Growl

The Knives of Spain

If I had some poet’s wings

I would fly to New Orleans.

I’d rhyme my trials and my misdeeds

So if you cut the words they would bleed.

And in the night when I’m all alone

And the sadness goes to the bone.

I’d make the words in the refrain

As lethal as the knives of Spain

If I had some black cat’s bones

I’d take the things down to Antone’s

Then I’d steal what I really need

I’d take it home and I’d let it bleed

And in the night when I’m by myself

I’D take what it was down from the shelf

When I find the words in the refrain

As lethal as the knives of Spain

If I had some grains of faith

Well I’d keep ‘em where they were safe

Then I would not disbelieve

Be corrupted or deceived

And in the night when no one’s around

I would kneel down upon the ground

When I find the words in the refrain

As lethal as the knives of Spain.

And in the night when no one’s around

I would kneel down upon the ground

When I find the words in the refrain

As lethal as the knives of Spain

RWH-Acoustic Guitar, Vocals

Rick Richards-Drums

Gurf Morlix-Acoustic & Electric Rhythm, Bass

Buddy Miller-Electric Lead

Bill Chambers-Lap Slide

Kasey Chambers-Vocal

Words & Music Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard

Mt. Kharma Music (ASCAP) 2002 ©

Administered by Bug Music

No Lie

Savannah she stands in the door, she’s lookin’ cool and southern

She asks me if I want some, and I said “I can’t take another one”

I said “I can’t see to find my stuff, offer some help I’ll except I”

She said “Your guitar’s out in the back of the truck where you left it”.

It’s no lie

It’s no lie babe

I got to quit gettin’ high

I must have been cursed by a woman at one time

That would explain my luck

I was arrested on the 4^th of July, was something about my conduct

When I got out I went downtown to try to find Mr. Foley

He’s an ornery son of a bitch but his songs is almost holy.

CHORUS

Now Jesus is on the mainline is what Mr. McDowell tells me

When I hear him sing that song, words fail me

Ms. Williams tells me that Jesus turned the water into wine

You’d think somebody could do something like that

Would be a friend of mine.

CHORUS

RWH-Vocal, Electric Guitar

Rick Richards-Drums

Gurf Morlix-Bass, Electric Guitars

Words & Music Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard

Mt. Kharma Music (ASCAP) 2002 ©

Administered by Bug Music

Name Droppin’

Jon Dee Graham, Jon Dee Graham

Never been to Birmingham

Makes his living with an old lap slide

Gonna take Willie for a pony ride

Let it rain let it pour

I ain’t gonna study war no more

If you got a mind to you can sing

If you got a body baby shake that thing

Darcie Deaville, Darcie Deaville

Sweeter than a whiskey still

Got her fiddle got her a bow

Plays barefooted with painted toes

Scrappy Judd, Scrappy Judd

Got Muddy Waters in his blood

That young man can sing the blues

He don’t even tie his shoes

Mary Gauthier, Mary Gauthier

Write all night, sleep all day

Dammedest thing I ever seen

Was that woman in a limousine

Mambo John, Mambo John

It’s sad he’s gone on

When he beat his drum I’d believe

He was the prophet of the blessed leaf

RWH-Vocal, Resinator Slide

Rick Richards-Drums

Gurf Morlix-Bass, Acoustic Rhythm

Jon Dee Graham-Vocal, Lap Steel

Darcie Deaville-Vocal, Fiddle

Scrappy Jud Newcomb-Vocal, Electric Guitar

Mary Gothier-Vocal

Words & Music Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard

Mt. Kharma Music (ASCAP) 2002 ©

Administered by Bug Music

Purgatory Road

Purgatory Road

Mama comes in from the kitchen

She tells me to fetch my brother

She wipes her hands on her apron

And says don’t be late for supper

I walk out on the front porch

The suns about to die

It’s still so hot the old dogs wouldn’t bark

Even if a car’s to drive by

There s a blue green Buick

And a flat black Ford

Jacked up off the ground

Daddy sitting on a stump and he’s looking bewildered

At the parts lying all around

We ain’t been no where at all since the Fairlane threw a rod

Whatever it is has been damned to hell by my daddy and God

Some are here working on a passage to Heaven

And others they can’t carry that load

A few are left singing the blues on Purgatory Road

It is just a mile or so to the edge of town

There ain’t much of one here now since the factories closed down

You got no jobs you got no people you got no businesses

The only thing left is the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah Witness

Mama she took me to church one time gonna get me baptized

Further on down the road there is something I realized.

Now you might say its contempt prior to investigation

But nobody seems concerned about their Saviors procrastination.

Chorus

I just past the cemetery with it’s tumped over tomb stones

There’s a little tavern that’s called the Devils Backbone

It’s got your distilled spirits and Tennessee Sour Mash

And a little sign that says in God we trust, all others pay cash

My brother’s sitting on a chair in front of an old tweed amplifier

He’s playing bottle neck slide, steel on wire

Now when his mother died and his daddy left my momma she brought him home

And even thought he ain’t blood she raised him as her own

So now he sings them blues on an old Gibson 160E

And he don’t even now what color he is cause he can’t see.

Chorus

RWH-Acoustic Guitar (C Tuning)

Rick Richards- Drums

Gurf Morlix-Bass, Electric Lead

Words & Music Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard

Mt. Kharma Music (ASCAP) 2002 ©

Administered by Bug Music

Bones

When the sun comes up Mama’s singing “Ain’t no cane on the Brazos”

The sun goes down she’s moved on to “Rise up poor Lazarus

Daddy comes in in a gabardine suit says “Go fire up the rocket

He throws me the keys to the 88 and slips some dice in his pocket

Shakin’ them bones

Ah baby needs a new pair of shoes

We drive out of town across the river to this club called Three Deuces

We walk in and my daddy says “I’m feelin’ my juices

There’s a crap game going on in the back room and right off he throws a seven

He says “Let it ride” and with the devil’s good graces the old man throws an eleven

Chorus

He throws Little Joe from Kokomo, and a Fever in the Funk house

Eighter from Decatur, and the Preachers in the Whorehouse

Now there ain’t no gamblin’ or loud talk on the streets of glory

The losers say roll them dice and the winners tell smutty stories

It seems all the money in the civilized world is bet on his next toss

And he’s praying to them gambling gods for a Neener Ross on a Faughtin Hoss

Chorus

Now when the sun comes up mama’s singing “Fattening frogs for snakes”

Me and daddy walk in and he says “Hey baby we had what it takes”

“You also had some loaded dice” mama says and she kisses him

“And I’m just glad I didn’t have to get you out of the criminal judicial system”

Chorus

RWH-Vocal, Resonator Slide (F Tuning)

Gurf Morlix-Acoustic Guitar, Electric Guitar, Vocal, Jug

Rick Richards-Towel on Timbale, Really loose snare drum

Words & Music Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard

Mt. Kharma Music (ASCAP) 2002 ©

Administered by Bug Music

Preacher

Preacher come by today, preacher come by today

He talked a whole lot but didn’t have much to say

Told me of a place with streets is gold

Told me of a place with streets of gold

He went on to say that God and the devil both want my soul

Said my life was empty, something was missing

Carried on and on about how his Savior lived in the world above this one

My woman she was hanging clothes on the line

I said “Look out yonder preacher

Now tell me have you ever seen anything as fine”

See how she moves slow, see how she moves slow

You can see I ain’t missing nothing when she stoop down low

Preacher closed his Bible and he put his hat on his head

He closed his Bible and he put his hat on his head

He took off down the road, must have been something I said.

RWH-Vocal, Acoustic Guitar

Gurf Morlix-Acoustic Guitar, Right hand slapping chest, Left hand slapping left thigh, feet in shoes stomping floor

Words & Music Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard

Mt. Kharma Music (ASCAP) 2002 ©

Administered by Bug Music

Rooster

ROOSTER

My rooster crows at dawn

Don’t do nothing when the dark come in.

You know it don’t seem right

Ah it don’t seem right

Bird oughta do something about it gettin’ night

I ain’t the criminal kind

I was never the criminal kind

I just do a little pilfering from time to time

It was around Muscle Shoals

I was crawlin’ in a window, got shot full of holes.

So it was at that time

It was at that time

I decided to forgo my life of crime

So I got me got me a guitar

Oh I got me a guitar

I play all night for some money in a jar

I got me a suit of clothes

I got a suit of clothes

I rarely get home before my rooster crows.

Chorus

RWH-Vocal, Resonator Slide

Gurf Morlix-Bass, Acoustic Rhythm, Acoustic Lead

Rick Richards-Drums

Words & Music Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard

Administered by Bug Music

Rock-n-Roll is a Vicious Game

Rock –N-Roll Is A Vicious Game

When a boy picks up a guitar he learns the girls come around

And he sees things heat up when he gets his licks down

So now he believes in these mythological gods, Lightning and Muddy

And then he starts up a band and things start to get bloody

Rock and roll is a vicious game

And now the band starts gigging at these nights club where there always a sinister element

And they seem to have forgotten all about God and the New Testament

And all the kids say these guys are hotter than Nine Inch Nails

And the major record deal has now become the holy grail

Chorus

Now a hot shot producer comes along and they all sign on the dotted line

And they go in the studio and now it’s just a matter of time

And they tour Europe and they get drunk on stage but in England they think that’s cool

And back in the states the critics sit up and start to drool

Choru

So now it’s tattoos and piercings and leather and groupies and gophers

Managers and agents, lawyers, publicists, and chaueffers

And the party’s never gonna end as far as any one can see

And then the friendly stranger shows up and says the first one’s free

Chorus

And now the band has become the darlings of the media they’re all the rage

And there’s hysteria at public appearances and fistfights backstage

It seems the gods have smiled upon the band, have embraced them well

So now it’s carte blanche baby cause money talks even in hell

And now comes ER’s and stomach pumps and machines that kick start the heart

And the band breaks up and the bass player OD’s as the album reaches number one on the Billboard chart

Chorus

RWH-Vocal, Electric Guitar

Gurf Morlix-Bass, Acoustic Rhythm, Electric & Twelve String Electric, Vocal

Rick Richards-Drums

Words & Music Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard

Administered by Bug Music

Stolen Horses

I’ll be riding stolen horses when you don’t see me no more

I’ll be riding stolen horses on some distant shore

Now reincarnation as I understand it is birth, death and rebirth

Unless we get enlightment, full tilt enlightment

We come back down here on earth

And I suppose when we leave here, that we go to some celestial realm

And in one of these Heaven’s there might be horses

And if there is I’m gonna steal me a few of them.

CHORUS

Now there’s little demons on Hindu temples

Above the door and all around

What that says is we get past what scares us

And we can stand on sacred ground

So don’t be cryin’ when I’m done breathing,

The way I’m living, I’ll be back again

So close your eyes and see me riding

Some stolen horses in the wind.

CHORUS

RWH-Vocal, Resonator Slide

Gurf Morlix-Vocal, Bass, Mandocello, Acoustic Rhythm, Acoustic Lead, Tambourine

Rick Richards-Drums

Words & Music Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard

Administered by Bug Music

Little Mama

Oh little mama, oh little mama

Where’d you stay last night?

Oh little mama, oh little mama

Where did you stay last night?

Didn’t get home till past daylight

Oh little mama, oh little mama

What’d ya do?

Oh little mama, oh little mama

Tell me what did you do

Ya got holes in your shoes

Oh little mama, oh little mama

You’re my thrill

Oh little mama, oh little mama,

You know you are my thrill

Where’d you get the’ hundred dollar bill

Oh little mama, oh little mama

Appears you still high

Oh little mama, oh little mama

You look like you still high

I just can’t tell you good-bye

Oh little mama, oh little mama

You worry my mind

Oh little mama, oh little mama

You so worry my mind

Why you gotta treat me unkind

RWH-Vocal, Resonator Slide

Gurf Morlix-Bass, Mandocello, Vocal, Acoustic Rhythm, Acoustic Lead

Rick Richards-Djembe

Malcolm “Papa Mali” Welbourne-Stratotone Electric Lead

Words & Music Written by Ray Wylie Hubbard

Administered by Bug Music