Lower 48
TTT Gas
Escalade
Illegal Oyster
Arapaho
Wired Ole Gal
On Time
Do 4 U
Let Him In
Cracklins
Spanky
Blood of the Ram
Turd in my Pocket
Label: Eleven Thirty Records
Release Date: October 19, 2004
Duration: 48:17
Recording Date: February 2004 – July 2004
Recording Location: One-Off Recording, Austin, TX; Richmond Ditch
Lower 48
Kevin Russell
Florida shakes in the mystery of numbers
Pan handlers cookin them road kill wings
Texas drinks from 1100 springs
Cotton mouth and the copperhead are king
Nebraska asks if you’re up to the task of
Corn in a basket what ya gonna say
California likes to kill ther gov’ners
In a pool of blood on a super highway
Montana’s cold as the titties on witches
Freeze yer fine hairs and yer britches too
Minnesota is a site in the summer
But a Louisiana ditch is just another bayou
Aladambama and Mississippi do
Muggy in the summer and Christmas too
Oklahoma is a dirty red mean
Native American slot machine
Ate the fuzz off a Georgia peach
South Carolina I learned to preach
Married my cousin up in Arkansas
Married two more when I got to Utah
Virgina, West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee
Vermont, Delaware, Missouri
Illinois, Indiana, Wyoming, Rhode Island
Pennsylvania, Arizona, North Carolina
Michigan, Maine, Maryland, Idaho
Connecticut, Massachussets, Ohio
Nevada, Wisconsin, Oregon
Kansas, Iowa, Washington
New Hampshire, New York, New Jersey, New Mexico
North Dakota, South Dakota, Colorado
Wake up lads, we’re runnin late
Rackin my rig in the Lower 48
TTT Gas
Jimmy Smith
Triple T Gas get up out of bed
Less like the livin’ more like the dead
Wafer of bread my last poker chip
Curse to you Chairman Mao crackin’ the whip
Talk about a beat to sap anyone’s strength
Triple G Ross I look to my flank
Three day old rib from a barbecue pit
I lay in detritus a bottle of spit
Triple T Gas how can I explain
The wild asses roar like the rattlin’ death train
Set me up gentle with Vitamin G
Here’s what it stands for
Here’s what it means
First T’s for too
The second’s for tired
Third T’s to, also
The G is for give
The A is for a
And the S is for shit
Back bench is cozy
Floor’s what I get
Escalade
Kevin Russell
Even if you see it as a sad shade
It’s the golden age
Even if a flood destroys yer garden
You’ll get yerself a pardon
When the population shifts
Yer lonely as a revisionist
Touching fists with the evil empire
You’ll still be drivin that escalade
Meanwhile I ride on an ass
Even when the authority rounds us up
You still be drinkin from that golden cup
Even as society collapses
You got rose colored glasses
When the population shifts
Yer lonely as a revisionist
Touching fists with the evil empire
You’ll still be drivin that escalade
Meanwhile I ride on an ass
Illegal Oyster
Jimmy Smith
Did what I could
Let the funk in my ‘hood
Walk through my door
That’s what I asked for
Boy you better be careful
Don’t you get bent over
Watch your long shadow
You know I’ll cut you
Well hell if that’s all I gotta do
Let me quote a price for you
God damn let me get out my checkbook
Who do I make it out to
Well your daddy’s broke
And your mother’s homely
She’s a precious pearl
From an illegal oyster
Put her on a string
I’ll bet the necklace
I can name the thief
And what she ate for breakfast
Well hell if that’s all I gotta do
Let me get into costume
God damn let me get out my checkbook
Who do I make it out to
Well hell if that’s all I gotta do
Let me get in bed with you
Arapaho
Kevin Russell
Hey bartender bring me the ticket chopper
Single malt black whiskey and a virgin in the garden
I sail on a boat and my jewel box is broken
Deception and betrayal are ripe for the bargain
Arapaho
Light yer spike with a candle
And a sailor will surely die
Facist vagabonds
Never look you in the eye
Nero fiddled in Rome as the fires burned all around
So I fiddle on the ocean as the stars are falling down
Arapaho
Don’t turn yer back on a writer
Don’t lay yer hand on a drum
Don’t look too long at the smoke on the water
Or the cat might get yer tongue
When in Analog Rome do as the Analog Romans do
Prop yer feet up on a demon and sip that mornin dew
Seven African powers, sawed off double barrel shotgun
Old fashioned crucifixion the kind my grand pappy done
Arapaho
Wired Ole Gal
Jimmy Smith
She hasn’t really changed much
A rose in the wintertime
The quiet dead rose kind
Blowin’ down the cold road
And she’s a wired ole gal
Seen her read her literature
A book about rain called
I Want to Drink Some
Eleven hours of sleep gone
And she’s a wired ole gal
On Time
Max Johnston
Workin on goin, right up til we go
Hot springs Jenny, forever in the know
Color me ready, never let it show
Keep everything on time, gotta keep everything on time
Turn up green river, steady Annie as she goes
Tie your skiffy to the stage at Archambeaux’s
Movin and shakin way after close
Keep everything on time, gotta keep everything on time
Turn up green river… turnup green
Keep everything on time, gotta keep everything on time
Turn up green river, steady Annie as she goes
Tie your skiffy to the stage at Archambeaux’s
Movin and shakin way after close
Keep everything on time, gotta keep everything on time
Do 4 U
Kevin Russell
I give you my lovin
I give you my money
O I get grievous
Heaven only knows
What I do for you
And I give my happy
And I give my thumpin too
It’s getting impossible
Everything I do
Is what I do for you
Everything that I have
Everything that is true
Everything that is possible
Everything for you
Everything that you want
Everything that I do
Is what I do for you
I ask for a glass of yer kindly wine
You bring me a carafe of that old turpentine
Try to bring you flowers
You throw em on the ground
I try to sing you a song
But you don’t like the sound
Let Him In
Jimmy Smith
Have you been a drinkin’?
Old Bacchus taught me well
And yes I do remember
What the hell does that gots to do with anything
It’s cold out in this hallway would you kindly let me in
Let him in
Tell us what you brought us
I bring the pistol packin’ momma
The dirt ‘neath my nails
Got a pan of egg and sausage
And everything I ever stole
It’s cold out in this hallway would you kindly let me in
It’s cold out in this hallway would you kindly let me in
Did you dream about the children
No I count two murdered men
Gone the way of Caine and cash
Now I’m weary now I’m trendy
It’s cold out in this hallway would you kindly let me in
Let him in
Cracklins
Kevin Russell
31 days my fingers feel like rain
This jail was built on cracklins and cocaine
Policemen knocked me down and then charged me
With smokin and inciting vagrancy
Chicken sneezed eatin my cracklins
Buttercup bloomin in the badlands
Kaboom kaboom piss on the curses
Hospital kiss all the nurses
I got to find some weed and some wine
I got to find some trouble sometime
Them Navasota troopers ran me down
Escorted me right out of town
For cherry pickin squirrels and feedin dogs
And dreamin of Jamaica in a fog
Them Mississippi state police chased me
Pascagoula all the way to Metarie
I robbed a federal bank with a rack of ribs
A jar of sauce some white bread and a bib
I was eatin cracklins as the Feds were closin in
They watched the water as my car went rollin in
The dragged the river and notified my next of kin
But brother pigs do fly and so can a man
When he’s full of fried pork skins
Spanky
Jimmy Smith
I was loogin at the tackle
I came to buy a lure
I saw two bratty chillurn
Ain’t you sposed to be in school
Eight year old shoplifter
Youse thinkin’ I’m a fool
Gotdamn toy aisle misfits
Here’s what I’m gonna do
You boys need a spankin’
And I’m the one that’ll do ‘er
Now that there’s how it happened
So I told my older bro
Yeah we just took to laughin’
Lip bulger dippin’ Skoal
Why you could serve a turkey
On that man’s belt buckle
Well even if he whooped me
I couldn’t give a fuckle
You boys need a spankin’
And I’m the one that’ll do ‘er
Blood of the Ram
Kevin Russell
Dig the new breed, down from Bangor, Maine
Sunday afternoon, ruttin in the rain
Had long shaggy hair, hangin on down on the ground
Just to move his dung, took every man in town
He had great long horns harder than a pony keg
2 comin out his head and one between his legs
Great balls of thunder, full of spunk and shot
All the ladies blushed while the men were pourin draught
Lord he could ramble, lord he could rumble
When he took to stompin grown men would stumble
The slaughter house drowned in the ram’s blood
The butcher’s family washed away in the flood
The blood it flowed like a river to the sea
And baby, that’s where they baptized me
Churchlady asked me, “Are you washed in the blood,
In the pore cleansing blood of that sacrificial lamb?”
Hell no I’m washed in the blood of the ram
Turd in my Pocket
Jimmy Smith
My pants are loaded
I can get away
Havin’ fun here come the DEA
They fill me up with nine millimeter
Wrong man I said
They shot the wrong man
Because you can’t shit me
I already got a turd in my pocket
You pull me over yes I understand
The rights you read
But when it’s time to plead
I take the stand
With my hand picked jury
Wrong man they scream
You got the wrong man
Because you can’t shit me
I already got a turd in my pocket
Fat blood kilo
Puttin’ out
Rat me out no
It’s my trick
And I’m sittin’ pretty
Do my time for me
Because you can’t shit me
I already got a turd in my pocket
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