“Out here in the fields…
I fought for my meals.
I get my back into my livinnn’.

I don’t need to fight
To prove I’m right.
I don’t need to be forgivennn.

Yeah yeah yeah yeah
YEEEAH-uh.”

(I be hollerin’ these righteous lyrics while on errands in my pickup truck.)

My bestest Butch bud really loves good music, but didn’t even recognize *Freebird*. Can you imagine such!?! How did hie ever break up with a girl without knowing Freebird? Hie is ten years younger than me. I just wanna burn a like bazillion CDs and make that boi breathe that good old shit for a day.

And my most favorite, sweetest fag friend… finally got him stoned and the stick fell right out of his ass. He was cured. In between laughing like “huh huh huh” all night Beevis and Butthead style, he says… “Wow, I finally get 70’s music.” Yeah, the frikken PetShop Boys and the Thompson Twins? Their hearts are not hanging out, homo.

All that whiney alternative killed rawk n’ roll, yanno. The last good band was Guns n’ Roses or maybe the Black Crowes. Rap is the only thing with an edge these days. And some old Delta blues.

“I got my mojo werkin’
but it ain’t werkin’ on youuu.”

Chris heard me singing and carrying on, and she just told me I am not as cool as her.

Pfft. Riiiiiiight.

Posted by Daddy Rhon on Sunday, June 20th, 2004 at 5:53 pm.