Growl
The Knives of Spain
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
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
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 4th 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’
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
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
Shakin’ them bones
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
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
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
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
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
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
Mt. Kharma Music (ASCAP) 2002 ©
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
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
Mt. Kharma Music (ASCAP) 2002 ©
Administered by Bug Music
Stolen Horses
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
Mt. Kharma Music (ASCAP) 2002 ©
Administered by Bug Music
Little Mama
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
Mt. Kharma Music (ASCAP) 2002 ©
Administered by Bug Music