I'm just sick of the city folk calling me a hick
Because I'm walking through the holler with a stick
Yeah? You yuppie yups can swallow this stick
I'm not a hog - I don't squeal, I don't wallow in spit
No - I'm actually a capable soul
Born dirt poor in a mining hole
Where my mama gave up wishin' as she sat there in a kitschy little
Appalachian kitchen alone
Mama's little baby's got rocks in his head
He talks to the dead
Oh - but don't walk with his head low!
I've got too much pride
Wild, wonderful, and high
To let my spirit die
I get sauced and it comes at a hell of a cost
I burn all of the bridges I cross
I take the wrong path - get lost - when I wake up in the morning I'm covered in frost
No - I'm actually a capable soul
Born dirt poor in a mining hole
Where my mama gave up wishin' as she sat there in a kitschy little
Appalachian kitchen alone
Post-punk in the Sonic Youth mold—melody covered by creeping fuzz, anchored by architectural rhythms, with lyrics both abstract and direct. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 5, 2019