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the real folk blues

by shoney lamar

well i wish i was a goldfish swimmin in my fake seaweed i would have all yall good lookin women fish feedin me i backed my car right into the bar and i went inside singin all my songs flat and i just wish my heart and soul sounded better than that the mornin sun, that loaded gun, i smiled real good, denied all praise but will i see you tonite mama on an outbound train? i wish i was a wish, cos all movies suck and i stink like ashtrays. and i want my water w/ ice cos i'm from the u.s.a.
i started out on coors then i hit the harder stuff i aint felt this good since i was growin up and the drunker i get the more the stranger within is revealed. until at last the unexpected seems dangerously real. when it gets too rough aw enough she says, enough i try to take her out man and she just buys me stuff. but it felt so good when all us boogie just the same. now her skirt's all tore up and my jeans got hummer stains. she wanna move to mexico, she says we'll get fluent there plus there's dirt weed cheap and deserts everywhere. but i already got dust on my pate like an ache on my heart, but you butter me up mama, let me pull yr bread aoart. i wanna rock hard but prfessionals got no soul i wanna be leprosy but i'm more like polio. i eat cigarettes for dinner w/ beer. it's a natural thing. so close yr eyes, take deep breaths, i think this one might sting. now i'm drinkin cabernet and i'm making a scene i'm high and my eyes are plantain green. and don't everyone you know just wanna play a game of kiss and tell? and they said they wanted presents. so i'm givin em hell. i take one last shot and i stagger on the stage, i'm wearin karen's sweater, fits me like a cage. as long as i'm rockin as hard as i'm coughin i figure things are cool. and i hope you like this one mama i wrote this one for you. i know it sounds just like all the others but i wrote this one for you
i put my head down right from the start to face an old and weary tell-tale heart. i can watch from its windows as my lungs feather away and come apart, and if i'm ever down and lonely, i can just drink it to a kickstart.. at last i relax my ambition, i can just listen and play the cards. slim limbs jut from a big shirt like oak branches from bricks. i could build a house w/ you baby or they're make good walking sticks yr savage, more than average, somehow makin out w/ my ex-chicks. i can't make you babies disappear but i can teach you lots of other tricks now if you've heard it all before it's time to stop listening, don't you think? fuck all you indie rock kids, lord yall drive me to drink. but we're all cut from the same cloth, all our bongs and our pants stink. that's why you should buy my new album and my next drink.
just mere days after his imminent death, old birch's ghost was seen. he was out in front of the main street station w/ the alarm goin off. he was pacing round a stack of books. then he walked past the graveyard, took a right on earl street then he left the pavement, disappeared on the beach. she was never someone you'd call stable. she had a one-bedroom w/ a manatee mailbox. when the storm came, i swear to god she got thinner, she held my hand, man she held it like a prisoner. and my mind unraveled. she had just paid the rent and the spoon in her bowl of cereal bent. twas a clear night on september 16, i was in the woods, reading poe, drinking beers unable to sleep. i heard a grasp of thunder, heard the applause of little moose feet, i saw spots of light crossing the skies in threes. and when i woke up there i was covered in leaves and i refused to move. it was bout as good as anything. you don't have to believe these things i've seen. but i'm from daytona beach, baby, you don't wanna fuck w/ me. bad things happen to good people.
let's be so still we go through withdrawal denial. let's eat some pills and just go to sleep for a while. i will name my son jesse, blessed be. i'm gonna learn him somethin give up before you give out. and sit up before you spin out and if yr lucky, you might make it out alive. she's drunk on merlot. she only knows because i told her so. yes i'm lucky to know, and i will make peace before i go. i will name his brother eli. and when he's knee-high i'm gonna learn him something give up before you give out. and sit up before you spin out and if yr lucky, you might make it out alive. now let's be honest, every cigarette has a lighting and smoking side. i might be haunted, but i do alrite when it's people-time. i will name my daughter fay wray and stay the hell out of her way. maybe she'll learn me somethin.
i get visions of cohen as a child patiently waiting, watching corners in rooms. he's got the eyes and smile of a whale, the high rise of a wive's tale, hummin somethin in a minor scale. singin, here's how you kill a man: leave a gun and a bunch of time in his hands. i get visions of cohen as a satyr happily tapping his foot over by the door. patiently waiting he orders, waiting for change he sips at his porter, waiting for some girl so he can ignore. singin, here's how you kill a man: leave a gun and a bunch of time in his hands. i get visions of cohen as a teacher. a happy father, working, earning honest dollars. he's still in love w/ his bride. they live w/ the kid in a double-wide. and to make ends meet he sells a little pot on the side. singin here's how you kill a man
kentucky, land of whiskey, you receive imperfect pasts. kentucky, sweet revolver, you secede yr perfect ass. i tried the whiskey cure and was reminded of you. you said "starting from a cold bowl is a hard thing to do." and now the songs ascends and then begins again. kentucky, listen to me, paint is for walls and doors, save a canvas, it's all been done better and before. and i know it's been a while but it's a hard thing to do. aw kentucky, all fuck-all. no wonder i fell for you. no wonder we all fell for you. and now the song ascends and then it ends.
i need a bowl and a beer just to get my head clear. this workin six days got me bent. it's all this worry, toil trouble, had to work a damn double but my soul sold good, here's the rent. and there's one last favor that i'll ask of you. won't you kill me before i gotta go to work? yes i know you want a lime, but i'm losin my damn mind and i'm not gonna snap, but i should. aw yall people make me ugly, don't big me, i'm hungry and the beer's the only thing that tastes good. and there's one last favor that i'll ask of you, won't you kill me before i gotta go to work? oh lord! strike me down! you gotta kill me before i gotta go to work. now i'd love to do you ill, isntead i'll get you that refill. and i'ma do yr damn will til yr gone. oh and pay me, show me money, i might crawl right in the oven, i might put my head in the bread machine and turn it on. and there's one last favor that i'll ask of you. won't you kill me before i gotta go to work? we can make it look like a suicide, you'll be guilt free. we can still be friends, you gotta kill me before i gotta go to work
daytona's alrite. it's just a shell of a hole filled up w/ the bar and half the people i know, my many houses, my automobile. the cigarettes are cheap and folks treat you fereal. and i loved it there but i had to move on. and oh it's good to be gone. daytona's alrite, nobody has a care. if you wanna see the ocean, you just walk over there. and there's olf folks around always up to some crazy thing. you drive real slow behind them, gives you time to sing. and i loved it there but i had to move on, and oh it's good to be gone. daytona's all rite because it's no goddamn fun. everybody knows about the stupid thing i done. there's no such thing as secrets more than a couple days. we've all fucked and lied about it to each others' face. and i loved it there but i had to move on. oh it's good to be gone. can we still be friends if i'm never coming back again?
histories 02:54
at last we're released and we're poor. i'm just yearning for my prior loves once more. i think we could all have some fun now. but it's more than 3am allows. i'm dying slowlyy so's i'm kind to my lungs. i'm dying trying writing epic blues songs. and if they're serving clean clothes at the diner i reckon i could rock a change to minor at last i'm released and i can sing out at last i know what to sing about. i think that i could and that's bad. i think it'd be good but fuck that. outside the people dance in the streets. i'm all spaced out, thinking only in waltz beats. and i think oh god, all my friends what if i never see them again?
my name ain't real, call me whatever you feel and tell me something you ain't ever been told. i did something once, now i done too much. i'll write my heart-felt songs when i'm old. the kids all run, like i'm some demon. i may be. i run from anything good. all the things i done, you know it's just begun, i'd change my childish ways if i could. oh i'll make you crazy baby i will make you hate me. my country love, she descends from above, and when she hits the ground to run she breaks her feet. and she does what it takes to relieve the aches she's like me we smoke to death and drink to sleep oh i'll make you crazy baby i will make you hate me y has el verdad de esta cancion ser perdido en traducion. y has las palabras yo canto perder todos de los sentidos. and when i stop to think i'm like a poen out of ink i've got little to say and less to do. all the things i did, find the strength to forgive you'd be a good girl to come crawling back to.
i remember doris. i was in her orbits for quite a while. she had blue collar style and the heart-smart smile of a baghdad beauty awaiting trial. i remember doris as a forest, alive in so many ways. and the music she plays, it puts you in her place and then she's got her famous claws in yr face. oh pretty mama won't you come home to me? i remember doris. she's a taurus but you'd never know. oh how i knelt how i prayed and fought and died and obeyed her every word. she must not remember cos she won't come home to me. don't treat me mean, no doris. before we make amends, we must first pretend, i'm still waiting for her to come home she's the only one i know who can find something to love in this pitiful binding of bones. so doris, won't you come home.


recorded summer 2006
on boston common
late nights.


released August 1, 2006

engineered by chris peck
mixed by chris peck and shoney lamar
mastered by chris peck

all songs written by shoney lamar.
cover art by shoney lamar

chris peck played almost all the drums
doug carter played the bass on "i'm very aware"
bryan murphy played trumpert on "finishing..."
jon ungar played piano on 1, 5, and 8
shoney played everything else.


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shoney lamar Concord, North Carolina

he loves to do excercise regularly and also tells others to do that

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