Pirate Jenny
Bertold Brecht (Trans. Marc Blitzstein, I think)

You people can watch while I'm scrubbing these floors
And I'm scrubbin' the floors while you're gawking
Maybe once ya tip me and it makes ya feel swell
In this crummy Southern town
In this crummy old hotel
But you'll never guess to who you're talkin'.
No. You couldn't ever guess to who you're talkin'.

Then one night there's a scream in the night
And you'll wonder who could that have been
And you see me kinda grinnin' while I'm scrubbin'
And you say, "What's she got to grin?"
I'll tell you.

There's a ship
The Black Freighter
with a skull on its masthead
will be coming in

You gentlemen can say, "Hey gal, finish them floors!
Get upstairs! What's wrong with you! Earn your keep here!
You toss me your tips
and look out to the ships
But I'm counting your heads
as I'm making the beds
Cuz there's nobody gonna sleep here, honey
Nobody
Nobody!

Then one night there's a scream in the night
And you say, "Who's that kicking up a row?"
And ya see me kinda starin' out the winda
And you say, "What's she got to stare at now?"
I'll tell ya.

There's a ship
The Black Freighter
turns around in the harbor
shootin' guns from her bow

Now
You gentlemen can wipe off that smile off your face
Cause every building in town is a flat one
This whole frickin' place will be down to the ground
Only this cheap hotel standing up safe and sound
And you yell, "Why do they spare that one?"
Yes.
That's what you say.
"Why do they spare that one?"

All the night through, through the noise and to-do
You wonder who is that person that lives up there?
And you see me stepping out in the morning
Looking nice with a ribbon in my hair

And the ship
The Black Freighter
runs a flag up its masthead
and a cheer rings the air

By noontime the dock
is a-swarmin' with men
comin' out from the ghostly freighter
They move in the shadows
where no one can see
And they're chainin' up people
and they're bringin' em to me
askin' me,
"Kill them NOW, or LATER?"
Askin' ME!
"Kill them now, or later?"

Noon by the clock
and so still by the dock
You can hear a foghorn miles away
And in that quiet of death
I'll say, "Right now.
Right now!"

Then they'll pile up the bodies
And I'll say,
"That'll learn ya!"

And the ship
The Black Freighter
disappears out to sea
And
on
it
is
me

I actually wept the first time I heard this (as an adult):

COPPERHEAD ROAD

by Steve Earle

Well my name's John Lee Pettimore
Same as my daddy and his daddy before
You hardly ever saw Grandaddy down here
He only came to town about twice a year
He'd buy a hundred pounds of yeast and some copper line
Everybody knew that he made moonshine
Now the revenue man wanted Grandaddy bad
He headed up the holler with everything he had
It's before my time but I've been told
He never came back from Copperhead Road

Now Daddy ran the whiskey in a big block Dodge
Bought it at an auction at the Mason's Lodge
Johnson County Sheriff painted on the side
Just shot a coat of primer then he looked inside
Well him and my uncle tore that engine down
I still remember that rumblin' sound
Well the sheriff came around in the middle of the night
Heard mama cryin', knew something wasn't right
He was headed down to Knoxville with the weekly load
You could smell the whiskey burnin' down Copperhead Road

I volunteered for the Army on my birthday
They draft the white trash first,'round here anyway
I done two tours of duty in Vietnam
And I came home with a brand new plan
I take the seed from Colombia and Mexico
I plant it up the holler down Copperhead Road
Well the D.E.A.'s got a chopper in the air
I wake up screaming like I'm back over there
I learned a thing or two from ol' Charlie don't you know
You better stay away from Copperhead Road

Copperhead Road
Copperhead Road
Copperhead Road

Come All Ye Fair and Tender Maids (traditional)

Come all ye fair and tender maids
that flourish in your prime, your prime
Beware, beware, keep your garden fair
Let no man steal your thyme, your thyme.
Let no man steal your thyme.

A woman is a branch-ed tree,
and man a singing wind, wind.
And from her branches carelessly
he'll take what he can find, can find
he'll take what he can find.

***

So in answer to your question, Marilyn: I don't know about your neck of the woods, but the bears sure do in mine.

Drika

Peter Gabriel makes inroads here I think in his song:

"Darkness"

i'm scared of swimming in the sea
dark shapes moving under me
every fear i swallow makes me small
inconsequential things occur
alarms are triggered
memories stir
it's not the way it has to be

i'm afraid of what i do not know
i hate being undermined
i'm afraid i can be devil man
and i'm scared to be divine
don't mess with me my fuse is short
beneath this skin these fragments caught

when i allow it to be
there's no control over me
i have my fears
but they do not have me

walking through the undergrowth, to the house in the woods
the deeper i go, the darker it gets
i peer through the window
knock at the door
and the monster i was
so afraid of
lies curled up on the floor
is curled up on the floor just like a baby boy

i cry until i laugh

i'm afraid of being mothered
with my balls shut in the pen
i'm afraid of loving women
and i'm scared of loving men
flashbacks coming in every night
don't tell me everything's alright

when i allow it to be
it has no control over me
i own my fear
so it doesn't own me

walking through the undergrowth, to the house in the woods
the deeper i go, the darker it gets
i peer through the window
knock at the door
and the monster i was
so afraid of
lies curled up on the floor
is curled up on the floor just like a baby boy

i cry until i laugh


I feel the discussion is worthy. There are many interesting takes in this thread. At its core music certainly has enough room for real poetry to sort of seep around the edges if not full-fledged gems coming through. However most music could certainly not be attributed this dual-moniker for reasons already stated as well as others. Though I have long been impressed by certain of Joni Mitchell's lyrics, and called them poetic, even I must admit most of her work would not shine well under harsh and strict interpretation. But I think the two forms, though sometimes vastly different, can suit each other to the degree questioned.
It seems apparent, at least to me, that song lyrics CAN be excellent poetry. It also seems certain this is far from frequent when the discussion rolls around to specific instances of poetry/music.