Friday, November 19, 2010

there came me....

momma was a good lil’ girl.. till daddy come along,
got a ticket to the concert show.. where she heard him sing his song,
and she was gone…
gone… aint never been back again,
yeah she was gone.. lonnnnggg gone,
like a gypsy flower blowin’ in the wind,

a few months later in some town... on down the road,
the sheriff shining his spot light.. caught himself quite a show,
ohhhh.. there they were,
high as hell.. swimmin’ naked in the creek,
whooo-ohhh-ohhh... and 9 months later,
whooooo-ooooohhhhh.. there come me,

wild and free,
whoo-oohhh... a gypsy child born upon a dream,
whoooo-ohhhh-ohhh… there come me,

momma'd sing me lullabies at night.. while daddy was on the road,
we’d sit and count the days and nights… till daddy’d be comin’ home,
so we could sing,
lord yes we gonna sing,
whooo-ohhh-ohhhh, mom, and dad, and me,

then one day uncle sam come calling.. took daddy on off to war,
he come back home a few years later.. but he didn’t sing no more,
it must have been,
alllllll the damn things he’d done and seen,
nooo-ohh-ohhh.. but when he come home... no longer would he sing,

some years later I went and found me... daddy's old guitar,
taught myself to pick a tune... and now'owwwww here we are,

wild and free,
whoo-oohhh-ohhh... a gypsy child born upon a dream,
whoooo-ohhhh-ohhh… here come me,

one day i come home high as hell... trying to sneak in the back door,
and I caught daddy listenin’ to my songs.. tapping his feet on the floor,
just like a dream,
ohhhohh-how sweet it was when I heard daddy sing,
whooo-ohhh-ohhh... there come me,

as you can see, whhhoooo-ohhh-ohhh,
I never chose this life, nooo-ooohh-ohh it done choooose me,
whooohhh-oohhh-ohhh... wild and free,
whhooo-ohhh.. a gypsy child born upon a dream,

whooo-ohhh-ohhh.. there come me

(fading)
momma was a good lil girl.. till daddy came along,
got a ticket to the concert show.. where she heard him sing his song,
whoo-ohhh-ohh, and then came me….

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

i had written it all wrong

with a broken bottle full of empty dreams…
lost somewhere along this old highway,

i ordered up another round…
to wash on down the bitter taste of never-mind…
before I got back on my way,

flash photography of years gone by…
running back inside my mind,
and how those memories I had tried to trap down…
within my rhymes,

the misinterpretations that I sometimes get…
couldn’t be blamed on the words…
for which they came,

but only by the distortion and corruption of…
the delusion of the way this world has told us…
it had to be,

for the truth we know inside us lord…
and it tries to find its way out…
from time to time,

all I can do is pick up a pen…
and write in on a bar napkin…
before they throw me out again…
saying you've had too much my friend…
and I have to go and stumble on my way,

many times the words don’t come out right…
distorted by the climate that I’m in,
and it wasn’t till after many a year gone by…
that i realized I had written it all wrong,


see the hero always get’s the girl…
the villain never gets away…
and karma is more than my stripper friend…
who left me broke and busted…
on the side of that cold highway,

politicians are always looking out for you…
and don’t you ever doubt their words…
because their words are always true,

and good hard work and sacrifice…
always leads to better days and nights,
and no one ever got ahead…
by knocking someone else down,

and the musicians that win the awards…
well…
that's always because of the way they sound,

good guys never finish last…
our mistakes stay in the past…
and there’s always a silver lining…
to every storm,

and if you’re eating up any of this shit…
I’m gonna go out back and take a piss…
and this guitar will play the rest…
and you can just sit there and sing along,

the misinterpretations that I sometimes get…
couldn’t be blamed on the words…
for which they came,

but only by the distortion and corruption of…
the delusion of the way this world has told us…
it had to be,

for the truth we know inside us lord…
and it tries to find its way out…
from time to time,

all I can do is pick up a pen…
and write in on a bar napkin…
before they throw me out again…
saying you've had too much my friend…
and I have to go and stumble on my way, but many times the words don’t come out right…
distorted by the climate…
that I’m in,

and it wasn’t till after many a year gone by…
that i realized I had written it all wrong,