A: Enlightenment B: Endarkenment (Hint: There Is No C)

A: Enlightenment B: Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)

A: Enlightenment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)

 

Tarnished and disgraced, I lay down

A black sparrow come to me in a dream

 

He whispered: A. Enlightenment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)

A: Enlightenment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)

A: Enlightenment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)

And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts

And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts

 

Swollen and embarrassed I rose up

A black sparrow’s perched on highline pole

 

He whispered: A. Enlightenment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)

A: Enlightenment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)

A: Enlightenment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)

And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts

And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts

 

Trembling and a shaken I looked down

A black sparrow was tattooed on my hand

 

It whispered: A. Enlightenment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)

A: Enlightenment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)

A: Enlightenment B. Endarkenment (Hint: there is no C)

And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts

And heaven pours down rain and lightning bolts

 

 

RWH: vocal, harmonica,
Kevin Russell: vocal, mandolin
Billy Cassis: acoustic guitar, harmonium
Rick Richards: stomps, shaker, tambourine, cowbell

 

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard ©

Snake Farm Publishing (SESAC)

Administered by Bug Music

Drunken Poet’s Dream

Drunken Poet’s Dream

 

I got a woman who’s wild as Rome

She likes being naked and gazed upon

She crosses a bridge then sets in on fire

She lands like a bird on a telephone wire

 

I’m gonna hollar, and I’m gonna scream

I’m gonna get me some mescaline

Then I’m gonna rhyme that with gasoline

It’s a drunken poet’s dream

 

There some money on the table and a pistol on the floor

A few paperback books by Louis Lamoure

Whisky bottles are scattered like last night’s clothes

Cigarettes, papers and Oreos

 

My harmonica’s got a busted reed

My lips are chapped and about to bleed

She says, that’s nothing when she was a kid

She danced with the dead at the pyramids

 

Chorus

 

Now I’ll never pay back my student loan

Smelling like Coors and cheap cologne

She tells me not to worry about Judgment Day

She says dying to get to heaven’s just not our way

 

Chorus

 

I got a woman who’s wild as Rome

She likes being naked and gazed upon

 

 

RWH: vocal, acoustic guitar, harmonica
Gurf Morlix: electric guitar, vocal
Je­ Plankenhorn: electric guitar
Rick Richards: drums, percussion
George Reiff­: bass
Bukka Allen: piano

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard (Snake Farm Publishing-SESAC) and

Hayes Carll (Highway 87 Music-SESAC) ©

Administered by Bug Music

Down Home Country Blue’s

 

Down Home Country Blue’s

 

 

Sugar’s got some sweetness to it, as do my baby’s lips

And when she hears some ol’ Howlin Wolf she’s got to move her hips

Now she ain’t much for the bluegrass fiddle, she likes that bottleneck slide

A little kick with a lot of bottom and let the resonator take the ride

 

So listen up, lookie here, I’m talking’ bout them country blues,

 

Now you take some Black Diamond strings on a J45

You hit them chords and get that thump, you downright sanctified

Or you can take a lipstick pickup, play it through a Fender Tweed

Oh it’s sweet …so goddamn sweet when it squeals, squalls and bleeds

 

So listen up, lookie here, I’m talking’ bout them country blues,

Them down home country blues

 

You know I’m strong for the union and the rank and file

And I talk with a southern drawl and I still say honey child

Now I’m partial to old hooker’s singing “Crawling King Snake”

And I can say that Muddy Waters is as deep as William Blake

 

So listen up, lookie here, I’m talking ’bout them country blues,

Them down home country blues

Ahh, listen up, lookie here, I’m talking ‘bout them country blues

Them down home country blues

 

RWH: vocal, Gibson J45
Jeff­ Plankenhorn: dobro
Derick O’Brian: electric guitar
Rick Richards: drums
George Reiff­: bass
Bukka Allen: keyboards

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard ©

Published by Snake Farm Publishing (SESAC)

Administered by Bug Music

Wasp’s Nest

Wasp’s Nest

 

 

There’s a wasp nest on my back porch, it might be a cause for alarm

There’s a wasp nest on my back porch, it might be a cause for alarm

There’s some holes in my screen door and the little critters is all a swarm

 

T o fix the holes, it’s gonna take some hairpins and some wire

T o fix the holes, it’s gonna take some hairpins and some wire

I f a wasp is to sting you, it burns like unrighteous hellfire

 

T hem goddamn wasps is good for nothin’ they’re lowdown miserable mean

Them goddamn wasps is good for nothin’ they’re lowdown miserable mean

For the time being I’ll just swat at’em till them holes is patched up in the screen

 

 

RWH: bottleneck slide
Lucas Hubbard: electric guitar
Rick Richards: drums, dinero bag
George Reiff­: bass

 

 

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard ©

Snake Farm Publishing (SESAC)

Administered by Bug Music

Pots and Pans

Pots and Pans

 

You take some pot & pans

You take some pots & pans

You take some pots & pans

Hit ’em with some sticks

Hit ’em with some sticks

Just go on & hit’em with a couple sticks

 

Now I got a mandolin,

I got a mandolin,

I got a mandolin

I love the way it rings,

I love the way it rings,

I just love the way it rings

 

Baby’s got a tambourine,

Baby’s got a tambourine,

Baby’s got a tambourine,

Shakes it in my face

Shakes it my face

She just shakes it in my face

 

I got some old brown shoes

Got some old brown shoes

I got some old brown shoes

I stomp’em on the floor

I stomp’em on the floor

I just stomp’em on the floor

 

My boys got an old guitar

Boys got an old guitar

Boys got an old guitar

He loves to bend them strings

He loves to bend them strings

He just loves to bend them strings

 

I got an old French harp

I got an old French harp

I got an old French harp

It’s in the key of C is the key of C

This song’s in the key of G

 

 

I holler and she moans,

I holler and she moans,

I holler and my baby moans

It’s a hellacious sound

It’s a hellacious sound

It’s just one hellacious sound

 

So you take some pots & pans

You take some pots & pans

You take some pot & pans

You Hit ’em with some sticks

You Hit ’em with some sticks

You Just hit ’em with some sticks

 

 

 

 

 

RWH: vocals
Rick Richards: pots and pans, suitcase, shaking some stuff­, stomps
George Reiff­: bass
Gurf Morlix: acoustic guitar, Mandolin,
Lucas Hubbard: electric guitar
Ray Bonneville: harmonica
Maggie Walters: moans

 

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard ©

Published by Snake Farm Publishing (SESAC)

Administered by Bug Music

 

 

 

Tornado Ripe

Tornado Ripe

 

Mama used to tell me that flies was the devil’s ears and eyes

A nd if you was to see a crow on a chimney, meant someody was fixin’ to die

I looked up on our shack late one day and saw a crow on a stove pipe

I looked up on our shack late one day and saw a crow on a stove pipe

 

 

Daddy come runnin’ in said “Gather everybody up, them clouds outside is tornado ripe”

W e was runnin’ to the cellar, when it began to rain and hail

W e was runnin’ to the cellar, when it began to rain and hail

The sky was black and jade now and them clouds had grown a tail

W e was hunkered down in the darkness and outside was a fitful sound

W e was hunkered down in the darkness and outside was a fitful sound

 

I t was if God hinself was belchin’ and growlin’ and spittin’ on the ground

M ama was cryin’, daddy was cussin’ little sister was just snifflin

M ama was cryin’, daddy was cussin’ little sister was just snifflin

 

W e come out of that hole in the ground, in all directions of the compass was death and kindlin’

We come out of that hole in the ground, in all directions of the compass was death and kindlin’

 

 

RWH: vocal, resonator slide
Seth James: electric guitar
Rick Richards: drums
George Reiff­: bass

 

 

 

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard ©

Snake Farm Publishing (SESAC)

Administered by Bug Music

Whoop and Hollar

Whoop and Hollar

 

When I rise up out the river knowing my sins been washed away

I’m gonna whoop, I’m gonna hollar

When I rise up out the river knowing my sins been washed away

I’m gonna whoop, I’m gonna hollar

 

I’m gonna whoop, I’m gonna hollar

I’m gonna rise up a’whoopin’ and a’hollarin’

Rise up a’whoopin’ and a’hollarin

Rise up a whoopn’ and a hollarin’

Rise up, Rise up

 

When I rise up out of my grave and see my savior’s face

I ‘m gonna whoop, I’m gonna hollar

When I rise up out of my grave and see my savior’s face

I ‘m gonna whoop, I’m gonna hollar

 

I’m gonna rise up a’whoopin’ and a’hollarin’

Rise up a’whoopin’ and a’hollarin

Rise up a whoopn’ and a hollarin’

Rise up, Rise up

 

W hen I rise up in God’s empyrean heaven

Flapping my angel wings

I ‘m gonna whoop,I’m gonna hollar

 

I’m gonna rise up a’whoopin’ and a’hollarin’

Rise up a’whoopin’ and a’hollarin

Rise up a whoopn’ and a hollarin’

Rise up, rise up

 

 

RWH: vocals, handclaps
The Trishas: (Jamie Wilson, Savannah Welch, Kelley Mickwee, Liz Foster) vocals, handclaps
Rick Richards: tom drum,

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard ©

Snake Farm Publishing (SESAC)

Administered by Bug Music

Black Wings

 

Black Wings

 

Fly away on them old wings black as they may be

Believing what you leave behind is burnt up and junk debris

And ever last undying soul resides at a hotel in Saint Marie

So fly away on them old wings black as they may be

 

Fly away on them old wings black as they may be

Shimmerin’ like a Leslie and a Hammond B3

Or a shaking tambourine at a gospel jubilee

So fly away on them old wings black as they may be

 

Fly away on them old wings black as they may be

Jangling and jingling all the way to Tennessee

Trusting in a Duo Jet and a 9 volt battery

So fly away on them old wings black as they may be

 

Fly away on them old wings black as they may be

Strumming on a Stella guitar and singing Deportee

Now that ain’t much of a repertoire, oh no siree

So fly away on them old wings black as they may be

 

Fly away on them old wings black as they may be

You’ll never gonna reach the sun or the Sunset Marquis

You’ll die like a saint on high alongside gamblers and thieves

Fly away on them old wings black as they may be

 

RWH: vocal, acoustic guitar, harmonica
Billy Cassis: electric guitar
Rick Richards: drums, percussion

 

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard ©

Snake Farm Publishing (SESAC)

Administered by Bug Music

 

Loose

Loose

 

I went to see her laid out to meet her saints

She was dressed in white low cut silk and lace

Even her mama said she was always trouble

Promise a man everything, give him half and charge him double

 

We all gonna bust loose one of these days

We all got to stay loose come what may

We all wanna cut loose on payday

Now we ain’t ever gonna break loose of these old rock and roll ways

 

Now that girl walked like she owned Bourbon Street

And in those days she had grown men kneeling at her feet

She took to an old profession as source of revenue

Now all she’s taking with her is a dress from Saks 5th Avenue

 

We all gonna bust loose one of these days

We all got to stay loose come what may

We all wanna cut loose on payday

Now we ain’t ever gonna break loose of these old rock and roll ways

 

She called me up one time and said let’s go get tattoos

I said well lem’me brush my teeth and find my shoes

She come down the street in a stolen Volkswagen

She smiled and said she’d decided on a crimson Chinese dragon

 

 

RWH: vocal, acoustic guitar
George Reiff­: bass
Rick Richards: drums
David Abeyta: electric guitar
Bukka Allen: organ

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard 2009 ©

Snake Farm Publishing (SESAC)

Administered by Bug Music

Day of the Dead

Day of the Dead

 

 

Sugar, skulls and marigolds

Flowers, thorns and blood

Say a prayer for each of us

Beneath the dust and mud

 

Everyday is the day of the dead

Everyday is the day of the dead

 

Thirsty ghosts and twisted bones

Petitions, shrines and feasts

Say a prayer for each of us

Whose souls have been released?

 

Everyday is the day of the dead

Everyday is the day of the dead

 

Banned saints and sweet dry bread

Candles, masks and bells

Say a prayer for each of us

Was put in heaven or in hell

 

 

 

RWH: electric slide, vocal
Rick Richards; drums, percussion
Billy Cassis: electric guitar, vocal in Spanish
George Reiff­: bass

 

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard and Billy Cassis ©

Published by Snake Farm Publishing (SESAC)

Administered by Bug Music

 

Opium

Opium

 

Beautiful smoke, beautiful smoke

Whispers never mind, whispers never mind

Opium, opium

 

Makes the deep things appear

Makes the deep things appear

Opium, opium

 

Sugarcoats my blues, sugarcoats my blues

It’s such an elegant decay, such an elegant decay

Opium, opium

 

Beautiful smoke, beautiful smoke

Opium, opium, opium

 

 

 

RWH: resonator, vocal
Billy Cassis: acoustic guitar
Rick Richards: drums, percussion
Maggie Walters: harmony vocal

 

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard ©

Snake Farm Publishing (SESAC)

Administered by Bug Music

The Four Horsemen

The Four Horsemen

 

The time is near for the great tribulation

All lost souls should be aware of this

For it is written in the Christian bible

Of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse

 

The word of John in the Book of Revelations

Tells of a Christ who could be a counterfeit

Speaks of a whore upon a scarlet beast

Of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse

 

Black and red, white and pale

Death and war, famine and pestilence

The end will begin with the sound of approaching hoof beats

Of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse

 

It is foretold the moon will turn to blood

And the sun to ashen darkness

The dead will awaken, a second coming will follow

Of the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse

 

 

RWH: vocal, occasional guitar
Dustin Welch: banjo
Trisha Keefer:fiddle

 

 

Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard ©

Snake Farm Publishing (SESAC)

Administered by Bug Music