NEVER GIVE A MOTHERFUCKER AN EVEN BREAK
'76-'77 was a year ahead of punk rock fun for me. I was living in Cedar Lake, Indiana and working as a weldor in a locomotive factory. One day the kid across the street dropped by for a visit. I was playing "Raisin' Hell" as loud as I could. I told the kid, "Randy, if you can learn to play guitar like this you won't never have to work." I guess he heard the part about not working but he never picked up a guitar. He sold drugs to the other hillbillies in town. I don't know what came of him. The last I heard was 25 years ago and the neighbors were pissed off at him.
We are all happy you lost track of your Hell Raisin' neighbour. No one wants to know what happens to anybody the hillbillies of Indiana take a disliking to.
Ya, well...I taught my kid to play (or at least taught her that she should play) a ukulele...And now, tonight, she's playing some damned place called 'The Gardner Beer House'....And she told me I should tell Mr. B'n'H that.So what the heck am I supposed to do now?.
Guess you could tell her Mr. Beer was having a glass of wine, proud he had called the winner of the NDP convention (blind) and got a terrific old laugh from the as yet undefeated beer gods of synchronicity and tell her I really could hear Leslie West's big old voice and his incomparable guitar playing that Hawaiian Mountain song of her's.
I will do that.Tell her, I mean..
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