DISCOGRAPHY

Born into crisis: Kent State,
Oil Shortage, Watergate.
Go to school, sit at a desk.
Air-raid whistle blows, hit the deck.

CHORUS:
Commies Stink. Yeah, yeah.
Commies Stink. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Commies Stink. Yeah, yeah.
Commies Stink. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

All the while a Cold War raged:
Two nations staring, face to face.
We’re gonna die, so what’s the point?
Get me drunk now and pass that joint.

CHORUS

Bombs to kill a thousand times over:
Proliferation, annihilation.
Communism, how it loomed
Over our Generation of Doom.

CHORUS

Mirrored glass at my front door,
You know good news was not in store.
You hit that tree going sixty-three.
You were gone instantly.

Twenty years ago with you,
Though a cloud obscured the view.
I can’t believe you went away,
Long before you hair turned grey.

CHORUS

A minute ago, an hour from now,
I hard that sound when your tree came down.
A month to live, five-minutes past.
Does anyone hear that one hand clap?

Nothing was left untold.
You never got to grow old.
I would have liked to see you again.
But fighting fate, that’s not zen.

CHORUS:
Been tied down by the factory belt,
Never thought how I really felt.
Now I’ve come out from the clouds,
Finally living in the here and now…
Here and now…here and now.

Another Saturday in the Fall of ‘85.
Out in the field, a football star: number 25.
Been startin’ varsity since freshman year.
When he catches the ball, you can hear the crowd cheer…

CHORUS

Run, Jackie, run…Run, Jackie, run…Run, Jackie, run.
You gotta run.

Jackie goes to the high school dance after the big victory.
He’s earned the right to raise hell and…party.
Can’t have the hero gettin’ busted by the principal.
Teacher throws open the back door and he says:

Run, Jackie, run…Run, Jackie, run…Run, Jackie, run.
You better run.

Jackie stumbles to his car, and he lights her up.
Pedal to the metal, and he heads downhill.
He don’t see the kids caught in the crosswalk.
Three of them won’t live to talk…

And he says to himself:

Run, Jackie, run…Run, Jackie, run…Run, Jackie, run.
You gotta run.

He wakes up the next day, and he don’t recall a thing.
A slap on the wrist and probation is what he sees.
A blackout is a convenient defense.
Copes couldn’t come up with enough evidence. And the judge says:

Run, Jackie, run…Run, Jackie, run…Run, Jackie, run.
You better run.

It’s been twenty years since that die was cast.
Jackie moved down south to forget about the past.
He’s been building bridges, working construction.
He ain’t the same since it all happened.

And you can’t
Run, Jackie, run…Run, Jackie, run…Run, Jackie, run.
You can’t run.

Saw you at the bar, must have been 15 years.
You were with old friends,
Drinking many beers.
You came and you went, with no fanfare.
You came back alone, and I caught your stare.

SOLO

We caught up and you know we rehashed old times.
You asked me to take you home.
I said, “Won’t your husband mind?”
“Not tonight, he’s out of town. He’s a pro wrestler out touring around.”
So we go to her place, she puts her nightgown on.
Next thing you know, I got my jammies on.

CHORUS:

Hands on my jammies, got her hands on my jammies.
Hands on my jammies, got her hands on my jammies.
And we got…hands on our jammies…got our hands on our jammies…
REPEAT, REPEAT…OUT

African Civil War, African Civil War…What are we fighting for?
Governments kill for money and oil,
But we can never settle the score.
We all stand by and do nothing: a genocide in Darfur.
Black Man killing Black Man.
A mother’s cry you ignore.

SOLO

African Civil War, African Civil War…What are we fighting for?
I’m tired of playing the rich man’s game
So he can feel secure.
Gonna stand up for the small man now.
Gonna try and settle the score.
Africa, the Cradle of Life, who started keeping score?
We’re all the same at one time. Now we kill them off with war.

SOLO

African Civil War, African Civil War…What are we fighting for?
African Civil War…What are we fighting for?
I and I can’t take it no more, I and I can’t take it no more, I and I gonna settle the score.
I and I can’t take it no more, I and I can’t take it no more, I and I gonna settle the score.
I and I can’t take it no more, I and I can’t take it no more, I and I gonna settle the score.

…OUT…

You were with her last night in the local bar.
The night before last she was in your car.
Her voice like honey, it took you in.
You might as well be committin’ a sin.

Hey baby, you’re cheatin’ again.
Guess you’re just like all the other men.
I say you do it to stroke your ego.
You say you’re doin’ it for your own soul.

CHORUS

Hey baby, you’re cheatin’ again.
Hey baby, you’re cheatin’ again.
Hey baby, you’re cheatin’ again.
I guess you’re just like all the other men.

BRIDGE:
She’s from the country, she’s part African.
She’S from the Delta, part Jamaican.
She’S from all over, but lives in Cleveland.
Hey baby, you’re cheatin’ again.

CHORUS

Say you’re ready to play the “G”.
Which would you have it be?
You say the chord, I think the spot.
Don’t want to fight, I’ll sleep on the cot.

CHORUS

BRIDGE:
She’s from all over the world.
She’s not just your average girl.
She’s from New York, Detroit, Boston,
Seattle, LA, Memphis, Austin…

CHORUS
REPEAT
OUT

Well they banded together
In their calico garb.
Called themselves Indians
To protect their farms.
Hiding in the rocks with their firearms.

Deputy came to collect the rent.
A riot broke out, and
Steele was shot in the head.
Guess what, he had it coming.

In eighteen-hundred and forty-five,
Steele was pierced by lead.
Ain’t no farmer gonna pay no rent
To work their own homestead.

Lead pierces iron,
But it can’t pierce Steele.
That got proven wrong
On Dingle hill, up on Dingle hill.

The farmers rebelled
And gave the rent collector what for.
Went down in history as the anti-rent war.

There was no man standing.
There was no stone unturned.
Oh, it’s alright now.

They banded together in calico garb.
Called themselves Indians
To protect their farms, on Dingle Hill.

A plaque marks the spot
On Dingle Hill.
An epic cause reverberates still, on dingle hill.

Tin horn sounds the warning.
Tin horn sounds the warning.

White Man move here 20 score ago,
So they could pray the god they want.
The problem was, someone was here first.
Didn’t the Savage Man have any rights?

CHORUS:
They had no deeds or property lines,
Just the knowledge of how to survive.
What ever happened to God-given rights?
Not for the Savages, just for the Whites.
Whose land is it anyway?

He hunted an grew his own food.
Gunpowder, clothes, and shoes were all new.
We gave him booze and warm blankets.
They took to booze like moths to a flame.
Blankets with pox, to which they were not immune.

CHORUS

Now I walk this land I call my own,
Where a Savage Man once hunted an roamed.
We bullied and moved and killed them all off.
No one speaks of these facts today.
Hard to believe we played a part in Darwin’s Law.

CHORUS

He was a year or two older back in high school.
He didn’t really fit in, that much was true.
He was too small, had no skills for ball.
He played violin in the orchestra.

He was chased down the halls, he was punched and kicked.
The bullies, they found an easy target.
Richie was weak and defenseless,
A child’s cruelty can be so senseless.

CHORUS

Hey Richie, where you going with that wire and twine?
He’s goin’ out tonight to walk that line.
It’s not the time of year for mending fences.
You should be out playing, singing and dancing.

Going to the barn to do the chores,
Doesn’t care no more, ’bout his test scores.
Looking for a way to get some relief,
To run away from this world of grief.

CHORUS

When I heard the news, I fell straight to my knees.
Hard to believe this world’s cruelty.
I cried like hell in my mother’s arms.
Now Richie’s in a place that can do him no harm.

This tune is a funky free-for-all possibly recorded in a barn. No members of the band have any memory of creating the track, and it may be the result of a rare group sleepwalking event. At one point Chico seems to wake up in the midst of the recording, disoriented, only to loose consciousness again in time for the final chorus. Some suspect witchcraft or necromancy is involved due to the strange chanting that seems to come from many directions at once. Regardless of its origins, this is a spectacular accomplishment, and begs the question, “Who is the Country Fella?”