Henry's Songbook

   I wouldn't sing them if I didn't like them
   I wouldn't like them if I didn't care
   I wouldn't care if you didn't listen
   There's a lot of good songs in there
   Some songs are just like the people I meet
   Some people like the songs I sing
   I never sang a song I didn't love
   And no song that didn't love me

You asked me to sing my favourite song
I think you don't understand
I've been up here singing all night long
While you played 'Beat the band'
I sing them as I see them and
I see them all the time
Any song I sing for you
Is a favourite song of mine

I'd like to introduce the juke-box
You've all met him before
He plays exactly what you pay him to
I don't do that no more
'Cause I don't know none of his songs
And he don't know none of mine
I'm glad to say it wasn't planned that way
But we both seem to get along fine

Some of my songs might take you travelling
Some might take you home
Some might make you smile a bit
Some are good when you're all alone
Some will introduce you to people
That you wouldn't ordinarily know
These songs of mine, I sing them all the time
And I take them everywhere I go

So here's a toast to you who listen
Here's a word to you who don't
If you listen you might hear something
But if you never listen you won't
Open your ears and open your minds
I'll sing you my favourite song
Because it's right out there with the folks who care
That the favourite songs belong

(as sung by Iain MacKintosh)

[1978?:] It's not too often that I get a chance of singing quiet songs so I really appreciate a listening audience. I was singing in a club in Oban, in Scotland, last summer. It was one of those nights when I couldn't do anything to please the people. There was no song I had that suited the situation. I was up there with my banjo, trying to be very meaningful, and there was a crowd of drunks at the bar, shouting out things like, 'D'ye dae any Deep Purple, Jimmy?' And there's always one of the drunks - after the shouting has died down he calls out, 'Just sing your favourite song, son'. (Iain MacKintosh, intro T 12)