Country Lyrics

I have written out the lyrics to two country songs I wrote a little while ago. The first song has a pretty unconventional structure as far as "country" music is concerned. It doesn't have a chorus. The second song is written in the style of late 50s, "to the point" honky tonk music. One of my personal favorites. Be advised that this song was written with my tongue firmly in my cheek. With that said, I can't help but agree with the point of view of the character in the song. Be proud of where you come from. Being from "somewhere" is one of the only certainties in life. If you would like...and for full effect, you can listen to these songs while following along with the lyrics. All you have to do is go to myspace.com/horsecapture and find the song titles in the music player. Hope ya'll enjoy!


"If You Show Up Late"

My stomach is in knots.
I see the men and their cots
Lining the church house floor.

If you’re late for the sermon they won’t even open the door.

As if things couldn’t be
Any harder for me,
I found out at the gate…

Even Jesus Christ turns you away if you show up late.

You can see it in their face.
To wind up in this place,
Just ain’t the life these men chose.

If they had for a fact, they would’ve packed warmer clothes.

These ain’t the steam-pot days.
Throw out all your rules and ways.
There ain’t one ounce of brotherhood left.

You get stabbed in the back for half of a cigarette.

I grappled the rails and
Andy came from jail.
We tread down ol’ Tulare street.

When I missed the line he saved me some bread and meat.

I had it in my mind to come back home.
But things hardly ever turn out the way you plan.
Those stones killed my feet every they touched down.
The softer the spirit, the harder the ground.
I wonder if they even notice that I’m not around.

Five o’clock comes too soon
When you’re waking up under the moon.
Sierra winds always blow the cold around.

You can choose the germs at the mission or the dirty ground.

The bottom, it’s easy to see
Is a hell of a place to be.
When you’re shit out of luck and have nothing left to sell.

Just a hope and a prayer you can hitch a ride out of hell.


"Southern Blood"

Ever since my maw gave birth to me
My life’s been getting shorter.
I grew up in a town so god-damn small
Every house is on the border.

My daddy looked me in the eye
And said, “You’re my second son”.
“But if you treat me with respect I’ll treat you like you’re my only one”.

It’ll take a thunderstorm across this land,
To move me from the place I take my stand.
It’ll take a hurricane or a flood, oh my lord
To wash away the southern in my blood.

My grandpa showed me how to find
Every back road on the map.
When a woman walks in to a room I’m in
I stand up and tip my cap.

The kids at school made fun of the way I talk
And my kind of clothes.
But if you make fun of my family, I’m gonna punch you in the nose.

Repeat chorus 3x

August Topic - Tall Tales

The topic for the month of August may prove to be difficult. I invite everyone to explore what may have been some of the first writing you ever experienced. I am speaking of "Tall Tales". Make up your own folk hero and build a legend around this character. The legends of Paul Bunyan and John Henry are great examples of this style of writing. Good luck and have fun.

Family Tradition

A good stretch back, maybe three or four months ago I was asked to take over my grandpa’s tobacco fields. Now that’s grandpa Jasper Bertrand from my momma Lisette’s side. I guess tobacco has been in my family since damn near the time it came to this part of the country. My daddy told my cousin Hazel that we probably even had kin on the ship that that Walter Raleigh feller was on. Uncle Cecil said he figured Raleigh was the one responsible for tobacco being in Carolina in the first place…. and I don’t guess I’ve ever known Uncle Cecil to lie. He’s stretched the truth a time or two, but never so far as to make something untrue.

I’ve had a devil of a time deciding whether or not to get tied up in this whole tobacco farming business. Years ago it might’ve been an easier decision because things were done by hand. I guess the work was harder but it seemed simpler in nature. With the year now being 1956 a lot has changed in the industry. Hell, it seems like hand labor are dirty words and people act like they’ve never even seen a goddamn mule. It seems to me that nine hundred man hours to work and cultivate an acre is still movin’ pretty datgum fast. On a good day you can beat that record. I’ve seen it done.

I guess my biggest fuss comes from the farming industry now being run by a bunch of kids who’ve never had their hands in the soil. All they seem to care about is how to save that next penny. When it comes down to it, tractor or no a season is still gonna be a full year.

The seed beds have to be prepared by early January and planted in February. Then you have to stake the ground and cover it in linen. If the weather holds out the earliest you can transplant to the field is April 1st. But depending on the weather is like telling God your plans. It’s only worth the laugh. I know that the work of a John Deere is cleaner, but it still can’t match the work done by three experienced farm hands. All you need is one guy to make a hole in the furrow with a hand peg, another guy to place the seedling in the hole and one more to water and fertilize it. As far as those pesky horn worms are concerned, my three year old could do that in an afternoon and I don’t even have a three year old.

When it comes down to it, tobacco farming requires four things. You gotta harvest it, you gotta tie it, you gotta barn it and you gotta watch the furnace. All in all tobacco has one ingredient….tradition. Or maybe I’m just scared of the future.