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To my credit I can't help my situation
To my mother I send this lonely invitation
No matter the streets I've roamed, I wanna be back home
Please don't think on the wretched things I've done
You see, it don't seem that I've got too much time
I recognize the years you ain't been on my mind.
But I'll make it through that door, though my back and legs are sore
And all I'm bringin’ is the ragged clothes I wore
Mother, I know it’s five years since you've gone
Mother, I know that I'm your only son
I still feel the love you gave
It's been floating in the waste
I'll bring it back, though it may be from my grave
It's taken all this to know I've let you down
It's taken all this to get my feet close to the ground
Though I still deny the news
I'll come crawling home to you
I'll get there with the blood that's in my shoes
There's blackened dust on the walls in here
In my cell thinkin’ all my fears are gone
Devil, spare me just one day?
Will you lend me just a single way to mourn?
It's morning time when they'll shave off all my hair.
Morning time when they'll lay me in that chair
Please hold the gates for me
When they cut me free
Out into that black and raging sea
‘Arguably OK’ can be used to honestly describe my mood on most occasions outside of listening to this awesome output. There’s no arguing the rowdy country rock on this album as anything but amazing. The raucous twang meets honky punk rock hammers down harder than a 12er of banquet beers on a muggy summer sweat. Imagine all 3 Hank Williams morphed into a raspy, psychedelic orchestra kicking their shit across the Pacific NW then rubbing it in the modern face of Nashville. Bucky
When I first heard it I thought: This is exactly what I wish country had become instead of pop. Drug confessionals, spiritual love, pared down 80s cover. True rebel. No shit-kickers attitude necessary. addem