A Trip to the Country
I took a wrong turn on the radio dial
To the land of the Dixie-Sue,
So I dallied awhile in a banjo style
With the folk where the grass grows blue.
But hearing each someone-done-someone-wrong song,
Just left me unlonesome and quite without tear:
I felt like a tourist who didn’t belong,
So I moseyed on back to my old lithosphere:
It was flinty and solid,
If frequently squalid,
And men only wept to change key.
Who needed some twangs
And their heartstrings in pangs ?
Not me, no siree ! Golly gee !
I sought-out guitars that were not made of steel,
But rather of air and of lead –
And cranked to eleven their distorted squeals
That thrashed to the beat in my head.
But hearing each someone-shagged-somebody song
Just weighed on my mojo and sold-out my soul some –
I felt like a local who needs to move on,
Back to the pastures of home-cooked and wholesome.
My boots were a-struttin’
My whiskers were juttin’
I felt like a born-again new-kid in town.
Oh Lord, I was comin’,
My spirit was strummin’,
And ready to let go an’ hoedown on down.
So after awhile, I retuned the dial
Past all of the hipsters and nerds,
To the land where the Rhinestone Jesuses smile,
And ev’ryone hears all the words.
And I reckon I coulda been lost to those prudes,
But I have to be true to my roots in the end:
I’m nobody’s sunbeam – I’m one of the dudes !
I’m spawn of the Devil (I like to pretend) !
The power chords called out,
My godliness crawled out,
And soon I was grunting the plank-spanker’s song.
I’ve ceased all my questing in country & western –
Don’t cry for me, Mama, I’m where I belong !
