“Hey, fate, you’re getting slack. Get outta my face, get off my back.” A bluesy Saturday night party with absolutely no socially redeeming values, just spiritual depths - my kind of party. Some nights you just have to get lost in the music and dance. “Take me back to school. It’s the natural place for a natural fool.” These songs wander around the run-down backstreets with all the glory of a good, gut-wrenching backstreet blues. “They say the truth comes at you in a whisper. Holler, I won’t complain.” And, just to be safe, the blues bring out our spiritual needs with a deep beauty for the natural man seeking for the fisher of men; “I don’t need a preacher telling me that I gotta get saved. I’m drowning in the river. Tell the fisherman that I took the bait.” The party continues with lots of shoutouts: Drink House (“as far as you can tell I’m someone you can trust”), Killing Yourself On Purpose (“my wife got all nervous, she said man there’s gotta be a better away”), I Want The Truth (“you’re out with such-and-such and so-and-so, that little chicken-headed lick-spiffy has got to go”), and The Old Whiskey Show (“did life bring you wisdom or just piss on your dreams”). Thanks for the party! Scrapomatic
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