Psychobilly political Typology

perhaps it is symbolic existence of shadows dancing on the walls.

Riding in the middle of knowherenowhere
Blazing outlaw music

Where we are today is not the time when my great aunt rode over the hill to see the grunting tractors digging out the lake to spook the miles

We're only two generations away from riding a fucking mule to school if we went at all

Bill Malone did his dissertation on country music 

It's hard plowing. That particular man was not slack in his work. Layers upon layers. Interviews from magazines and societies that are 50 years old and more 

Minnie Pearl called Hank3 a ghost

And yet there he is on the tape

Telling us how little he has of his grandfather 

He's one foot in the grave and another headed into the future 

Exactly how many times have I seen someone go from hard country to 

Hardcore psychopunk

I haven't heard of him taking a shit like that one old boy

But, it got funky at Trees

he oughta be here

Perhaps that's why it's up to us

He got worn out 

Hotter fires burn fast

Rust never sleeps though 

He was a Kentucky psychobilly before the word existed

Goddammit. Him and Molly Ivins 

They fucking saw it. 

Every day there is some city kid that hears Johnny Cash 

in the country someone hears Melvins

And in the street they meet 

Standing in the Chrysanthemum

Sometimes I see it if I try.
 It's always been there.

I was born in this life. I don't think you or I asked for it. It is what we are born into. Some of us go away and some of us stay.

I used to think that if you worked hard and tried hard good things would happen. That's not necessarily true.
The good that you receive might not be what you recognize. It might be a cup of beans and rice in a bowl with some bits of wild pig.
 The kindness of a prison guard that tells you that the best thing you can do for your dead friend is to go home.

Maybe you were born to a big estate.
Maybe you were born in the slave quarters.

None of it matters. It's all a mirage. The only things that last are what we do. Even the words we say are us. Words we leave behind us. They might last longer than that tree we planted and it it's a hardier species than mine.