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Dedicated to Marta Martin  

Tribute to AsA

  Updated 1-2-08

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Whinin ĎTill I Lose My Mind

by Tom Hale

I liked Conway Twitty for several reasons. For one, we came from the same hometown in Arkansas. For another, he chose his last name from a town in Texas, my adopted home state. But what I liked most about him is that he saw his songs as ways for suitors to express their feelings. If a guy wanted to say something romantic (or even a tad risquť), but could not quite find the words, all he had to do was let Conway do the talkingóbuy her the record or, even better, have some deejay dedicate it to her.

Thatís something else CT and I have in common. I too speak for a group that has something to say, but has the devilís own time trying to articulate it. It is not for the lovers, but the losers that I speak. Conway spoke for the lovers; the Lorax speaks for the trees; but these, these bellyaching blamers have come to rely on me as their spokes-moaner.

You know the ones: they have it all figured out in their heads that their sorry situation cannot possibly be due to anything that they have done or left undone. They try to pin their pathetic plight on the politicians, big business, the fates, the flukes, the flakes, or the phantom. But they canít quite string the words together in any coherent fashion. These guys (and gals) stand ready, willing, and able to throw their hands up in resignation and have another beer.

My mission is to help these people give voice to their frustrations, to help them find better excuses than, "jest bícause everthingís so messed up, thatís why." So, I have offered my services, free of charge, to write a country song especially for them. Now, when a fellow is feelin flustrated and needs to lament his lack of character, all he has to doóif Youíll loan him a quarteróis press a few buttons on the jukebox. And it comes out somethin like this here (reach on down to about the key of C sharp, boys):

Honey, have I told you lately
How horribly Iíve been screwed?
Everyone I run into
Is low down, mean, and rude.
I canít get a break to save
My worthless, rotten life.
Thatís how come I lost my job,
My birddog, and my wife.


When I was only five years old,
I fell and skinned my knee.
But the government wonít let me
Draw my disability.
All my luck and bright ideas
Came to a screechin halt;
Iím just amazed how itís always
Somebody elseís fault.


Whinin Ďtill I lose my mind,
Complainin just to keep from cryin,
Draggin my sad behind
Across the credibility line.
Belly full of cheap moonshine,
Miseryís my Valentine.
Honey, thatís the reason Iím
Whinin Ďtill I lose my mind.


Everybody else has got a
Big, new house and car;
They probíly lied and cheated
To get to where they are.
Theyíre all out to gitcha,
Itís a gross conspiracy.
If you donít wonít to miss the boat,
Youíd best listen to me.


Everybody hates me;
Thatís why I cainít get ahead.
Iíve been singled out to lose,
They all wish I was dead.
All that I can think about
Is gettin my revenge.
Iíll teach those fools a lesson:
Iíll go on a drunken binge.


Whinin Ďtill I lose my mind,
Complain just to keep from cryin,
Draggin my sad behind
Across the credibility line.
Iíll keep drinkin Ďtill Iím blind.
Fodder for the daily grind.
How can life be so unkind?
Whinin Ďtill I lose my mind.

(Yodel the big finish):

Whi-EE-inin Ďtill I loo-OO-ose my mi-Hind.

© 2000- 2006 Tom Hale

 

 

Read more of Tom Hale's Campfire Tales at http://www.wizardboys.com/tom.htm 

 

 

 

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