As I was driving around town today I was writing this country song in my head. I had the whole damn thing worked out –verses, chorus, tune, the whole shebang– and it was shaping up to be a real humdinger of drunken regret, a first-class jukebox classic, and something of a comeback record for me.
I’ve written quite a few deathless country tunes in my day, as any number of my fans could attest, and back in 1978 I recorded an album (“Rodeo Clown”) under the name Buck Warden that you’ll still see around in thrift store bins from time to time. That’s me on the cover in the hayseed clown costume, trying to break up the feuding lovers and taking a jug of moonshine upside the head for my trouble. (Sample lyric from the single: “Oh, baby, you get so wild/and you get so crazy/that I think sometimes maybe/I oughtta go out and get me/a rodeo clown.” You might remember the way I rode those last five syllables down the scale. People in the roadhouses used to really love to sing along with that one.)
At any rate, like I was saying, I had this killer song all ready to roll the minute I could get home and sing it into my phonemail at work (I lost my old tape recorder somewhere along the line). Yet when I pulled up to the curb in front of my house I realized the tune was almost completely gone. Somewhere in less than ten blocks the darn thing had just evaporated on me. Maybe this has happened to you when you’ve been working on a new country song in the car. It happens to me all the time anymore, and the missus likes to joke that I must be coming down with Old-Timer’s disease.
Honey, I tell her, for a tremendous number of pitiable Americans that is no laughing matter.
I ended up sitting there on the couch all afternoon, drinking and feeling more miserable by the hour as I tried without success to summon that tune. The closest I’ve been able to come is the first line, and I thought maybe if I tossed the line out there, you kind folks could collaborate with me on finishing the damn thing to my satisfaction. I swear to the dear Lord my mama raised me to believe in that I’ll share all subsequent proceeds with anybody who makes a positive contribution.
Here’s the first line, as best I can remember it right this moment:
I’ve been crawling around/and painting the town/with a brush/that I hold/in my toes.
Go ahead and see what you can do with it. You’d be doing an old boy a kind turn, and I’d be mighty appreciative for the help.
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