I was drunk, the night my mama got out of prison ...

I wrote some country songs

It was sort of bad enough that I sang “Friends in Low Places” just to have it immortalized on the internet on Paul’s Basement (thanks Brenda). First, I learned to dance after I got divorced. Worse yet, now I am writing a country song, even though I still don’t listen to country music on my own, except for Cash, Earle, and a few others that are more honky tonk than the crap Nashville churns out, which is just bubble gum pop country. Yes, I decided to play around with the idea of writing a country song … not in the “I was drunk, the night my momma got out of prison” sense, but more like … well, maybe. There are three real categories of “Country Song”; the silly song, the sad song, and the bitter song. I tried all three with mixed levels of success.

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1) Silly song

“You’ll Make a Friend for Life if you Just Milk That Bull” (Lyrics not reprinted here)

2) Sad song

“It doesn’t have to be this hard”

I’m getting sick of all these near misses
First dates
Awkward kisses
There it goes
Broken heart(s) again

It doesn’t have to be this hard
It shouldn’t have to be this hard
It wouldn’t have to be this hard
Why does it have to be this hard?
No one knows

I really like the new woman I’m with
I enjoy her company
It probably isn’t fair to her
As she thinks the world of me
But that’s just the way it is, in this cruel, cruel world
It should have to be this hard
But that’s just the way it is
It shouldn’t have to be this hard
It really doesn’t need to be

That little red headed girl took my heart, just like Charlie Brown
There’s nothing I can do about it
But it still just gets me down

Song structure
Verse
Chorus
Verse
Chorus/chorus
Verse
Verse/chorus Fade

3) Bitter song

I have yet to face a greater challenge as a writer than trying to describe coming home and finding my home emptied out and knowing my kids will forever live under a different roof than I do. The following excerpt from a journal entry led to the bitter country song idea ... “She didn’t even bother to F*(#ing vacuum.” (Not bitter any more, it was weird to read those old journals ...

Possible song titles were the following … “(She) didn’t even bother to vacuum” - “(She) left the place a mess” - “(She) couldn’t wait to get away …” I decided to only go with one of them.

“She didn’t even bother to vacuum”

She didn’t even vacuum
She didn’t even sweep the floor
She took everything away (no kids running through the door)
The kids will live with them now, it’s not so far away

Maybe It’ll be better
I’ll have some piece of mind
But them empty bunk in the room next door
Always make me cry

(That’s as far as I got)