All I Wanted Was This Picture....

I've been working on this one off and on for a long while. This is the latest incarnation.

All I Wanted Was This Picture

All I wanted was this picture
One thing I could carry and keep
Don’t let me go too long
Time’s I can hardly breathe

God did not grant me perfect vision
I was not blessed with Second Sight
A lot of life is solitary
No guarantee past faith and past moonlight

And all I wanted was this picture
One thing I could carry and keep
Don’t let me go too long
Time’s I can hardly breathe

In the mornings in the mirror
In the corner of my eye
A ghost of faith -- of moonlight, reaching
Past my shoulder, past my life
Past my shoulder, past my life

And the ghost, it haunts my waking hours
Old times reach to touch me while I wait
Like me, oh they’ve lost the pow’r
The ghost can hardly bear the weight
It carries for us both
There's a crack and now the light is leakin' out
Past the edge of that locked door
Shines back down the track of years
And I don't dare go back for more
It would never be so good

But, in the mornings in the mirror
In the corner of my eye
A ghost of faith -- of moonlight, reaching
Past my shoulder, past my life
Past my shoulder, past my life
Past my shoulder, past my life
Past my shoulder, past my life

And all I wanted was this picture
One thing I could carry and keep
Don't let me go too long
Don't let me go too long
Don't let me go too long
Don't let me go too long

© D. Dain, 2006.

Road Dancer....

I wrote this many years ago.

Jamie Brockett had part of an album in the can and I named this song after the working title....


Road Dancer

I never tell a lie
There's two sides to every story
And I ride that center line
Between reality and glory
And while I know
That love is not enough
Still I always
Let Her trip me up

Love's the road and I'm a dancer
Born to trouble and takin' chances
And I never get enough
Never get enough

From the beaches of Montana
To the shores of Baffin Bay
From the Rockies down to Boston Town
I've danced my life away
From a movin' motel box-car
To the Four-Star top-floor suite
Success somehow eluded me
And my restless, wanderin' feet

And hope is over the horizon
In a castle, just beyond my reach
And my Sleepin' Princess is a phone booth
Out behind "Merle's Gas and Eats"
An' I'm a-preachin' "Love and Peace"
But I'll be here all week....

Still, I never tell a lie
There's two sides to every story
And I ride that center line
Between reality and glory
And while I know that
Love is not enough
I always seem
To let Her trip me up

Love's the road and I'm a dancer
Born to trouble and takin' chances
And l never get enough
Never get enough
Never get enough
Never get enough

© D. Dain, 1992.

In honor of Ken Burns' WWII, on PBS.... "Know Fear"

Know Fear

The young man wore a t-shirt
That said he had "No Fear"
We bumped, I said "Excuse me son"
And sat down to drink my beer
And I saw the beach at Normandy
The trench at Guadalcanal
The jungle just outside Da Nang
And I wondered how
He don’t know fear

'til you feel the knife hit bone
And know the blood is all your own
'til you're starin' down the barrel
Four-thousand miles from home
And you think about your family
And you see them oh-so-clear
You don't know fear

Oh, you won't find it on the weight-room floor
Or on the football field
Pills and booze might by you some
But you need the thought they steal
'til the doctor said she's got bad news
And winter's hand comes callin' near
You don't know fear

'til you feel the knife hit bone
And know the blood is all your own
'til you're starin' down the barrel
Four-thousand miles from home
And you think about the one you love
And you see her oh-so-clear
You don't know fear
You don't know fear

The young man wore a t-shirt
It said he had "No Fear"

© D. Dain, 1997.

Fall Away

Fall Away

Call me home,
my own have never been that far from You
And I've been as all
since lilacs bloom, the stripers run and Summer's come
With only hope
I'm born into that Nature thing
Knowing right and doing wrong
I let it fall away

And I can't help
but think on where we used to be
Crying out for anything
Whistling past that fancy yard of our communal separation
We drive toward home
and all that all those left behind can say
Is that knowing right and doing wrong
We let it fall away

And call me home
But while I wait, I live here
Remember me
to my Dad, he won't forget
No matter how many
transient tears and sorrowful no mores get wiped away
It still springs
Oh, it still springs

----And I never look where I am going
----It's hard to tell just where I've been
----Might be sunny on the outside
----Inside is shadowed sin
----Standing up before the Judge
----Is talking to a friend

"… the least of these"
my arrival may be very unexpected
Having been nothing
but the subject of vague hope from just a few
Draw a line, Pretending to Belief to Destination
And it still springs
Oh, it still springs

----And I never look where I am going
----It's hard to tell just where I've been
----Might be sunny on the outside
----Inside is shadowed sin
----Standing up before the Judge
----Is talking to a friend

But call me home
I've never been that far from You
Across the Vale,
of forest, river, mountain, wailing wall of waiting
It cannot be
that far for me, I'm counting
I'm knowing right and doing wrong
Oh, don’t let me fall away
Oh, knowing right and doing wrong
Don't let me fall away

© 2007, D. Dain

Pimpin' The Blame....

Ok, this song/rap is a combination of two separate incidents that were directly related to me. I combined them with my own observations and interpretations. I believe that popular NeoCon radio personalities and well-known liberals are the ones "pimpin' the blame".
Pimpin' The Blame

you slither 'cross the tracks to my side of town
leavin' a trail of slime so the rest of your kind can follow, follow
across the street from the grocery sto'
you stand on the corner with yer $40 dollar 'ho'
1/2-a-block up from the jr. high school
fly ain't fly and cool ain't cool no mo', no mo'as we walk on by you never take your eye
from my 10-year-old daughter
you motion to the ho a-standin' there waitin' like a lamb led to slaughter
i'm between my little girl and the trash
hold on to her, keep her from lookin' back
i believe you, so believe you me
you owe a death to society
you ask "you wanna a piece a this?"a-here's a hollow-point you can kiss

and (chorus)
get the **** away from me boy i'll shoot you dead (x4)

escalades make the rounds 'round the block
still, it's all malt likker to the Clear Channel talkers
keep your ear to the ground and the neighborhood watchers
and you watch 'em turn up dead, dead
it's one thing to listen while you're ridin' in your car
about white-flight on the NPR
about the welfare system and ol' FDR
and the easy money made jus' pimpin' blame hard, hard
but it's another when it's does a drive-by on the neighborhood bar (chorus)

check the PC hypocrisy at the real world door
it's got nothin' to do with the real state of poor
the reaction in relation to the real state of things
you creep on the corner don't give a crap about blame
but if you could do radio you'd pimp that hate and sooner or later it's fish or be bait (chorus)

jus' pimpin' the blame, pimpin' the blame
it's got nothin' to do with the real state of pain
jus' pimpin' the blame, uh huh uh, and (chorus)
i'm between my little girl and the trash
hold on to her, keep her from lookin' back

© D. Dain, 2007.

Worth A Song....

Worth A Song

She can speak intelligencia
Make a mean cheese sandwich
Talk Latin to the dog

Long, black dresses
Italian table wine
Too much education
Way too much free time
and too much coffee

Wouldn't you say
She's worth a song?

© D. Dain, 1990.

Nashville Train....

This is an old one that recently made it back into rotation in our somewhat spotty practice schedule....

Nashville Train

All my life, I've been waitin' on that train
To roll through my town and past my house and carry me away
Didn't matter much to me how the track was laid
All I knew is I would do almost anything

And if you listen very carefully
You hear that Nashville Train
From Memphis out to Muscle Shoals
And the little towns that lie between
And I don't know jus' when I'm leavin'
Or even if my ticket's paid
Think of all the dreams I wasted
Waitin' on the Nashville Train

There are things that you can come to love
More than life itself
They can pull you down and turn you out
Leave you stale up on that shelf
An' while I'm not too sure
What this life is all about
All I know is I could do
With a little less self doubt

And if you listen very carefully
You can hear that Nashville Train
From Athens out to Bato' Rou'
And all the dreams that lie between
And I don' know jus' when I'm leavin'
Or even if I'll make the grade
Think'n "all the time I've wasted"
Waitin' on that Nashville Train

There's a lot of people out there
Been waitin' jus' like me
An' waitin' never done no good
Never set no captive free
And I been sittin' here too long
To worry on my state of mind
When it comes to movin' on
There's always things you leave behind

And all my life
All my life....

And if you listen very carefully
You hear that Nashville Train
From Memphis out to Muscle Shoals
And the little towns that lie between
And I don't know jus' when I'm leavin
'Or even if my ticket's paid
Think of all the dreams I wasted
Waitin' on the Nashville Train

© D. Dain, 1998.

Rublev's Dog - "What kind of dog is that?"

Great little article/introduction. A right-thinking guy, Chuck, of Rublev's Dog.


http://rublevsdog.blogspot.com/2007/05/dogs-weltanshaung.html

Effective Love

My father went to be with his Father at eight-thirty AM, May 3rd.

He spent his life, both public and private, caring for people.

As he grew older, he lost some of his considerable mental faculties. But he still had the ability to shoot to the heart of the matter.

Love, he said, defined for practical purpose, is simply "beneficial caring". And he didn't mean just the niceties of modern philanthropy, writing that check to the deacon's benevolence fund or aid for Darfur, but actual in-your-face care. For many, that check might assuage the guilt complex which passes for conscience, and provide a false self-satisfaction; but my dad's aim was "Effective Love".

So it comes down to what's important: the self-satisfaction most of us seek and settle for, or real, deep and abiding effectiveness. Beneficial caring requires effort -- and response. It's a sure-fire guarantee of effectiveness, in both the giving and receiving.

Dad left school in the 8th grade to support his father, mother and sister. Called away from this for WWII, he refused a deferment and achieved the rank of Staff Sergeant in the Army. As a member of an anti-aircraft artillery unit, he served for 3 ½ years in the European theater from North Africa, Sicily, Italy, France to Germany, being awarded a Bronze Star -- which he never wore.

He returned to assume care of his family, caring for his own invalid father for eleven years.

The young man who didn't get past 8th grade taught himself to read both Hebrew and Greek, and taught college courses.

He was the best father a boy could hope for and the best friend a man can have.

My dad was effective. And his whole life was a demonstration of Effective Love.

And my father was a righteous man.

My father IS a righteous man.


Love you, Dad. Goodbye and hello and see-you-soon.


"And there are more i remember
And more i could mention
Than words i could write in a song
But i feel them watching
And i see them laughing
And i hear them singing along

We're all gonna be here forever
So mama don't you make such a stir
Just put down that camera
And come on and join up
The last of the family reserve"

- from The Family Reserve, by Lyle Lovett


And the moon is a sliver of silver
Like a shaving that fell on the floor of a Carpenter's shop
And every house must have it's builder
And I awoke in the house of God
Where the windows are mornings and evenings
Stretched from the sun across the sky north to south
And on my way to early meeting I heard the rocks crying out
I heard the rocks crying out

Be praised for all Your tenderness by these works of Your hands
Suns that rise and rains that fall to bless and bring to life Your land
Look down upon this winter wheat and be glad that You have made
Blue for the sky and the color green
That fills these fields with praise

And the wrens have returned and they're nesting
In the hollow of that oak where his heart once had been
And he lifts up his arms in a blessing for being born again
And the streams are all swollen with winter
Winter unfrozen and free to run away now
And I'm amazed when I remember Who it was that built this house
And with the rocks I cry out

Be praised for all Your tenderness by these works of Your hands
Suns that rise and rains that fall to bless and bring to life Your land
Look down upon this winter wheat and be glad that You have made
Blue for the sky and the color green
That fills these fields with praise

- from The Color Green, by Rich Mullins

Darkness at the Edge of The Shire

Mayberry Existence

Took the long way (Is there any other?) back to Athens last night, and coming down the hills back of Lithopolis I looked across into the valley west of Lancaster and north of 33 and saw the new Dominion-Centex-MI-etc., moneypit/cookiecutter scourges, all packed in on top of each other.

It reminded me of a smaller version of the view-by-air of Denver, or the West side of Columbus from certain parts of Interstate 70. My first thought was, "Dear Lord". My second thought was "fly - run for your life". Then it all went behind the hills and I turned up the everybodyfields and headed toward the Mayberry part of my existence.

Darkness is coming to The Shire.

Elijah

Elijah -- Rich Mullins (Oct. 21, 1955 - Sept. 19, 1997)

The Jordan is waiting for me to cross thru
My heart is aging I can tell
So Lord I'm begging for one last favour from You
Here's my heart - take it where You will

This life has shown me how we're mended and how we're torn
How it's O.K. to be lonely as long as you're free
Sometimes my ground was stony and sometimes covered up with thorns
And only You could make it what it had to be

And now that it's done
If they dressed me like a pauper or if they dined me like a prince
If they lay me with my fathers or if my ashes scatter on the wind
I don't care

'cause when I go I wanna go out like Elijah
With a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire
And when I look back on the stars it'll be like a candlelight in Central Park
And it won't break my heart to say goodbye

There's people been friendly but they'd never be your friends
Sometimes this has bent me to the ground
But now that this is all ending I want to hear some music once again
'cause it's the finest thing that I have ever found

But the Jordan is waiting though I ain't never seen the other side
Still they say you can't take in the things you have here
So on the road to salvation I stick out my thumb and He gives me a ride
And His music is already falling on my ears

There's people been talking, they say they're worried about my soul
Well I'm here to tell you I'll keep rocking 'til I'm sure it's my time to roll

And when I go I wanna go out like Elijah
With a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire
And when I look back on the stars it'll be like a candlelight in Central Park
And it won't break my heart to say goodbye

Rich Mullins was killed in a car crash in 1997. He was ejected from his vehicle and died immediately. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rich_Mullins

The Demographic Blues

Hummm, lessee. This is for Fred Eaglesmith, Chris Knight, Tommy Womack, Todd Snider, etc.... Just about every "alt-country" player out there.

The Demographic Blues

Here's a song for you; it’s the Demographic Blues
Oh, a song for you, the Demographic Blues
Keep your head on loose and your buzz on straight
No hesitation
Oh, the Demographic Blues

He's a not-so-angry, not-so-young white male
Oh, not-so-angry, not-so-young white male
Got no discretion and no income
And no hesitation
Not-so-angry, not-so-young white male

No self-starters, got no careers in sales
Oh no self-starter, no career in sales
He got two pair a shoe and three pair a pant
An' a 12-pack left after Uncle Sam
Not-so-angry, not-so-young white males

Now, my demographic, it don't look like yours
My demographic, it don't look like yours
Yours has potential and stayin' power
Mine blows his wad on some passed-out-drunk chick's whiskey souuurrrrr....
My demographic sure don't look like yours

(Optional bridge)
Now, I’m shakin’ in my ratty blue suede public radio shoes
When I think about just who listens to who
My cohort segment scares me
I got a case a demographic envy
I take my market research way too far
Spendin' all my time down at the bar

(Break)

My demographic's tryin' to make bail
If he's not right now, he'll soon be sittin' in county jail
He's got one phone call and a bidness card
Two Tylenol, one match and he's been barred
And the smart money says nobody's pickin' up

Oh, those not-so-angry, not-so-young white males
Those not-so-angry, not-so-young white males
Got no discretion and no income
Choosin’ just desserts in lieu of fun
Those not-so-angry not-so-young white males

(repeat 1st verse)

© D. Dain, 2007.

The Angry American

I know this guy. He is a cliché. But this is the guy that everybody in the world sees.
He blames China or Korea or Mexico for the problems caused by his own government.

But, he'll end up working as a greeter at Wally-World.

The Angry American

White number three
Back window of his SUV
Power of Pride
Two sticker for ev-er-ree side
And he tears up that freeway
Flying finger in the wind
Ahh, the wonderful world
Of the Angry American

Feel sorry for me, he say
He used to work in that factory
Now the job is Chinese,
And they’re tearing it down
That’s just half the good news
Things are bound to improve
Now Wal-Mort's movin’ in
On that Semi-hallowed ground

And his half-brother's in line
For a "greeter" job, now
We're fallin' further and faster
Hey, ain't the Founders proud?
A history of ignorance
That cannot be feigned
The presumed to be Empire
Slides down the food chain

And we shall be known by our stickers
By the red, white, and blue
'cause it shows --
Oh, it shows… you
Emotions get stirred
And it never occurs
Through all the talking points and spin
That we recognize just where we been
And the deadliest of deadly sins
Somehow, it never goes out of fashion

(Repeat 1st verse.)

Feel sorry for me, he say
Feel sorry for me, he say
Feel sorry for me, he say
Feel sorry...
For me

© D. Dain, 2007.

He Came From the Mountain -- Bruce Cockburn

Bruce Cockburn from Sunwheel Dance.

He Came From the Mountain

He came from the mountain,
to walk among the wounded.
They couldn't see Him.
But the snow did melt whenever he passed by.

He came behind winter,
His face was like the sun.
They wouldn't see it,
But He sang on the bank that made the waters run.

In His world, we wait.
In His hands, our fate.
Keep on climbing.
We shall see His gate in good time.

He came to the lowlands.
He said we must have faces,
So we could see like him,
Before our wings would ever come to fly.

In His world, we wait.
In His hands, our fate.
Keep on climbing.
We shall see His gate in good time.

Powerlines and Pogo

I'm adding this in deference to my buddy Karl Conrad, AKA "Harmless". When we played regularly, this was one of our first originals. I got the idea while driving home on route 33, chased by a storm and looking at the powerlines crossing the road and marching off into the distance. This was possibly influenced, at least in my first thoughts, by CS Lewis' description of "Norns" in "Out of the Silent Planet".

Power Lines and Pogo

Giant stick men walkin’
They carry lightning in their hands
They proceed in single minded files
All across the land

They fence out the horizons
Defile them where they can
They carry lifelines of destruction
That only awful change demands
And only fear can understand
That we have met the enemy

There is sickness in the sunlight
There is sickness in the air
All around and underground
Sickness everywhere

We drink it in our water
It falls upon our heads
It creeps up from behind us
To catch us in our beds
Is there something more to dread?
Got to be something more….

And we have met the enemy
Yes, we have met the enemy
Oh, we have met the enemy

© D. Dain, 1995.

She's Got My Heart

This might be the worst song I have ever written. But it is pretty catchy.

She’s Got My Heart

She’s got my heart
And everything that matters to me
She’s got my heart,
My credit card, and my brand new car

You know, I never go for the easy rhyme
Just to prove it, I’ll take us back in… time

When she had my heart
And every thing that mattered to me
She had my heart,
My big ol’ house and my good ol’ dog

Yeah, you can tell where it’s goin’ from here
So relax, sit back and pop another beer

‘cause she’s got my grill
My brand-spankin’ new two burner grill
She’s got my grill,
But the propane tank is empty

What she’ll do, nobody knows
I suppose she’ll make a real quick trip to Lowe’s
But she made that trip for nothin’….

'cause I’ve got the final laugh
My credit card is a-finally maxed
And she’s got the final tear
‘cause my poor heart is broken

© D. Dain, 2007.

Covington

Years later, we still get requests for this one. True story, and I would post the chords, except that only Bruce knows them.

Don’t Take Your Gun to Covington

Well, won’t you sit an’ listen, buddy
I got a tale that I can tell
Some advice at a real nice price
I got nothing lef’ta sell
Oh the weekend come with plans for fun
Hear some music, ‘cause I’m a fan
And if you had seen me way back when
You’d say, “There goes a happy man”

Well, I headed toward the border
Down that interstate
Thru Cincy into Newport
Ahh, to that Southgate place
Well, I never saw it comin’
Or I would’a stayed away
The cops down there have got a thing
For white Toyotas with Ohio plates

(Refrain)
Now, don’t you take your gun down to Covington
‘cause you’ll end up in jail
And if you do, you better make real sure
Somebody gonna go your bail

Well, there’s not a whole lot happenin’
Sittin’ in a holding cell
I got cigarettes and rationed matches
Steel benches, cold as hell
Warm milk on my Cheerios
Liver for my lunch
While over in the corner
Another Kentucky drunk up…. well, you know

My brother come to get me
‘cause he’s a real nice guy
I never was so glad to see him
And the freedom he could buy (Refrain)

(Talk-it-through)
Now, there’s a phone over in the corner, guys
Why don’t you line up and make your calls
An’ if ain’t nobody gonna come and git you
You might be here ‘til Moooonday Mornin’ (Refrain)

(Talking it)
My lawyer say he can git me outta this
But I ain’t countin’ on nothin’ (Refrain + Refrain)

© D. Dain, 1998.

Silver Wheels

Rolling through a PA night, somewhere between State College and Bethlehem.

Silver Wheels

Silver Eagle rollin’
through a Pennsylvania night
Past little farms asleep
inside their circled safety lights
Like little pools of righteousness
that stand against the dark
With help from a harvest moon
and a solitary star

They go to bed real early,
out west of Bethlehem
The towns close down
and the theory is that trouble can’t be found
Oh, you and I know better,
but why worry them with proof
We slide by on wings of eagles,
like an ill wind blowin’ through

(Chorus)
And we see the world on silver wheels
We are travelers and know
that life like this just can’t be real
Hi-ho silver wheels
Hi-o, hi-o
O-hi-o silver wheels

We see the bad - ignore the good,
because the good does not bring danger
So used to the unusual
that the normal seems a stranger
We can take the trash talk,
gangs and scams and all the jive
But the Good Word and a “God Bless you, Sir”
seem to take us by surprise

The things that are important here
seem easier to see
Could it be that we just need
something simple to believe?
Or are we just too jaded
by our travel and our big-time greed
That we don’t see the value
in living clean and good and free?

(Chorus)

They go to bed real early
Out west of Bethleham

© D. Dain, 1997.

Depression Era

A look at my possible future. Not all that far away.

Depression Era (Ref. Robert Herrick)

Scouting pottery
South, out of Zanesville
Shawnee, Corning
Down Route 13
What I do Saturday,
Sunday afternoons
Sneaking beer from the cooler
Hot stove league on the radio
Marty and it used to be Joe
I don’t collect myself
and don’t know much
But find what I can
and take it home to my Sweetie

No Weller or Roseville for me
It’s mud or china SPI
Chips oh so easy,
takes up too much room
Like me
And, like me, it mostly just sits there
Sometimes, putting a new piece up
I get shaky - knock another off the shelf
She doesn't mind
She knows I’m… past my prime
She says it's all a'hunting and a‘gathering
Just instinct --
And I'm thinking extinct
Why pottery? Pottery, for God’s sake.
I like beer and football

Any humor at all
that Herrick was born in Cheapside,
and like me, a fan of his betters?
My side is the junk stores
No fancy pants "Antique Mall"
My wallet needs a place where they may not know what they have
Some place where Old Time’s dying - not flying
Slinking 'round dusty bookcases
Sniffing out small pieces of the past
Nothing to make much of
But you can smile at it

Ah, there’s the old stuff
No virgins here, for sure
I see a possibility
A nicely painted salad plate,
pick it up and turn it over
and I’ve been fooled again
Made in not even Occupied Japan
I move on to the bud vase in the corner

© D. Dain, 2007.

Fools and Crows

Fools and Crows

Gets harder every time I hear it
Harder to imagine you
Out there feeding on your fury
All alone without a clue

You'd rather be caught dead than happy
Never speak a word unarmed
Always keep that pride aligned
Between your heart and any harm

I never thought that you would feel it
Never thought that you would fall
Under a pow'r that would do you damage
Leave you at it's beck and call

And it's the choices that we make
It's the promises we break
Honor is not anything you know
Seems doin' right is just for fools
Doin' right is just for fools
Doin' right is just for fools
... and Crows

I know how looks can be deceiving
It all depends upon the view
Still my music is my own
And we live with what we choose

You can lay your fate upon the furies
You can blame and you can scorn
You can lose track of your companions
And all that time and fear has worn

Now that I can see you better
I say distance suits you fine
I guess I never knew the danger
'til it left me far behind

'cause it's the choices that we make
It's the promises we break
Honor should be something that we know
Seems doin' right is just for fools
Ummm, doin' right is just for fools
Aw, doin' right is just for fools
... and Crows

© D. Dain, 1997.

Hard Time's Fallin'

Well, 1st lyric of '07. And, as you can tell, it's happy one -- not.

Hard Time's Fallin’

We had a meetin’
Listened to the lessons
Lessons that we ain’t learned jus’ yet
They tell me hard time's callin’
Hard time's fallin’
But we ain’t seen or heard ‘em yet

But they be a-comin’
I know it, I feel it
Hand in my pocket and ear to the track
We been way too willin’
To do the killin’
Can’t pull up and won't turn back
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huh-uh-uh-uh
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huhhhhh

We got "Power of Pride"
Might on our side
Now, who would Jesus bomb?
Love it or leave it
Hard to believe it
Another Vietnam

No President's daughter
No Senator's son
Gets the chance to cut and run
A rich man's war
A poor man's chore
And "God's" work is never done
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huh-uh-uh-uh
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huhhhhh

Listen people, listen
Might be a blessin' in the lesson
But we ain't even learned it yet
I tell ya hard time's callin’
Hard time's fallin’
And we ain’t seen nothin’ yet

They be a-comin’
I know it, I feel it
Hand in my pocket, ear to the track
Little birdie tol’ me
Then he tol’ me ag'in
Hard time's fallin', fallin’ fast
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huh-uh-uh-uh
Uh-huh-uh-huh, uh-huhhhhh

We had a meetin’
Listened to the lessons
Lessons we ain’t learned jus’ yet

© D. Dain, 2007.