Thursday, November 1, 2007

Country and Western Song

My father's day-job was carpentry and stone-masonry, but for several years he took a second job as a bartender. My uncle owned the bar, The Buckhorn in Sierra City, California, and it had a juke box that played 78 rpm records. My father brought home some of the records that were removed to make way for new ones. So I grew up listening to "Folsom Prison Blues" and "Big River" by Johnny Cash, "North to Alaska" by Johnny Horton, and songs by Kitty Wells, Eddie Arnold, the Sons of the Pioneers, and many others.

I think FPB is still my favorite country song. I also like Hank Penny's "Bloodshot Eyes," Patsy Cline's "Crazy," Marty Robbins' "El Paso," and different renditions of "Ghost Riders in the Sky." "Honky Tonk Angel" is pretty good, too. I can't stand most contemporary C & W. It's just corporate pablum, awful stuff. That's why Johnny Cash loathed the Nashville establishment.

Country and western lyrics are extremely difficult to write, perhaps most especially for poets, because they require such simplicity, more simplicity than is in what poets think of as their simplest poems. Of course, they have to have a sense of the common folk, too. In this respect, they're like the blues.

Obviously, I'm claiming that they're difficult to write because I've written some, and they're not very good. Oh, well. I think I hear the train a-coming, so here are the lyrics (and I did manage to sneak in the word "cash"):

I Hate My Job

Verse 1:

My boss’s head is bigger than his backside.
His backside is bigger than his car.
What I need costs more than what I make.
My paycheck goes a mile less than far.

Chorus:

I hate my job.
I can’t stand it.
But I need the cash.
So I can’t quit.

I hate my job.
But I can’t quit.
Gotta feed my family.
And that’s just it.

Verse 2:

Where I work the higher-ups
Are dumber than the dirt.
They pay me only what they want,
But never what I’m worth.

Chorus.

Bridge:

Working men and working women:
They make this country go.
But the way that we get treated
Is dirty, mean, and low.

Verse 3:

I get up and go to work each day.
But I’ve forgotten why.
If I don’t get a day off soon,
I might fall down and die.

Chorus.

Copyright Hans Ostrom 2007

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