Johnny Ramblewood and the Drunken
Loiterers
Cigarettes and Whiskey
Click here for the chords to Johnny's songs
1. The Pilgrim: Chapter 33
2. Hemenway Street (Ode to
Toby)
3. Urban Cowboy
Blues
4. Tombstone
Blues
5. Ballad of the
Underdog
6. Ode to that Girl
on the Bench
7. Our Nothing at
All
8. Late John Garfield
Blues
9. My Kind of
People
10. Talking Ills of
Society Blues
11. Vicarious
Living (A Gentleman in Waiting)
12. Saving All My Love For You
13. I Don't Think I Could (If I Tried)
14. Folsom Prison Blues
15. This Machine Kills
Fascists
16. Sunday Morning
Coming Down
1. The Pilgrim: Chapter
33
(Kris Kristofferson)
See him wasted on the sidewalk in his jacket
and his jeans
Wearin' yesterday's misfortunes like a smile
Once he had a future full of
money, love, and dreams
Which he spent like they was goin' outa style
And he keeps right on
a'changin' for the better or the worse
Searchin' for a shrine he's never
found
Never
knowin' if believin' is a blessin' or a curse
Or if the goin' up was worth the comin'
down
CHORUS:
He's a poet, he's a picker
He's a prophet, he's a
pusher
He's a
pilgrim and a preacher, and a problem when he's stoned
He's a walkin' contradiction, partly truth
and partly fiction
Takin' ev'ry wrong direction on his lonely way back
home.
He has tasted good and evil in your bedrooms
and your bars
And he's traded in tomorrow for today
Runnin' from his devils, Lord, and
reachin' for the stars
And losin' all he's loved along the way
But if this world keeps right on turnin' for the better or the worse
And
all he ever gets is older and around
From the rockin' of the
cradle to the rollin' of the hearse
The goin' up was worth the
comin' down
REPEAT CHORUS
There's a lotta wrong directions on that lonely way back home.
2. Hemenway Street (Ode to Toby)
Drinking and drugging and getting real loud
Oozing machismo and attracting a crowd
Before you know it, you hear the sirens wail
But I’m already on probation; I can’t go back to
jail
CHORUS:
But Fuck the
future, fuck the past, fuck everyone
At the cost
of everything, let’s have some fun
The chip on my
shoulder, it weighs eighteen ton
So fuck the
future, fuck the past, fuck everyone
Beer through a funnel and shrooms by the whole
The weight of your manhood is what you can hold
Until you pass out, drink as much as you can do
If you pass out you’re a bitch; that’s our catch-22
REPEAT CHORUS
Bitches have big mouths and pigs they wear blue
Their only clear purpose is to fuck with you
Fuck with those who fuck with you, that’s what I
say
To them I’ll hold a grudge to my dying day
REPEAT CHORUS
3. Urban Cowboy Blues
Riding 'round on a sawhorse, baby
From the Boston police
I
learned the ins and outs of this town
On a work
release
I know that Boston ain't perfect
But Walpole's too cold
Concrete, steel, and a two-bed bunk
Ain't no place to call home
I'm a citizen in the daytime
A
vagabond by night
Sleeping anywhere that I
can
Where the streetlights aren't bright
Look at all the big pretty buildings
They're scraping the sky
But I sleep under the bridges
'Cause their rent is too high
I got cigarettes for ambiance
Booze for insulation
And
the whirring of the traffic
Mutes my
consternation
Naw, it ain't the Tropicana
Motel
But the living is cheap
If I dream of steel doors clanging
It ain't hard to sleep
4. Tombstone Blues
(Bob Dylan)
The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course
The city
fathers they're trying to endorse
The reincarnation of Paul Revere's
horse
But the town has no need to be nervous
The ghost of Belle Starr she hands down her wits
To Jezebel
the nun she violently knits
A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits
At the
head of the chamber of commerce
CHORUS:
Mama's in the fact'ry
She ain't got no
shoes
Daddy's in the alley
He's lookin' for the fuse
I'm in the
streets
With the tombstone blues
The hysterical bride in the penny arcade
Screaming she moans,
"I've just been made"
Then sends out for the doctor who pulls down the
shade
Says, "My advice is to not let the boys in"
Now the medicine man comes and he shuffles inside
He walks
with a swagger and he says to the bride
"Stop all this weeping, swallow your
pride
You will not die, it's not poison"
REPEAT CHORUS
Well, John the Baptist after torturing a thief
Looks up at
his hero the Commander-in-Chief
Saying, "Tell me great hero, but please make
it brief
Is there a hole for me to get sick in?"
The Commander-in-Chief answers him while chasing a
fly
Saying, "Death to all those who would whimper and cry"
And dropping a
bar bell he points to the sky
Saving, "The sun's not yellow it's chicken"
REPEAT CHORUS
The king of the Philistines his soldiers to save
Put jawbones
on their tombstones and flatters their graves
Puts the pied pipers in prison
and fattens the slaves
Then sends them out to the jungle
Gypsy Davey with a blowtorch he burns out their camps
With
his faithful slave Pedro behind him he tramps
With a fantastic collection of
stamps
To win friends and influence his uncle
REPEAT CHORUS
The geometry of innocence flesh on the bone
Causes Galileo's
math book to get thrown
At Delilah who sits worthlessly alone
But the
tears on her cheeks are from laughter
Now I wish I could give Brother Bill his great thrill
I would
set him in chains at the top of the hill
Then send out for some pillars and
Cecil B. DeMille
He could die happily ever after
REPEAT CHORUS
Where Ma Raney and Beethoven once unwrapped their bed
roll
Tuba players now rehearse around the flagpole
And the National Bank
at a profit sells road maps for the soul
To the old folks home and the
college
Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could
hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and
cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge
REPEAT CHORUS
5. Ballad of the Underdog
I'm a fish out of water on a boat that won't sink
I'm too cold to cry and too tired to think
Just a-tappin' and a-flappin' on the acrylic floor
For the fisherman's libido I'm a two-dollar whore
Hey-Yo, Uh-Huh
Hey-Yo, Uh-Huh
I'm a backwoods boy just moved to the city
I was asking for work but all I got was pity
The women are more sophisticated than me
That sure as hell ain't the way it used to be
Hey-Yo, Uh-Huh
Hey-Yo, Uh-Huh
I'm Woody Guthrie in the information age
The hard times are buried on the 81st page
More jobs, more work, all is good as can be
80 million flipping burgers ain't no good economy
Hey-Yo, Uh-Huh
Hey-Yo, Uh-Huh
6. Ode to That Girl on the Bench
Preamble: I wrote this song on a Friday afternoon in November. I took a walk down the street and stopped on a bench by a trolley stop. I was mesmerized by the afternoon people rush and how eerily the train dealt with it. People by the pairs kept arriving at the stop, continuously and never broken, until there were more people than I could count. Suddenly a train would come, block my view for fifteen seconds, and the mass would be gone, just to reassemble again.
After watching that happen three or four times, a woman sat down with two friends on a bench about fifteen feet away. Her body was absolutely beautiful from head to neck; beautiful long feminine legs, jelly in an earthquake hips, statue of liberty slender arms. But once I got to her face I had to do a kickback. Damn God for making pretty girls with dog faces!
Before I’m painted chauvinistic, let me elaborate. The dog face wasn’t what really bothered me, it was her complete lack of personality. You know how you can just tell by watching someone’s manner that he has a terrible personality? Well, she was a prime example of it. In the midst of random lust and disgust, the words of this song occurred to me.
Put a bag on your head
And sit
down right here
I’ll pull it right off
After eight or nine beers
The words from your mouth
Are so
grossly inane
But I’ll fall in love
Just the same
Which one of us takes the blame?
But it really doesn’t matter
No it
don’t mean a thing
‘Cause soon I’ll be
plastered
And dance around and sing
I’ll act like your cowboy
You’ll
say you’re my dame
Which one of us takes the blame?
7. Our Nothing At All
Do you remember our nothing at all?
All those evenings up against the wall
Rusted tin soup cans we held in our hands
With the string tangled into a ball
You told me of all your friends' daggers
You showed me where each one pierced your skin
You led me to the gates of your fortress
I circled stupidly, looking for a way in
Do you remember our nothing at all?
All those evenings up against the wall
Your poker face vs. my saving grace
Sitting waiting for our cards to fall
I told you that I didn't need love
I showed you how loneliness decays
I told you that you were what I wanted
You observed my contradictions and discretely walked
away
Do you look back on our nothing at all?
Do you still think I have a lot of gall?
Do you ponder what could be between you and me?
Have I ever made you pace a hall?
I admit I think of you quite often
But in terms of what I've won and lost
My woman understands me better
And I don't have to pay your burdensome cost
8. Late John Garfield Blues
(John Prine)
Black faces pressed against the glass
Where rain has pressed
it's weight
Wind blown scarves in top down cars
All share one western
trait
Sadness leaks through tear-stained cheeks
From winos to dime-store
Jews
Probably don't know they give me
These late John Garfield
blues
Midnight fell on Franklin Street
And the lamppost bulbs were
broke
For the life of me, I could not see
But I heard a brand new
joke
Two men were standing upon a bridge
One jumped and screamed you
lose
And just left the odd man holding
Those late John Garfield blues
An old man sleeps with his conscience at night
Young kids
sleep with their dreams
While the mentally ill sit perfectly still
And
live through life's in-betweens
I'm going away to the last resort
In week or two real
soon
Where the fish don't bite but once a night
By the cold light of the
moon
The horses scream- the nightmares dream
And the dead men all wear
shoes
'Cause everybody's dancin'
Those late John Garfield blues
9. My Kind of People
310 pound doctors
And dentists
with tooth decay
Professors from Ivy League
schools
With IQs of three
Amputee hockey players
And paraplegic dancers
Phone sex operators
Who
will talk to you for free
My kind of people
Unwrapped and
unfurled
My kind of people
Throw a wrench in this world
Philosophizing drunkards
And teddy
bears with tempers
Wasted and burnt out
druggies
With insides of gold
Anti-social chatterboxes
And millionaire trailer trash
Health food fanatics
Who
wait for the bread to grow mold
My kind of people
Unwrapped and
unfurled
My kind of people
Throw a wrench in this world
They're crucified by standards
Up
to which they just cannot live
So don't treat them
nasty
And don't you dare treat them mean
Conformity is evil
In a
land of individual liberties
Though their ends
might be dirty
Their means are immaculately
clean
My kind of people
Unwrapped and
unfurled
My kind of people
Are lost in this world
10. Talking Ills of Society Blues
I walked down to the river in my walking shoes
To kill my ills of society blues
I sat down on the bank around five o'clock
A fish jumped up and said, "What's up, Doc?"
Commercialization
MCI's polluting
our waters
I was going to the store late one day
I saw a hobo so I gave him some change
I went to the store and when I got back
The bum drove away in a brand new Cadillac
Greed
He must've worked for the
public television station
There's Yanni and John Tesh playing in a hall
Britney Spears plastered all over the mall
Meanwhile back in the world that's real
Woody Guthrie can't get a record deal
Popular culture
Let's take the
wool from our eyes and knit Britney Spears a nice bellyshirt sweater
I bet Ramblin' Jack Elliot would like that
They say don't walk there after dark
Blacks and gays will shoot and rape you in the
park
But no matter how they're made out to be
None of 'em ever took shit from me
Bob Dole has
That gimpy arm has
picked more pockets than a Levi's inspector
Leonardo and Stanley with a German maid
Telling her about the price they paid
They said the Mona Lisa's just a renaissance whore
And Full Metal Jacket's 'bout love, not war
Misinterpretation
My ramblings
ain't got no meaning, no matter how much you wish and think they did
11. Vicarious Living (A Gentleman in Waiting)
Your hero in the white hat
A child
in your lap
Feet treading the drum line
A synthesizer clap
It's
just a sad song
A call with no response
My heartstrings strum the melody
What you're doing is a felony
A song about passion
With
feigned nonchalance
I'm head over heels
Laying flat on
the ground
Getting trampled by the horses
On the merry-go-round
My
hands want to grab
Your buttermilk calves
You make me live vicarious
My situation is hilarious
Living for something
That
I don't even have
12. Saving All My Love For
You
(Tom Waits)
It's too early for the circus,
It's too late for the
bars,
no one's sleepin' but the paperboys,
and no one in this town is
makin' any noise,
but the dogs and the milkmen and me.
The girls around here all look like cadillacs,
no one likes a
stranger here,
I'd come home but i'm afraid
that you won't take me
back,
but i'd trade off everything just to have you near.
I know i'm irresponsible and i don't behave,
and i ruin
everything that i do,
and i'll probably get arrested when i'm in my
grave,
but i'll be savin' all my love for you.
I paid fifteen dollars for a prostitute,
with too much makeup
and a broken shoe,
but her eyes were just a counterfeit,
she tried to gyp
me out of it,
but you know that i'm still in love you.
Don't listen to the rumors that you hear about me,
cause i
ain't as bad as they make me out to be,
well i may lose my mind but baby
can't you see,
that i'll be savin' all my love for you.
13. I Don't Think I Could (If I Tried)
Those eyes, those lips
Those ball
bearing hips
I remember
That stare, that smile
Legs that
run a country mile
I remember
Those shirts, those blues
Painted
nails and open-toe shoes
I remember
That tone, that voice
My libido
had no choice
I remember
How can I forget?
Charm of a Bug,
looks of a 'Vette
I don't think I could if I
tried
And I did, but I can't
I would like to recant
All that I said before now
14. Folsom Prison Blues
(Johnny Cash)
I hear the train a-comin'; it's rolling
'round the bend
And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when
I'm stuck at Folsom Prison
and time keeps dragging on
But that train keeps a-rollin' on down to San Antone.
When I was just a baby, my momma told me,
"Son,
Always be
a good boy; don't ever play with guns"
But I shot a man in Reno, just to watch
him die
When I
hear that whistle blowing, I hang my head and cry.
I bet there's rich folk eating from a fancy
dining car
They're prob'ly drinking coffee and smoking big cigars
But I know I had it coming,
I know I can't be free
But those people keep a-movin', and that's what tortures
me.
Well if they freed me from this prison, if
that railroad train was mine
I bet I'd move it all a little farther down the line
Far from Folsom Prison,
that's where I want to stay
And I'd let that lonesome whistle blow my blues away.
15. This Machine Kills Fascists (Ode To Woody Guthrie)
This machine kills fascists
Racists and bigots too
People who hate me for me
And you for being you
They put you down for not being them
Their children or their wives
Disrespecting your individuality
And compromising your lives
This machine kills politicians
Clergy and businessmen
Willing and able to kill
The goose that laid the golden egg
They never did like hard work
'Less it's done by someone else
They manipulate the working class
And steal our modest wealth
This machine kills meanness
And
replaces it with love
Send those bastards to get
reformed
By the miracle worker above
Them fascists don't know nothing
But the disease of human flaw
Let's wipe 'em out and reinstate
Jesus' Christ's moral law
This song was written in Boston
In
the year two-triple-zero
To the late great Woody
Guthrie
America's greatest folk hero
Though I tried to be as pure
There's one thing I know for sure
The deepest depths of my soul
Ain't as pure as Woody's asshole
16. Sunday Morning Coming Down
(Kris Kristofferson)
Well I woke up Sunday morning
With
no way to hold my head, it didn't hurt
The beer I
had for breakfast wasn't bad
So I had one more for
dessert
Then I fumbled through my closet for my
clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt
I shaved my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day
I smoked my brain the night before
On cigarettes and songs that I'd been picking
I lit my first and watched a small kid
Cussing at a can that he was kicking
Then I crossed the empty street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying
chicken
It took me back to something
That I lost somehow, somewhere along the way
CHORUS:
On the Sunday morning sidewalks
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
Makes a body feel alone
There's nothing short of dying
Half as lonesome as the sound
On the sleeping city sidewalks
Sunday morning coming down
In the park I saw a Daddy
With a
laughing little girl who he was swinging
I stopped
besides a Sunday School
And listened to a song
that they were singing
Then I headed back for
home
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was
ringing
It echoed through the canyons
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday
REPEAT CHORUS
©1999-2000 John R. Ramblewood. All Rights Reserved.