Now let me tell ya one more thingAlways wanted to write a busker song. A country canticle. A roadhouse anthem. A barroom ballad that crept into every heart and jumped out through every set of lips. It would say next to nothing, but everyone says: Yes.
Ain't no harm to have a little taste
But don't lose your cool
And start messing up a man's place
Ain't no harm to take a little nip
But don't fall down and bust your lip
I wanted the high school band to butcher it, and its ground carcass peddled internationally. I wanted it hammered into the top of everyone's head in the elevator, all the while tickling the agoraphobe's feet through the ceiling of those people downstairs. I wanted it blaring from the jukebox until the bouncer unplugs it and the disreputable band in the corner starts playing it. When they stop playing it, you'd be able to hear the doppler of its sing-song lyrics as a car passed and rolled it through the wedged front door.
I wanted to write a song and then sit in the front row of a restaurant while someone else sings it. I'll sing along, I guess. Everyone does
I wanted to sit right down and write Let's Go Get Stoned, but that seat was already taken.
Let's Go Get Stoned.(Wikipedia)
Let's Go Get Stoned on Amazon