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Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?

GUEST 14 Mar 15 - 12:02 PM
Mark Ross 14 Mar 15 - 12:54 PM
Jim Dixon 14 Mar 15 - 10:28 PM
Acorn4 15 Mar 15 - 05:11 AM
Janie 15 Mar 15 - 08:44 AM
Janie 15 Mar 15 - 09:00 AM
Janie 15 Mar 15 - 09:12 AM
Roger the Skiffler 15 Mar 15 - 11:05 AM
tritoneman 15 Mar 15 - 01:48 PM
Janie 15 Mar 15 - 04:18 PM
Janie 15 Mar 15 - 04:28 PM
PHJim 15 Mar 15 - 06:24 PM
tritoneman 15 Mar 15 - 07:13 PM
kendall 16 Mar 15 - 07:25 AM
GUEST,M 16 Mar 15 - 07:54 AM
Janie 16 Mar 15 - 11:43 PM
Jim Dixon 17 Mar 15 - 08:34 AM
GUEST 17 Mar 15 - 08:18 PM
Tattie Bogle 17 Mar 15 - 09:39 PM
Jim Dixon 18 Mar 15 - 10:33 PM
Rusty Dobro 19 Mar 15 - 06:42 AM
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Subject: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
Date: 14 Mar 15 - 12:02 PM

A friend just sent me a recording of a new talking blues by Tom Paxton called "Talking Aerobic Exercise". Not brand new - from a BBC programme a few years back. A very funny and well-written song coming as a big surprise.

However, it seems to me that talking blues is already a forgotten genre. Though Tom has remained loyal to acoustic folk music throughout his career, he hasn't written any new talking blues since "Talking Watergate", which was written in 1974 - forty years ago. Songwriters who used to write a lot of talking blues, like Bob Dylan and Phil Ochs, stopped writing songs in that form since late 60's. Younger folksingers hardly write or sing talking blues anymore.No wonder this "new" talking blues by Tom Paxton struck me with nostalgia!

I believe Tom Paxton once said in an interview that rap/hip-hop music is replacing talking blues. What do you think? Is talking blues really a forgotten and dying genre?

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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
From: Mark Ross
Date: 14 Mar 15 - 12:54 PM

Here's one from Utah Phillips;


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From: Jim Dixon
Date: 14 Mar 15 - 10:28 PM

You can hear this at YouTube:

As sung by Todd Snider on "Songs for the Daily Planet" (1994) and "That Was Me: The Best of Todd Snider 1994–1998" (2005)

Hey, hey, my, my!
Rock 'n' roll will never die.
Just hang your hair down in your eyes.
You'll make a million dollars.

Well, I was in this band goin' nowhere fast.
We sent out demos but everybody passed,
So one day we finally took the plunge,
Moved out to Seattle to play some grunge.
Washington State, that is.
Space Needle.
Eddie Vedder.

Now to fit in fast, we wear flannel shirts.
We turn our amps up until it hurts.
We got bad attitudes, and what's more,
When we play, we stare straight down at the floor.
Pretty scary.
How pensive!
How totally alternative!

Now, to fit in on the Seattle scene,
You had to show people somethin' that they'd never seen,
So thinkin' up a gimmick one day,
We decided to be the only band that wouldn't play
A note—
Under any circumstances.
Music's original alternative.
Roots grunge.

Well, we spread the word through the underground
That we were the hottest new thing in town.
A record guy come out to see us one day,
And just like always, we didn't play.
It knocked him out.
He said he loved our work.
He said he loved our work but he wasn't sure if he could sell a record with nothin' on it.
I said: "Tell 'em we're from Seattle."
He advanced us two and a half million dollars.

Hey, hey, my, my!
Rock 'n' roll will never die.
Hang your hair down in your eyes.
You'll make a million dollars.

Well, they made us do a video, but that wasn't tough,
'Cause we just filmed ourselves smashin' stuff.
It's kind o' weird, 'cause there was no music,
But MTV said that they'd love to use it.
The kids went wild; the kids went nuts.
Rollin' Stone gave us a five-star review, said we played with guts.
We were scorin' chicks, takin' drugs.
And we got asked to play MTV Unplugged.
You should 'a' seen it.
We went right out there and refused to do acoustical versions of the electrical songs that we had refused to record in the first place.
Then we smashed our shit.

Well, we blew 'em away at the Grammy show
By refusin' to play and refusin' to go;
And then just when we thought fame'd last forever,
Along come this band that wasn't even together.
Now that's alternative.
Hell, that's alternative to alternative.
I feel stupid.
And contagious.

Well, our band got dropped and that ain't funny,
'Cause we're all hooked on drugs but we're out o' money,
So the other day I called up the band.
I said, "Boys, I've taken all I can.
Shave off your goatees; pack the van.
We're goin' back to Athens."

[Todd Snider sang a somewhat different version of this song on "Near Truths and Hotel Rooms" (2003)]

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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
From: Acorn4
Date: 15 Mar 15 - 05:11 AM

Do they just call it rap these days?

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Subject: Lyr Add: TALKIN' HARVEST TIME BLUES (S Davis)
From: Janie
Date: 15 Mar 15 - 08:44 AM

Released 2004, Stephanie Davis' "Talkin' Harvest Time Blues"


Well, it starts with a catalogue that comes in the mail
In the middle of the winter, when you've had it with those pale
Thick-skinned, store-bought, sorry, hard-as-rock
Excuses for tomatoes with the flavor of a sock

And there on the cover sits THE juicy, red, ripe
Homegrown tomato you've had dancing in your head
Never mind you said last August that you'd had it up to here
With the hoeing and the weeding—that's what you say every year!

So, you fix a cup of cocoa, sink into your favorite chair
Put your feet up and you thumb through the pictures and compare
Big Boys, Better Boys, Early Girls, Romas
The new disease and drought-resistant hybrid from Sonoma !

Then it's on to peas and carrots, lima beans and beets and kale
And you've never tried kohlrabi—say, the lettuce is on sale!
What's a garden without sweet corn—better plant some marigolds
And you just read in "Prevention" 'bout how garlic's good for colds!

So, you phone an order in that nearly melts your Visa card
Then stare out at the foot of snow that blankets your backyard
And visualize your garden, oh, so peaceful and serene
Until at last you close your eyes and slip into a dream about:

CHORUS: Harvest time (bushels of red, ripe tomatoes!)
Harvest time (sweet corn that melts in your mouth!)

Well, the days turn to weeks and the next thing you know
There's a robin at the feeder and the last patch of snow
Disappears 'bout the time that a UPS truck
Backs up to your house and you stand there, awestruck

As 47 "Perishable—Plant Right Away"-
Marked boxes are unloaded on your porch as you say,
"Are you sure?" "Yes, ma'am, need your signature here—
Looks like someone's gonna have 'em quite a garden this year!"

Well, you watch him drive away, then you sink to your knees
'Cause you feel a little woozy: Forty-seven boxes—Please!
God, I know I've got a problem and we've had this talk before
But help me this one last time—I won't order anymore!

Just then, as if in answer to your prayer, your sister's van
Pulls up into the driveway with Aunt Martha, Uncle Stan,
Two nephews and a cousin, who just stopped to say hello
But soon are sporting calluses as up and down each row

You, their warden, push 'em; it's a scene from "Cool Hand Luke":
"Over there—those clods need breaking! Leave more space around that cuke!
See those bags of steer manure? Bring a dozen over—fast!
Yes, I know you have lumbago, but you'll thank me when at last (it's)

CHORUS: Harvest time (show you what a real strawberry tastes like!)
Harvest time (might even let you help me dig potatoes!)

Well, that night it starts to sprinkle and you can't help feeling smug
'Cause your garden's in the ground and getting watered while you're snug
Underneath the covers, or at least until midnight
When the temperature starts dropping and in no time you're smack right

In the middle of your garden, in your jammies, on your knees
With a headlamp and a hammer and some tarps and jeez Louise
It's cold but you keep working 'till the last plant's safe from harm
And there's holes in your new jammies and bursitis in your arm

"Cause by gosh, you're a gardener right down to your muddy clogs
And even when the rabbits take your lettuce and stray dogs
Pee on your zucchini and a fungus coats your kale
"Cause it's rained for two weeks' solid—do you falter? Do you fail?

Yep. You throw your hoe down, stamp your feet and call it quits—
Declare to all the neighborhood that gardening is the pits
And you'll never plant another and this one can bloody rot
Then suddenly the sun breaks through the clouds and, like as not

You see a couple weeds you must have missed the last go-round
And shake your head and meekly pick your hoe up off the ground
And hoe and keep on hoeing 'till your romas dangle red,
Ripe and juicy on the vine, sweet corn towers overhead,

Beans hang from their trellis, big orange pumpkins sprawl about
And you get that satisfying feeling once more when you shout:

CHORUS: Harvest time (Break out the canning jars!)
Harvest time (Man the pressure cooker!)
Harvest time (You have to take zucchini—we're related!)
Harvest time (Now THIS is a tomato!)

Stephanie Davis
Recluse Music (BMI)
(970) 870-3112
All Rights Reserved

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Subject: Lyr Add: THE GUITAR (Guy Clark)
From: Janie
Date: 15 Mar 15 - 09:00 AM

Guy Clark The Guitar

Well, I was passing by a pawn shop
In an older part of town
Something caught my eye
And I stopped and turned around

I stepped inside and there I spied
In the middle of it all
Was a beat up old guitar
Hanging on the wall.

What do you want for that piece of junk
I asked the old man
He just smiled and took it down
and he put it in my hand

He said you tell me what it's worth
You're the one who wants it
Turn it up, play a song
And let's just see what haunts it

So I hit a couple of cords
In my old country way of strumming
And then my fingers turned to lightning
Man.. I never heard it coming

It was like I always knew it
I just don't know where I learned it
It wasn't nothin' but the truth
So I just reared back and burned it

Well I lost all track of time
There was nothing I couldn't pick
Up and down the neck
I never missed a lick

The guitar almost played itself
There was nothing I could do
It was getting hard to tell
Just who was playing who

When I finally put it down
I couldn't catch my breath
My hands were shaking
And I was scared to death

The old man finally got up
Said where in the Hell you been
I've been waiting all these years
For you to stumble in

Then he took down an old dusty case
Said go on and pack it up
You don't owe me nothing
And then he said good luck

There was something spooky in his voice
And something strange on his face
When he shut the lid
I saw my name was on the case

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Subject: Lyr Add: LET HIM ROLL (Guy Clark)
From: Janie
Date: 15 Mar 15 - 09:12 AM

Guy Clark has written a number of talking blues songs. Here is one more. (Choosing a recent live recording - older and more polished recordings on youtube also.)

Words and music by Guy Clark
As recorded by Guy Clark on "Old No. 1" (1975)

Now, he was a wino, tried and true.
Done about everything there is to do.
He worked on freighters, an' he'd worked in bars.
He worked on farms, an' he'd worked on cars.

It was white port that put that look in his eye,
Grown men get when they need to cry.
We sat down on the curb to rest,
And his head just fell down on his chest.

He says: "Every single day it gets,
Just a little bit harder to handle and yet--"
Then he lost the thread and his mind got cluttered,
And the words just rolled off down the gutter.

Well, he was elevator man in a cheap hotel,
In exchange for the rent on a one-room cell.
An' he's old in years beyond his time,
No thanks to the world, and the white port wine.

So he says: "Son." He always called me son.
He said: "Life for you has just begun."
An' then he told me the story that I'd heard before
How he fell in love with a Dallas whore.

Well, he could cut through the years to the very night
That it ended in a whorehouse fight.
And she turned his last proposal down,
In favor of being a girl about town.

Now it's been seventeen years, right in line,
He ain't been straight in none of the time.
It's too many days of fightin' the weather,
An' too many nights of not being together.
So he died.

[Instrumental break.]

An' when they went through his personal effects,
In among the stubs from the welfare checks,
Was a crumblin' picture of a girl in a door,
And an address in Dallas and nothing more.

An' the welfare people provided the priest.
A couple from the mission down the street,
Sang "Amazing Grace", and no one cried,
'Cept some lady in black, way off to the side.

We all left and she's standing there,
A black veil covering her silver hair.
Ol' One-Eyed John said her name was Alice,
An' she used to be a whore in Dallas.

So let him roar, Lord, let him roll,
I bet he's gone to Dallas, rest his soul.
Just let him roll, Lord, let him roar,
He always said that heaven was just a Dallas whore.
Let him roar, Lord, let him roll.
I bet he's gone to Dallas, rest his soul.

[This has been covered by Johnny Cash, Townes Van Zandt, and Bobby Bare.]

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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
From: Roger the Skiffler
Date: 15 Mar 15 - 11:05 AM

It's a godsend to someone vocally challenged like me! I grew up listening to Phil Harris Darktown Poker Club",Woodman Spare that tree", Frank Crumit LIfe Gets Tedious, Lonnie's Talking Guitar Blues and others.


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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
From: tritoneman
Date: 15 Mar 15 - 01:48 PM

I always liked Farnk Crumit's 'Life Gets Tedious' - I think there was a version by Peter Lind Hayes too. I remember trying to perform Lonnie's 'Talking Guitar Blues' when I first took up the guitar and then Woody Guthrie's 'Talking Dustbowl' and trying to sound like Ramblin' Jack.....   I think the first talking blues I heard was Pete Seeger's 'Talking Union Blues'.
It's great to hear that people are still writing and performing them - I like the look of the Guy Clark one that Janie posted.

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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
From: Janie
Date: 15 Mar 15 - 04:18 PM

RtS, I think it takes an extra spark to perform talking blues. Good on you!

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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
From: Janie
Date: 15 Mar 15 - 04:28 PM

I think Jim Dixon's post and link pretty much proves "it ain't dead yet."

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Subject: Lyr Add: ALL AMERICAN BOY (from Bobby Bare)
From: PHJim
Date: 15 Mar 15 - 06:24 PM

Did Lonnie learn the "Talkin' Guitar Blues" from Cisco Houston? I think his version (almost the same) pre-dates Lonnie's.
In the fifties, Bobby Bare recorded a song called The All American Boy and released it under the name Bill Parsons. It had a lot of verses in common with The Talkin' Guitar Blues.

Gather 'round, cats, and I'll tell you a story
About how to become an All American Boy
Buy you a gittar and put it in tune
You'll be rockin' and rollin' soon.
Impressin' the girls . . . pickin' hot licks . . . all that jazz

Well I bought me a guitar a year ago
Learned how to play in a day or so
And all around town it was well understood
That I was knockin' 'em out like Johnny B. Goode
Hot licks. . . showin' off. . . ah number one.

Well , I'd practice all day and up into the night
My papa's hair was turnin' white
Cause he didn't like rock'n'roll
He said "You can stay, boy, but that's gotta go."
He's a square. . . He just didn't dig me at all

So I took my guitar, picks an' all,
Bid farewell to my …,
Split for Memphis where they say "y'all"
An' them swingin' cats are a-havin' a ball.
Sessions … hot licks an' all … they dig me.

I's rockin' an' a-boppin' an' I's a-gettin' breaks.
The girls all say that I had what it takes.
When up stepped a man with a big cigar.
He said: "Come here, cat, I'm 'o' make you a star.
I'll put you on Bandstand … buy you a Cadillac … sign here, kid."

I signed my name and became a star,
Havin' a ball with my guitar,
Drivin' a big long Cadillac,
And fightin' the girls off o' m' back.
They just kep' a-comin' … screamin' … yeah, they like it.

So I picked my guitar with a great big grin
And the money jus' kep' on pourin' in,
But then one day my Uncle Sam
He said [knock, knock, knock] "Here I am.
Uncle Sam needs ya, boy … I'm, uh, gonna cut your hair off …
Take this rifle, kid … gi' me that guitar … yeah …"

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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
From: tritoneman
Date: 15 Mar 15 - 07:13 PM

Yes. I always assumed that Lonnie was basically doing Cisco Houston's talking blues. I've never heard the Bobby Bare one but ,as you say, there are lines in common. Ah....the folk process!

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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
From: kendall
Date: 16 Mar 15 - 07:25 AM

I recorded Life gets teejus for Folk Legacy in 1974.

I also wrote a couple of my own, "It sure as hell aint country" and "The RV blues,"

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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
Date: 16 Mar 15 - 07:54 AM

It's a few years ago now (how time flies), but I always regarded Dire Straits' "Industrial Disease" as a sophisticated example of the genre.

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Subject: Lyr Add: IT SURE AS HELL AIN'T COUNTRY (K Morse)
From: Janie
Date: 16 Mar 15 - 11:43 PM


I was rolling along on the Interstate
In an 18-wheeler two hours late
Searching the dial for a country song
But, I never did find one, nothin' on but rock music
That's a contradiction in terms.

I picked up a hiker to relieve the gloom
Thought if she's willin' I'll get us a room
Make our own music. No such luck.
All she wanted was—my radio.
She found a station that was playin' that stuff
That some call country. That was bad enough,
Then she started singin' along...Had a voice that would shatter Tupperware.

We rode that way for miles and miles,
I tried to talk but she just smiled,
Kept on singin' with that awful voice
Finally, I knew I had no choice
I gotta get rid of her, or shut her up somehow.

We stopped at a diner outside Duluth
I found us a darkened booth,
Tried to get friendly but, she couldn't hear
She had one of them damned Walkmen stuck in her ear
Same old Rock & Roll, 'nuff to make you chew your own leg off.

I dropped her off in my own home town
She opened the door, and 'fore she jumped down
She wanted to know if we'd meet again
I said "Ain't likely, I ain't into pain."

I finally walked through my own front door
TV was on, going full bore
My son was watchin' TNN,
That same old racket hit me again
Can't get away from it... It's like pollution
It's everywhere.

Some guy was poundin' a big stack of drums
Screamin' something at the top of his lungs
Another had a steel and a cowboy hat
The kid says "What's the matter? You don't like that?
He's singin' 'bout the land of the free."
I said "Boy, you coulda fooled me,
But I can tell you this much: IT SURE AS HELL AIN'T COUNTRY."

copyright kendall morse

Hell no, talkin' blues ain't dead. (Also not really a genre, but more a style within country folk genre -but wtf do I know:>)

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Subject: Lyr Add: TALKIN' VETERINARIAN BLUES (Corb Lund)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 17 Mar 15 - 08:34 AM

You can hear this at YouTube (although my transcription was made from Spotify).

As sung by Corb Lund on "Losin' Lately Gambler" (2009)

This is the talkin' veterinarian
Preg-test caesarian
Section vaccination gun blues,
Take one.

Well, my daddy's a vet and if I's one too,
The one thing he always taught me to do
Was get paid.
Cash money.
See, jam an' eggs is a kind enough thank-you,
But not for the bookkeeper, not for the banker.
The margin's thin on treatin' large animals
Unless they're pure bred or, more understandable,
A racehorse o' some kind.
You see, son, city folks pay a high dollar
To make sure Fido ain't hot under his collar.
That's where the money is:
Boutique animal hospitals,
Shoppin' malls,
Cocker spaniels,
Hang your shingle!

There's a blind old woman brings in a bird
With a busted wing, and somewhere she heard
We was good doctors.
That night it died in the cage under our care,
Of unknown cause, but we'll make it square.
These things happen.
Only one cure, though:
Quick trip to the pet store.

Well, mornin' come; I didn't want to upset her.
For her own good I didn't see a need to tell her.
"Not only you boys have fixed his wing,
But it 'pears as though you taught him to sing!
You are good doctors!
He ain't never sung before.
Had him for years."

When you've been in the business as long as I have,
You begin to consider the plight o' the calves:
Fun-lovin, frolickin', carefree little critters.
Well, the first few months ain't all that bad.
They never forget the good times they had,
But then comes fall, and brandin' time,
Stuck in the ribs with a red-hot iron,
Tag in the ear, shots in the hip,
The dehorn paste, the snip-snip-snip.
Welcome to the world, little buddy!
It's no picnic.
Yeah, hand me that scalpel.

I've treated my share o' sugar-beet chokes.
If it gets too bad you got to cut the throat,
Salvage the carcase,
Dress 'im out on the spot.
This one old steer, he choked real bad
In the corner of the pen; he's mighty mad.
I poked at the beet; it wouldn't dislodge.
The farmer says: "I got a dull knife back at the garage."
I say: "Go get it. Gotta save the meat."
I managed a jugular cut; the steer jumped to his feet.
He shook his head and coughed up the beet,
Stood there and bled to death in front of his owner.
"Thank ye, doc.
What do I—owe ya?"

Well that's how it goes with the sugar-beet jokes.
Just don't get me started on—alfalfa bloats.

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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
Date: 17 Mar 15 - 08:18 PM

"Subterranean Homesick Blues" is why we have

"Pump It Up" and "Tokyo Storm Warning" Elvis Costello
"Mediate" INXS (turning cards in tribute to Bob in the video)
"It's The End of The World As We Know It" R.E.M.
"We Didn't Start The Fire" Billy Joel
"Loser" Beck
"Mope" Bloodhound Gang (rap, turning cards in tribute to Bob in the video)
"A Wolf At The Door" Radiohead (2003)
"Texas Overture" Pere Ubu (2006)
"The Far Left" Evidence (rap, turning cards in tribute to Bob in the video) (2008)

Dylan, 2004: "It's from... 'Too Much Monkey Business'...."

Chuck Berry was a country music fan who apparently knew the likes of "Hot Rod Race" by Arkie Shibley. That's especially heard in Chuck's "Jaguar And Thunderbird."

Great call on "Industrial Disease."

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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
From: Tattie Bogle
Date: 17 Mar 15 - 09:39 PM

A friend of mine wrote a really funny one about going to a pharmacy, in fairly recent times, so the art is not dead!

Another chap I know turns every song he "sings" into a talking blues.

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Subject: Lyr Add: TALKIN' BRONC BALLET BLUES (Dave Stamey)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 18 Mar 15 - 10:33 PM

You can hear this at YouTube:

As sung by Dave Stamey on "If I Had a Horse" (2003)

At a hack stable or brandin' pen—
Any place you might find some bowlegged men—
Ask any old hand; he's bound to say
He's got the answer to the bronc ballet.
If your pony breaks in two,
There's certain things a fella needs to do.
If you follow his advice down to the letter,
Your buck-off average is bound to get better.

The only problem is: you can't find two in a thousand of 'em'll tell you the same thing.

There's those who'll tell ya it's in your seat,
And the way a fella holds his feet.
You gotta sit back a little an' drop yer heels.
Try it one time, son; see how it feels.
Others say the thing to do
Is jerk 'im sideways a time or two,
Pull his head around to the left or the right
And break his momentum; he'll give up the fight.

Oh yeah: don't forget to stay loose!

Others say to rake some fur,
Get aggressive and use your spurs.
Just jab them gut-hooks into his side
And bust him into a run; it's easier to ride.
Probably won't go through a fence.
Stay relaxed now; don't get tense.
And if he happens to run ya up underneath a tree,
Remember: decapitation is preferable to a buck-off, 'cause that can be embarrassing.

Don't worry, pard; I bet they can sew that ear back on!

Some call it shameful to grab the horn.
Others say there is no scorn
For those of us who have to go pullin' leather,
Because stayin' aboard is always better.
Problem is: it happens way too fast.
Ain't got a chance to grab yer slack.
Gives a grunt and leaves the ground,
Farts you off and drags you around.

Hard to catch your breath when that happens.

Thing is, the guys that tell you this stuff,
They kind of like it when things get rough.
They say they don't want you to break your neck,
But they do enjoy watchin' a good wreck.
They been bucked off themselves a time or two.
Ain't about to make it any easier for you,
And the secret they're keepin' to themselves, o' course:
The best way to handle a snorty horse
Is let some other idiot ride him.

If you see your stirrups slap together above the saddle horn, you're prob'ly bucked off.

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Subject: RE: Talking blues, a forgotten music genre?
From: Rusty Dobro
Date: 19 Mar 15 - 06:42 AM

Here's one from a few years back, when the UK had a really dry Spring, and the use of domestic hose-pipes was banned. This of course was the cue for the heavens to open.


I jumped into my little car to go to town, it wasn't far,
But as I drove off down the lane, it started hissing down with rain.
The lightning flashed, the thunder roared, but through it went my little Ford.
It rained and rained without a pause, till water came in through the doors.
The roads filled up with muddy foam, I turned around and hurried home.

The next day wasn't quite so wet, but what a sight there was that met
My eyes when I first looked outside, I tell you, friends, I nearly cried.
My shining car it shone no more, there must have been a ton or more
Of mud and filth and grunge upon it, covering it from boot to bonnet.

Well, I'm not dumb, I tell you true, and friends, I knew just what to do.
I pulled the hosepipe from its reel, turned the tap and washed a wheel.
I worked away with hose and brush to get my motor looking plush,
But as I washed away the loam, I found that I was not alone.

A copper stood there like they do, he said 'I've had my eye on you!
You've used a hose at time of drought; I doubt they'll ever let you out!'
I said, 'I can't believe you mean it, it's rained for months, have you not seen it?'
'The law's the law' he sternly cried, 'now here's my van, please get inside!'

I'm not the kind to give up quick, and so I gave his shins a kick,
Next thing I knew I'm in a cell, Lasered and Tasered and mad as hell.
The judge he said, 'You must do time, I've never known a more serious crime.
Ten years you'll serve, there's no appeal, and we're confiscating your hosepipe reel.'

So here I am, locked safe away, I never see the light of day,
But though in prison I remain, at least I'm dry, out of the rain.

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Mudcat time: 27 September 2:43 PM EDT

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