Whinin 'Till I Lose My Mind

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.