grow your hair long, Samson—til it’s down to your knees
Grow your hair long, Samson—til it’s long as you please
Grow your hair long, Samson—til it’s at full-length
Grow your hair long, Samson—you gonna need your strength

The doctor’s in the dentist’s chair, his tooth’s getting pulled—
Your wienereimer, Oppenheimer, has come down with a cold
I tried calling the police, the operator put me on hold
I can see your cards, Beauregard, if I were you I would fold

The captain’s gone AWOL on some binocular tour
With a lady in sales he met at the marine supply store
When the saloonkeeper’s drunk he’ll give everyone a free pour
But you better get it while you can fore he ain’t drunk anymore

Chorus

Fare thee well, Rafael, I guess you done pretty good
They did their best to imitate you, but none of them could
Ahab took a stab and saw what was under the hood
Then he tried to say it in English—no one understood

Goldilocks needs help, she’s got her hand caught in the hive
You better be heartfelt, Mrs. Roosevelt, when you write those boys’ wives
You gonna need an editor, Senator, to keep talking that jive
It’s neither heroes nor villians, it’s just the lucky survive

Chorus

credits

from Words, Words, Words, released September 29, 2018

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Sam Steffen Boise, Idaho

Sam Steffen is a Pennsylvania-bred, Boise-based singer-songwriter whose songs are the torch-wood for a new generation of folk music that has learned from the best stuff in the tradition and aims in spite of everything to keep the human spirit alive and kicking. A versatile musician and skilled finger-picker, Sam is at heart a story-teller, and a prolific one. ... more

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