1. |
Restless Companion
03:56
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Fair you well, Restless Companion
I hope the wind can set you free
Ride it 'cross the golden sun
I'll be laying here in the shade of this tree
Fair you well, Restless Companion
I hope the river gives you what you need
Babble and bubble with the burbling brook
I'll be whispering in the rustle of the leaves
Fair you well in rain that splashes
Fair you well in hail that falls
You look cool in those sunglasses
Let it play, baby, don't hit pause
I'm sticking here, planting a garden
The muscle in my arm is the joy of my toil
I spend my days pickin' guitar
And pushing seeds in the rich, dark soil
Fair you well, in thunder crashes
Fair you well, when empires fall
You look cool in those sunglasses
You keep 'em on 'cause you've seen it all
I will build a house of timber
You keep walking down the road of dreams
When you need a place to crash
Share my bed, I'll mend your seams
Fair you well, in lightning flashes
Fair you well when mountains crawl
You look cool in those sunglasses
Ring me up, I'll take your calls
Yeah, ring me up, baby, I'll take your calls
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2. |
Cans
03:03
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When I was a young boy I’d run off in the woods
Where there was no-one to yell at me
I’d open that can, make a face but I’d suck it down
In the cool air of the evergreen trees
Cans to the left of me
Cans to the right
No, I can’t get away from these cans
Cans in my blood stream
Cans in both of my hands
No, I can’t get away from these cans
Way back in high school we’d build a pyramid out of ‘em
We’d build it up just to knock it down
Now that was a long time and I don’t really think about it that much
But it seems like a build things up just to knock ‘em down
Cans to the left of me
Cans to the right
No, I can’t get away from these cans
Cans in my blood stream
Cans in both of my hands
No, I can’t get away from these cans
No, I can’t get away from these cans
No, I can’t get away from these cans
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3. |
My Father Was A Boxer
03:17
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My father laid down with his dog in the kitchen
My dad was seven and seven, his dog was one and one
My father was a boxer, his dog a Bernard
A saint, one thing my father ain’t
Pops would go bang when we was growing up
He was a firecracker and our house was his cup
One day his dog laid down and could not get back up
My father laid down next to her, he did not even cuss
He said, “I’m not strong enough to hold you here to keep you in this world.
I am weak so I will lay right down, an offer of comfort.”
My father was like his dog, he’s been made to lay down
All those years in the ring getting his head knocked around
Somehow he managed back up on his feet
And if he were not my dad he’d be a man I wanna meet
“I’m not strong enough to hold you here to keep you in this world.
I am weak so I will lay right down, an offer of comfort.”
My father laid down with his dog in the kitchen
My dad was seven and seven, his dog was one and one
My father was a boxer, his dog a Bernard
A saint, one thing my father ain’t
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4. |
Truckstop
02:53
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I wash my face in a truckstop bathroom
brush my teeth, I comb back my hair
I wash my face in a truckstop bathroom
I’m gonna find a good job around here
I can drive a truck, swing a sledge hammer
I can mix a drink and I know a joke or two
I can drive a truck, swing a sledge hammer
I got two good hands, I’m gonna put ‘em to use
When I find work I will send for you
I’m beating all the bushes, overturning every stone
When I find work I will send for you
For you and your daughter I’m gonna build a home
So I wash my face in a truckstop bathroom
Brush my teeth, I comb back my hair
I wash my face in a truckstop bathroom
I’m gonna find a good job around here
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5. |
Prisoner
02:50
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I was born a prisoner
I prisoner I’ll stay
To the vagaries of my blood
and the wind that blows away
I first was chained to the wind by a woman on Love Street
She laid her lips across my lips, slipped shackles on my feet
She said, “You were born a prisoner
A prisoner you’ll stay
To the vagaries of your blood
And the wind that blows away”
I next was tied to the sky by a cowboy with a drum
Now I dance to live since he bound me with a golden lasso of sun
He said, “You were born a prisoner
A prisoner you’ll stay
To the vagaries of your blood
And the wind that blows away”
I’ll take my stand where the Susquehanna and the Potomac meet
Wind brushes back my hair and river rushes over my feet
Yes the sun and wind, it tans my hide, breath fills up my lungs
Got a salty taste on my lips and a new song on my tongue
CHORUS
The wind blows away, boys, wind blows away
Bends back the branches, bows the wheat and hay
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6. |
Buffalo Skinners
06:12
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It was in the town of Griffin in the year of ‘83
When a man by the name of Crego came walking up to me
Saying “how do you do young fellow, and would you like to go
And spend one summer pleasant on the trail of the buffalo.”
Me being out of work right then to this Crego I did say
This going out on the buffalo road depends upon your pay
But if you pay good wages, transportation to and fro
Then I’ll agree to work for you ‘till the hills of Mexico”
He said, “Yes, I pay good wages and transportation, too
If you’ll agree to work for me until the season’s through
But if you do grow homesick and try to run away
You’ll starve to death out on the trail
And also lose your pay.”
With all this flattering talking he signed up quite a train
Some ten or twelve in number, all able-bodied men
Our trip it was a pleasant one as we took the westward road
Until we hit ole Boggy creek
Was there our pleasures ended our troubles all began
A lightning storm hit us, it made the cattle run
I got all full of stickers in the cactus that did grow
Outlaws waiting to pick us off on the trail of the buffalo
Our hearts were cased in buffalo hocks, buffalo was our bread
All we had to sleep on was buffalo skins for a bed
While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives they had no show
I tell you there’s no hell on earth like the trail of the buffalo
The working season ended and the drover would not pay
“You went and drunk too much, you’re all in debt to me.”
But the cowboys had never heard of such a thing as a bankrupt law
So we left that Crego’s bones to bleach in the hot, desert sun
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7. |
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My first truck was a Chevy, my next truck will be a Ford
When I turned that Chevy upside down I had the pedal floored
I was kicking out ‘cross the gravel when she got away from me
first truck was a Chevy and I wrapped her ‘round a tree
Kicking it down on a red dirt road
Sun is hot and the air is cold
Got nowhere that I need to be
Sky is blue far as I can see
Nothing on the radio so I sing
Woman I love wears a wedding ring
I crawled out of the wreckage and I lay down in the dirt
I knew that truck’d never run again, and my whole body hurt
I passed out in the red dirt and woke to the ambulance door
I loved that Chevy like a good ole friend but my next truck was gonna be a Ford
And if I had to do it all again
I prolly wouldn’t change a Goddamn thing
It ain’t that I’ve always been correct
There’s more than one truck that I have wrecked
My first wife was a beauty, her eyes were black as night
I watched her walk away from me, man she was outta sight
The woman I love now has got a man, she lends me borrowed time
It’s a living reminder nothing I’ve owned was ever mine
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8. |
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My friend he is a gentle giant
He's got a gap tooth in his grin
I've seen his heart fall on the floor
And I'll see him next time on the wind
Doubled over we are laughing
Stupid jokes again
I've seen us laugh 'till ribs were cracking
I'll see us both laugh on the wind
You were feeling bad about a woman
She dumped you and chose him
I've seen you with your shoulders slumped
Well, I'll see ya next time on the wind
Fist fights out behind the bar
I don't believe you were born to sin
I've seen you hold a bird in your hand
I'll see ya next time on the wind
Misfits, man, we were together
Swear to God you are my kin
We saw rigs moved across the Bakken
See ya next time on the wind
So boom down and hold your load
Crane operator ain't my friend
We've both seen the wrong end of a cussing
Well, I'll see ya next time on the wind
When the crane operators sing
Pick your eyes up off your plate
Wipe the grease off your chin
I've seen you eat two full dinners
I'll see ya next time on the wind
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The Good Hand Lexington, Kentucky
Michael Patrick F. Smith is a writer and musician. His book THE GOOD HAND: A Memoir of Work, Brotherhood, and Transformation, is currently available on Viking Press.
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