The Long Beds: Listen

• MP3 play whole song, hi-fi (broadband)
• MP3 play whole song, lo-fi (modem)

Somewhere out in Mud Brook
Out there in the sticks
Lives the last authentic completely unusual man

He’s sick of the dad’gum guv’ment
He’s sick of his neighbors too
He’s sick of me, and he’s damn sure sick of you

He’s got a ratty little dog and a shotgun by the bed
He’s got a bucketload of trouble in his head

Someone from the county
Come by to count his teeth
He said you’ll find’em over there behind the couch

Two ladies from the church
Brought him chicken and a Bible verse
He said “Thank you – now pray for someone worse.”

He’s got a lumpy little dog and a shotgun by the bed
He’s got a bucketload of chaos in his head

He’s fed up with the rednecks
Their bellies and their chew
He’s tired of clipboard hippies telling him what to do

And them mail-order hikers
With kayaks on their cars
Mostly Subarus, tuned to NPR

He’s got a skinny little dog and a shotgun by the bed
He’s got a bucketload of decline in his head

recitation (you betcha!)
I went to see him the other day, he was sittin’ ther on his porch, and he said,
“Well I don’t know much…” (and that’s a lie), but he said, “I been studyin’ on it,
and I do know this:

If it beeps, it won’t last
Flash runs outta gas
We all should spend a night on someone’s grave
And if you can’t learn from that
Man, if that don’t snap yer cap
Drink the Kool-Aid, go on, enjoy the ride.

He’s got a happy little dog and a shotgun by the bed
He’s got a teaspoon of hopeful in his head.

Somewhere out in Mud Brook
Out there in the sticks
Lives the last authentic completely unusual man.