It's almost spooky about that song, no? My favorite when I was little. That and "Blood on the Saddle". I had such a crush on that doggy.
Oh Perrine Perrine. I never saw this illeged JAX. Are you sure you're not cookoo?
Jon. JON> JONNNNN: I"LL COME BY AND GET YOU. : OK? Don't forget to bring the JAX.
Hobo Jungle
-
San Diegan
Tonight's repast
Santa Maria style tri-tip
Beer can up the *** chicken
Roasted ears of white corn presoaked in sea water
Roasted yellow and red pepper sections with a daub of queso in the center at the last moment
Ice cold wedges of iceberg lettice with home made 1000 island. Best boy tomato wedges on the side
India Pale Ale during the BBQing. A modest but fruity chenin blanc from down in Santo Tomas Mexico during the meal
Sunlight until after eight
Burp. Summer is good to a hobo.
San
Santa Maria style tri-tip
Beer can up the *** chicken
Roasted ears of white corn presoaked in sea water
Roasted yellow and red pepper sections with a daub of queso in the center at the last moment
Ice cold wedges of iceberg lettice with home made 1000 island. Best boy tomato wedges on the side
India Pale Ale during the BBQing. A modest but fruity chenin blanc from down in Santo Tomas Mexico during the meal
Sunlight until after eight
Burp. Summer is good to a hobo.
San
Daisy:
I lived in Jacksonville Fla. for 10 years and I do remember seeing it in the package store. Don't know how it tasted cause I didn't drink it...I do remember getting off work at 8:00 am and going to the nearest package store with a co-worker and on Mon Wed and Fri we called it dollar day...Draft beer was a quarter a glass and we would have 4 of them and go home...
Good ole Dollar day...
Jim
I lived in Jacksonville Fla. for 10 years and I do remember seeing it in the package store. Don't know how it tasted cause I didn't drink it...I do remember getting off work at 8:00 am and going to the nearest package store with a co-worker and on Mon Wed and Fri we called it dollar day...Draft beer was a quarter a glass and we would have 4 of them and go home...
Good ole Dollar day...
Jim
==========KEEP IT ON THE RIGHT TRACK=======
-
P&R Pete
Hey Jon, and all the rest of us hobo Dads,-
Happy Father's Day, to every fellow traveler stumbling along on this most frustrating and trust-taking, exasperating and aggravating, scarifying and dare-ifying, poor-ifying and glorifying, laughing loving and rewarding journeys known to humankind.
Long may we reign!
Happy Father's Day, to every fellow traveler stumbling along on this most frustrating and trust-taking, exasperating and aggravating, scarifying and dare-ifying, poor-ifying and glorifying, laughing loving and rewarding journeys known to humankind.
Long may we reign!
One of the few things I actually got right!!!!! WOW!!
What a great looking kid, Jon. You're lucky. Happy Father's Day to all you dads. Even mine, wherever he is.
IRISH FATHERS
When he was 56, my grandfather died;
He drank himself to death in northern Canada
While living with an Indian squaw—
At least that's what my dad called her.
I never met my grandfather,
Who was dead before I arrived, though
My grandmother is still living.
I have only seen her twice:
Once when I was nine and once when I was nineteen,
And I understand why my grandfather
Left for the northern wilderness.
Yet my dad didn't invite his father to his wedding,
The wedding of my parents,
And he regretted it his entire life.
His mother had worked him against his father,
Oh, the man was nothing but a no good drunk,
And no liquor was ever allowed in the house,
(He had to stand outside in the yard to drink a beer)
But I think it was just that, for her,
All men were the same—bad.
So his mother worked him against his father,
Succeeded too, until later,
Until it was too late.
But by then he was drinking as well,
My dad was drinking, and in some ways
I think he wanted me to hate him:
Kind of giving up my love,
For the love he'd denied his father.
But I wouldn't hate him,
Though he gave me good reason
And I got real close.
Once, when I was fourteen,
He tried to stab me with a kitchen knife.
He thought I was selling him out to my mother,
Over the telephone—but it wasn't true.
He came at me with the knife,
His thin hair sticking up, his eyes gone crazy,
But I leapt up on my bed and started to open the window.
He went for the window, and I slipped past him
Out of the room and out of the house.
Outside it was snowing and very cold,
And I was only in my underwear.
I ran along the dark streets,
My bare feet slipping on the ice.
I ran to my friend's house,
Ran hard trying to keep warm,
And there, I stood long and embarrassed
Calling up to his window, Dean, Dean,
A little louder with each call, Dean, DEAN.
I didn't want to knock and wake his mother,
But of course his mother heard me before he did.
And though she had never liked me,
She let me in—I guess I looked pretty pitiful:
A blue ninety-pound kid in white underwear.
Just as my grandfather had died at 56,
My dad died when he was 56,
But he had still lived with my mother on weekends.
Sometimes when I am driving alone,
Driving up a good straight run of road,
And the low western sun is gilding
The inside of my old car and
Almost blinding my eyes,
I lift the cold beer between my thighs,
And I raise it up in front of me,
And I say, this is for you,
This is for you dad,
And then I drink for him,
I drink for my father,
As long as I possibly can.
IRISH FATHERS
When he was 56, my grandfather died;
He drank himself to death in northern Canada
While living with an Indian squaw—
At least that's what my dad called her.
I never met my grandfather,
Who was dead before I arrived, though
My grandmother is still living.
I have only seen her twice:
Once when I was nine and once when I was nineteen,
And I understand why my grandfather
Left for the northern wilderness.
Yet my dad didn't invite his father to his wedding,
The wedding of my parents,
And he regretted it his entire life.
His mother had worked him against his father,
Oh, the man was nothing but a no good drunk,
And no liquor was ever allowed in the house,
(He had to stand outside in the yard to drink a beer)
But I think it was just that, for her,
All men were the same—bad.
So his mother worked him against his father,
Succeeded too, until later,
Until it was too late.
But by then he was drinking as well,
My dad was drinking, and in some ways
I think he wanted me to hate him:
Kind of giving up my love,
For the love he'd denied his father.
But I wouldn't hate him,
Though he gave me good reason
And I got real close.
Once, when I was fourteen,
He tried to stab me with a kitchen knife.
He thought I was selling him out to my mother,
Over the telephone—but it wasn't true.
He came at me with the knife,
His thin hair sticking up, his eyes gone crazy,
But I leapt up on my bed and started to open the window.
He went for the window, and I slipped past him
Out of the room and out of the house.
Outside it was snowing and very cold,
And I was only in my underwear.
I ran along the dark streets,
My bare feet slipping on the ice.
I ran to my friend's house,
Ran hard trying to keep warm,
And there, I stood long and embarrassed
Calling up to his window, Dean, Dean,
A little louder with each call, Dean, DEAN.
I didn't want to knock and wake his mother,
But of course his mother heard me before he did.
And though she had never liked me,
She let me in—I guess I looked pretty pitiful:
A blue ninety-pound kid in white underwear.
Just as my grandfather had died at 56,
My dad died when he was 56,
But he had still lived with my mother on weekends.
Sometimes when I am driving alone,
Driving up a good straight run of road,
And the low western sun is gilding
The inside of my old car and
Almost blinding my eyes,
I lift the cold beer between my thighs,
And I raise it up in front of me,
And I say, this is for you,
This is for you dad,
And then I drink for him,
I drink for my father,
As long as I possibly can.
-
P&R Pete
Tramp, The son just went down for the count!!!! I'd say it was time for a Bacardi and Coke, Are you buying the first round, cause I'm getting the next!!! 
Last edited by 2railjon on Sun Jun 19, 2005 9:14 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Running that red block Charlie.
The Ride
David Alan Coe
I was thumbin' from montgomery
Had my guitar on my back
When a stranger stopped beside me in an antique Cadillac
Well he was dressed like 1950
Half drunk and hollow-eyed
Said "Its a long walk to Nashville
Would you like a ride, son?"
Well I sat down in the front seat and turned on the radio
Them said old songs comin' out of them speakers was solid country gold
And I noticed the stranger was ghost-white pale
When he asked me for a light
And I knew there was something strange about this ride
(Chorus)
He said "Drifter can ya make folks cry when you play and sing?
Have you paid your dues, can you moan the blues?
Can you bend them guitar strings?"
He said "Boy can you make folks feel what you feel inside?
Cause if you're big star bound let me warn ya, its a long, hard ride"
Well he cried just south of Nashville
And he turned that car around
He said "This is where you get off boy,
I'm goin' back to Alabam"
As I stepped out of that Cadillac
I said "Mr., many thanks"
He said "You don't have to call me Mr., Mr.,
The whole world called me Hank
Chorus
If you're big star bound
Let me warn ya its a long, hard ride
David Alan Coe
I was thumbin' from montgomery
Had my guitar on my back
When a stranger stopped beside me in an antique Cadillac
Well he was dressed like 1950
Half drunk and hollow-eyed
Said "Its a long walk to Nashville
Would you like a ride, son?"
Well I sat down in the front seat and turned on the radio
Them said old songs comin' out of them speakers was solid country gold
And I noticed the stranger was ghost-white pale
When he asked me for a light
And I knew there was something strange about this ride
(Chorus)
He said "Drifter can ya make folks cry when you play and sing?
Have you paid your dues, can you moan the blues?
Can you bend them guitar strings?"
He said "Boy can you make folks feel what you feel inside?
Cause if you're big star bound let me warn ya, its a long, hard ride"
Well he cried just south of Nashville
And he turned that car around
He said "This is where you get off boy,
I'm goin' back to Alabam"
As I stepped out of that Cadillac
I said "Mr., many thanks"
He said "You don't have to call me Mr., Mr.,
The whole world called me Hank
Chorus
If you're big star bound
Let me warn ya its a long, hard ride
Running that red block Charlie.
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