I won't go into a long psychological analysis of "Blow 'Em Away". For some it may be over the line satire. I have sung the song many times always to positive response. I can understand other people being uncomfortable with it.

For myself, and for those for whom I sing it, I think it expresses the anger provoked in us by other people's road rage that most of us do not act out. Sure, I've thought of opening my door when a motorcyclist drives up between stalled cars in a traffic jam. But I don't think I would ever do it.

My read is it is human nature. Others abhor violence in all it's forms. I respect their opinions. The song is also about guns and that, too, is a very emotional topic.

For those wondering what we're talking about:

BLOW 'EM AWAY
by Chuck Brodsky

Ev'ry mornin', I commute,
Mild-mannered man in my business suit.
I wanna get home at the end of the day.
But there's all these other cars in the way.
I pull up behind one. Pull out my pistol.
And blow 'im away.

Drivin' my car, I wanna go fast.
But there's a slow car won't let me pass.
I flash my lights. I honk my horn.
I have to consider him warned.
I pull up behind him. Pull out my pistol.
And blow 'im away.

CHO:
Jesse James behind the wheel,
It's high noon in my automobile.
You can call me crazy, call me sick.
But I just wanna get where I'm goin' to quick.

That son-of-a-bitch, he cut me off.
Three whole lanes he drove across!
He made me mad. He made me swerve.
That son-of-a-bitch got what he deserved.
I pulled up behind him. Pulled out my pistol.
And blew 'im away.

That motorcycle ridin' between,
The lines of backed up traffic, right between the lanes.
You know to me, that's an act of war.
I see him comin'. I open the door.
I knock him over. Pull out my pistol.
And blow 'im away. CHO:

That little red sports. Drove so fast.
It made me jealous, it went so fast.
I gave 'im the finger. I thumbed my nose.
Took me fifty miles just to get close enough.
To pull up behind him. Pull out my pistol.
And blow 'im away.

That little old lady, bless her heart.
Walking her poodle across the boulevard.
Got a red-knitted sweater, a little red-knitted hat.
It's name is Fifi or somethin' stupid like that.
I say, "Here, Fifi". I pull out my pistol.
And blow 'im away. CHO:


Roger in Baltimore