I live in Music City right? Ding dong chinga chunga shake rattle roll ringy-dingy-dong (that is the sound of my brain working)! So why not write a song about woodworking? I answered myself – yeah why not! In fact, building a guitar has been in the back of my mind for a time and someone has been trying to guide me (you know who you are), but I’ve been……well……procrastinating. Little Mikey Logic = why not write a song first so’s there is incentive to build a guitar later. So me, myself and I went about starting it. So myself said to me – why not the blues! I answered why not. So as a starting point that is the genre. But then a little more thinking revealed that we had rarely even heard a blues song. But then again, a sad lonesome cowboy song is not too far from the blues - lyrics wise. And not knowing nothing about something has never prevented us from trying it – so blues it is – maybe kinda cowboy-like. So we sits and do a little more think’n. Guzzled us some kombucha while downing some marinated anchovies, champagne grapes and black mission figs. Something about that combo made us think deeper! What about wood and what woodworking speaks to us? But there we were I with myself and me, and we were stuck – Writers Block – and we weren’t even 2 ½ minutes into the project. So myself said we needed some inspiration. He wanted to get on the internet and look at pretty cowgirls, but me had a better idea what about looking around at some lonesome cowboy songs. You know the kind – about the lonely nights spent on the trail with only you and a horse. Nights under an empty sky, with an empty part of your soul wanting for someone to talk to. The loneliness leading to dreams about lost loves and missed opportunities while listening to the lonely howl of the coyotes. Bing bang ringy-dingy-dong. EPIPHANY Hey how about a song about lonesome! You know the feeling you get while watching over a stickburner all night – just you and yourself, the smoke, the meat, your beverage of your choice and your thoughts. The thoughts of how much you are doing for your fellow man by staying up and cooking them the best food they will have ever tasted. Thoughts of how that barbecue is going to taste – the pure joy of popping that sample of that bodacious bark into your mouth and the shudder that will result. The thoughts of the sensory overload of the whole process from picking out the meat to licking that last bit of barbecue sauce and grease off your fingers before you burp your satisfaction. The feeling of watching that thin blue smoke soaring off into the unknown, but knowing smugly the intimate dance it had with that hunk of brisket/butt/whatever underneath that lid before it belched out the smokestack/vent. The knowledge of doing something your forefathers and their forefathers before did and the kindred connection and enlightenment you now share. And the anticipatory knowledge – like the stored up potential of kinetic energy – of the looks on the faces of those that gluttonously inhale, gorge, and just plain scarf down your hard won battle – your dominion over the fine balance between searing proteins, melting fat, and dissolving collagen ---- that is YOUR barbecue! But then a 2x4 hit me aside the head – this ain’t about BBQ this time
With a tip of the hat to the actor who worked in relative obscurity until his untimely death in 1995 at age 57. Timothy Scott. Despite a total of 89 film and television roles, including the Lonesome Dove mini-series and Fried Green Tomatoes (where Smokey Lonesome emerged) Timothy Scott often performed under the radar with recognition going to his more recognizable costars.
Lonesome Bubba Blues
By Little Mikey – jes words – no music – he can’t read music
First Verse
Who me? I’m a lonesome woodworker.
Call me Smokey Lonesome
Gett’n mighty low, the shadow of a man I once knew,
Same old truck, same old job, same old stinky socks
But not the same old me – that cruel finger of fate
The real me no one ever sees- no one really cares
I once was something good, now there’s nothing there.
Me, I’m Smokey Lonesome
Somewhere West of the Atlantic
Somewhere East of the Pacific
Living in Woodworking Heaven
Extra curly, sweet burl at my beck and call
One might think it comes with glory
You might think different after you listen to my story.
Midnight figure dances with midnight stars
Twinkle Twinkle my lonesome stars.
They call me Smokey Lonesome!
Forever searching for my perfect figure -
That hazy-Eyed Lady with DEEP Southern roots.
It's getting cold and I'm getting lonely.
I’ve got the lonesome bubba blues,
The Beat Down Broken Hearted Lonesome Bubba Blues
Second Verse
As good as a woman but couldn't be held.
One stop past chocolate nirvana, way past ice cream paradise
I chased her for miles lost in my love for her.
The two-step of wood, a sultry slow dance
Hear the saw squeal, the hard steel ripping
I’ve got that empty feeling in the bottom of my gut
Daydreaming about long lost boules
Long gone, now I'm lonesome and now I’m blue.
Hard times is losing your spirit, your soul
Old man lonesome holds my hand again
Am I worthy – was I ever?
I could be Friday night lighting or Saturday night spooning
Maybe frog gigging or back country moonshining
How often does my want of curl torture my spirit
Some sandpaper and oil is how my sweet love’s beauty is revealed
Like a melancholy malcontent, my glistening eyes unfocused
Once I had standing in the Redneck Social Club
But now, she left me forever and I’m just watching my spirit fall!
They call me Smokey Lonesome!
Forever searching for my perfect figure -
That hazy-Eyed Lady with DEEP Southern roots.
It's getting cold and I'm getting lonely.
I’ve got the lonesome bubba blues,
The Beat Down Broken Hearted Lonesome Bubba Blues
Third Verse
Am I lonesome tonight, do I miss my burl tonight?
Memory brings me to a lonesome place
It was both the best night of my life, and the worst.
For her it was just a dance with the tools.
She knew that just a wipe of oil would make her shine!
All night. All day. Nonstop we danced
My bones said it was a mistake- that I should never trust her.
I regret it, just a slave of her bodacious chatoyance!
On the porch I sit, Wasted time waiting for her to come back.
Gimme some pigsfeet and a glass of sweet tea
The honkytonk couldn’t cure my ills – not sure if anything canl
Skinny dippin’ in the swamp would have been more fun
Now my days are lonesome, with nights so long
It's awful hard to love a dream, when she don't care for you
Now I'm sad and lonely, she's done gone maybe never been
Won't somebody go and find my burl and bring her back to me
They call me Smokey Lonesome!
Forever searching for my perfect figure -
That hazy-Eyed Lady with DEEP Southern roots.
It's getting cold and I'm getting lonely.
I’ve got the lonesome bubba blues,
The Beat Down Broken Hearted Lonesome Bubba Blues
Fourth Verse
Got outta bed this morning and tried to bury my troubles in a bowl of grits.
See that long lonesome road, ain't got nobody, and nobody cares for me
I walked a ways and stopped on that high old lonesome hill
Looked back at my house – man I been treated wrong
I got the blues – the weary to the bone blues
Sat on the river bank just to watch the fish swim by
Lordy I’m so lonesome, she’s long gone and left me lonesome and blue.
Stretching, I point my nose to the hazy sky - a delectable breeze
Faint and aloof - a waft of woodsy muskiness - not mine!
It is but a trace of her imcomparable scent.
Jealousy and sadness washes over me, knowing what could have been.
Like putting the last piece of puzzle in place, she completed me!
Just one coat of tung oil, Oh to be rid of that weak wanton hunger
They call me Smokey Lonesome!
Forever searching for my perfect figure -
That hazy-Eyed Lady with DEEP Southern roots.
It's getting cold and I'm getting lonely.
I’ve got the lonesome bubba blues,
The Beat Down Broken Hearted Lonesome Bubba Blues
Fifth Verse
Curl and burl are like a drug, addictive, always wanting more
Under their sultry spell my brain becomes alive
My stomach churns like a tsunami, my heart pounds.
For some the effect is fleeting, but not for me.
With all her burly goodness she but lingers only a little while – teasing.
I’m utterly helpless, I’m eaten alive with thoughts of that curly goodness
Left with but a sad shell of a life, I stumble toward the fickle wheel of life
Round and round it spins and spins where it stops most don’t know
I know! For me it, always lands on a broken heart!
They call me Smokey Lonesome!
Forever searching for my perfect figure -
That hazy-Eyed Lady with DEEP Southern roots.
It's getting cold and I'm getting lonely.
I’ve got the lonesome bubba blues,
The Beat Down Broken Hearted Lonesome Bubba Blues
With a tip of the hat to the actor who worked in relative obscurity until his untimely death in 1995 at age 57. Timothy Scott. Despite a total of 89 film and television roles, including the Lonesome Dove mini-series and Fried Green Tomatoes (where Smokey Lonesome emerged) Timothy Scott often performed under the radar with recognition going to his more recognizable costars.
Lonesome Bubba Blues
By Little Mikey – jes words – no music – he can’t read music
First Verse
Who me? I’m a lonesome woodworker.
Call me Smokey Lonesome
Gett’n mighty low, the shadow of a man I once knew,
Same old truck, same old job, same old stinky socks
But not the same old me – that cruel finger of fate
The real me no one ever sees- no one really cares
I once was something good, now there’s nothing there.
Me, I’m Smokey Lonesome
Somewhere West of the Atlantic
Somewhere East of the Pacific
Living in Woodworking Heaven
Extra curly, sweet burl at my beck and call
One might think it comes with glory
You might think different after you listen to my story.
Midnight figure dances with midnight stars
Twinkle Twinkle my lonesome stars.
They call me Smokey Lonesome!
Forever searching for my perfect figure -
That hazy-Eyed Lady with DEEP Southern roots.
It's getting cold and I'm getting lonely.
I’ve got the lonesome bubba blues,
The Beat Down Broken Hearted Lonesome Bubba Blues
Second Verse
As good as a woman but couldn't be held.
One stop past chocolate nirvana, way past ice cream paradise
I chased her for miles lost in my love for her.
The two-step of wood, a sultry slow dance
Hear the saw squeal, the hard steel ripping
I’ve got that empty feeling in the bottom of my gut
Daydreaming about long lost boules
Long gone, now I'm lonesome and now I’m blue.
Hard times is losing your spirit, your soul
Old man lonesome holds my hand again
Am I worthy – was I ever?
I could be Friday night lighting or Saturday night spooning
Maybe frog gigging or back country moonshining
How often does my want of curl torture my spirit
Some sandpaper and oil is how my sweet love’s beauty is revealed
Like a melancholy malcontent, my glistening eyes unfocused
Once I had standing in the Redneck Social Club
But now, she left me forever and I’m just watching my spirit fall!
They call me Smokey Lonesome!
Forever searching for my perfect figure -
That hazy-Eyed Lady with DEEP Southern roots.
It's getting cold and I'm getting lonely.
I’ve got the lonesome bubba blues,
The Beat Down Broken Hearted Lonesome Bubba Blues
Third Verse
Am I lonesome tonight, do I miss my burl tonight?
Memory brings me to a lonesome place
It was both the best night of my life, and the worst.
For her it was just a dance with the tools.
She knew that just a wipe of oil would make her shine!
All night. All day. Nonstop we danced
My bones said it was a mistake- that I should never trust her.
I regret it, just a slave of her bodacious chatoyance!
On the porch I sit, Wasted time waiting for her to come back.
Gimme some pigsfeet and a glass of sweet tea
The honkytonk couldn’t cure my ills – not sure if anything canl
Skinny dippin’ in the swamp would have been more fun
Now my days are lonesome, with nights so long
It's awful hard to love a dream, when she don't care for you
Now I'm sad and lonely, she's done gone maybe never been
Won't somebody go and find my burl and bring her back to me
They call me Smokey Lonesome!
Forever searching for my perfect figure -
That hazy-Eyed Lady with DEEP Southern roots.
It's getting cold and I'm getting lonely.
I’ve got the lonesome bubba blues,
The Beat Down Broken Hearted Lonesome Bubba Blues
Fourth Verse
Got outta bed this morning and tried to bury my troubles in a bowl of grits.
See that long lonesome road, ain't got nobody, and nobody cares for me
I walked a ways and stopped on that high old lonesome hill
Looked back at my house – man I been treated wrong
I got the blues – the weary to the bone blues
Sat on the river bank just to watch the fish swim by
Lordy I’m so lonesome, she’s long gone and left me lonesome and blue.
Stretching, I point my nose to the hazy sky - a delectable breeze
Faint and aloof - a waft of woodsy muskiness - not mine!
It is but a trace of her imcomparable scent.
Jealousy and sadness washes over me, knowing what could have been.
Like putting the last piece of puzzle in place, she completed me!
Just one coat of tung oil, Oh to be rid of that weak wanton hunger
They call me Smokey Lonesome!
Forever searching for my perfect figure -
That hazy-Eyed Lady with DEEP Southern roots.
It's getting cold and I'm getting lonely.
I’ve got the lonesome bubba blues,
The Beat Down Broken Hearted Lonesome Bubba Blues
Fifth Verse
Curl and burl are like a drug, addictive, always wanting more
Under their sultry spell my brain becomes alive
My stomach churns like a tsunami, my heart pounds.
For some the effect is fleeting, but not for me.
With all her burly goodness she but lingers only a little while – teasing.
I’m utterly helpless, I’m eaten alive with thoughts of that curly goodness
Left with but a sad shell of a life, I stumble toward the fickle wheel of life
Round and round it spins and spins where it stops most don’t know
I know! For me it, always lands on a broken heart!
They call me Smokey Lonesome!
Forever searching for my perfect figure -
That hazy-Eyed Lady with DEEP Southern roots.
It's getting cold and I'm getting lonely.
I’ve got the lonesome bubba blues,
The Beat Down Broken Hearted Lonesome Bubba Blues
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