I liked Conway Twitty
for several reasons. For one, we come from the same hometown in Arkansas. For
another, he chose his last name after a town in Texas, my adopted home state. But
what I liked most about him was that he saw his songs as ways for suitors to
express their feelings. If a guy wanted to say something romantic (or even a
tad risqué), but could not quite find the words, all he had to do was let
Conway do the talking—buy her the record, or even better, have some deejay
dedicate it to her.
That’s something else
CT and I have in common. I too speak for a group that has something to say, but
has the devil’s own time trying to articulate it. Conway spoke for the lovers; the Lorax speaks for the
trees; but these, these bellyaching blamers have come to rely on me as their
spokes-moaner.
You know the ones:
they have it all figured out in their heads that their sorry situation cannot
possibly be due to anything that they have done or left undone. They try to pin
their pathetic plight on the politicians, big business, the fates, the flukes,
the flakes, or the phantom. But they can’t quite string the words together in
any coherent fashion. These folks stand ready, willing, and able to
throw their hands up in resignation and have another beer.
My mission is to help
these people give voice to their frustrations, so I have offered
my services, free of charge, to write a country song especially for them. Now
when a fellow is feelin frustrated and needs to lament his lack of character,
all he has to do—if you’ll loan him a quarter—is press a few buttons on the
jukebox. And it comes out somethin like this here (reach on down to about the
key of C sharp, boys): 2-3-4
Honey, have I told
you lately
How horribly I’ve
been screwed?
Everyone I run into
Is low-down, mean,
and rude.
I cain’t get a break
to save
My worthless, rotten
life.
That’s how come I
lost my job,
My address, and my
wife.
When I was only five
years old,
I fell and skinned my
knee.
But the government
won’t let me
Draw my disability.
All my luck and
bright ideas
Came to a screechin
halt;
I’m just amazed how
it’s always
Somebody else’s fault.
Whinin ‘till I lose
my mind,
Complainin just to
keep from cryin,
Draggin my sad behind
Across the
credibility line.
Belly full of cheap
moonshine,
Misery’s my
Valentine.
Honey, that’s the
reason I’m
Whinin ‘till I lose
my mind.
Everybody else has
got a
Big, new house and
car;
They prob’ly lied and
cheated
To git to where they
are.
They’re all out to
gitcha,
It’s a gross
conspiracy.
If you don’t won’t to
miss the boat,
You’d best listen to
me.
Everybody hates me,
That’s why I cain’t git
ahead.
I’ve been singled out
to lose;
They all wish I was
dead.
All that I can think
about
Is gittin my revenge.
I’ll teach them fools
a lesson:
I’ll go on a drunken
binge.
Whinin ‘till I lose
my mind,
Complain just to keep
from cryin,
Draggin my sad behind
Across the
credibility line.
I’ll keep drinkin
‘till I’m blind.
Fodder for the daily
grind.
How can life be so
unkind?
Whinin ‘till I lose
my mind.
Them educated idjits
Think that they is
such big shots.
I may not have
nothin,
But I worked for what
I got.
You’d understand real
good
If you’d of had the
life I had.
You’ve heard of poor
but honest?
Well, one out of two
ain’t bad.
I cain’t concentrate
good
‘Cause I worry about
stuff.
When’s the gittin
gonna git good?
I cain’t git enough.
Got collectors and
the IRS
And lawyers after me,
And lots of them
diseases
Like they show on the
TV.
(Poor me, I’m)
Whinin ‘till I lose
my mind
Complainin just to
keep from cryin
Draggin my sad behind
Across the
credibility line.
So mistreated and maligned!
Dwellin where the sun
don’t shine.
Wish I could afford
strychnine.
Whinin ‘till I lose
my mind.
(Yodel the big
finish):
Whi-EE-inin ‘till I loo-OO-ose my mi-Hind.
