If this doesn't prove we will be mixing eras and genres, nothing will. I love the Outlaws. When in the mood, bring on Waylon or Willie and Merle. Then there is nothing for the blues that Hank Williams and "I'm So Lonesome, I Could Cry" won't improve. Charlie Daniels just keeps getting better and better with Midnight Wind or David Allen Coe and the ghostly "The Ride". When it comes to Country in general, don't get me started on Patsi, Cline, K. T. Oslin or Reba or we will be here all night. Today it's country ... Can grand opera be far behind?
There is a great distance from the country of decades ago and today, so use this song, or just write how you feel about the music, the performers, regrets, mistakes, memories of a kinder, gentler time ... Break out your inner outlaw and then Take This Tune for Monday, August 10.
Well I woke up Sunday morning,
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled through my closet for my clothes,
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
An' I shaved my face and combed my hair,
An' stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.
I'd smoked my brain the night before,
On cigarettes and songs I'd been pickin'.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid,
Cussin' at a can that he was kicking.
Then I crossed the empty street,
'n caught the Sunday smell of someone fryin' chicken.
And it took me back to somethin',
That I'd lost somehow, somewhere along the way.
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.
In the park I saw a daddy,
With a laughin' little girl who he was swingin'.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school,
And listened to the song they were singin'.
Then I headed back for home,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringin'.
And it echoed through the canyons,
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cos there's something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothin' short of dyin',
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin' city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin' comin' down.
7 comments:
Great choice! I'm going to try and come up with something this week.
If there's a line I love more than "Sunday smell of someone frying chicken" I can't think of it right now....well, maybe Steve Earle's "I'm standing in the doorway to Hell facing down the Devil with a bad attitude and a .45."
Now you really have the gray matter whirling... I will come up with something.
Mine will be up Sunday afternoon to catch the over the pond crowd. The nice lady above me here, Patsi Cox, gets a shout out for her Garth Brooks biography.
Steve Earle, The Unrepentant
I hope it's not cheating but I actually had a post from about three years ago that included this very song. It's up and running!
I've got some writers block Jamie but I am not giving up. I will jump in when the old brain cells start colliding together again.
Don't forget Johnny Horton....
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