| General Prologue:
When thet April hits with showers
shitty |
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| But oil-change-time again greets us here, It jist happens like that at this time of the year: Tho' the road be a-callin', tho' the wanderlusts beckon, Them cars and them trucks needs some maint'nintz we reckon. Tho' we preaned half the night to make ourselves spiffy, We still cain't forego one last trip to the Jiffy. |
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| Us pilgrims here wait, our cars in the pits, Scratchin' our scrotums an' eyein' girls' tits. Our worldly possessions all laid out on the grass, Our lips 'round these longnecks, an' our thumbs up our ass. Tho Fords be a-revvin', and Chevvies a-hummin' We cain't leave fer Graceland, except we go thummin'. |
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| But, by good jesus christ, we will git there somehow! We'd sell our own mommas, we would mortgage the cow, As they's nothing so holy fer love nor fer cash As the sweet Elvis homestead to us poor white trash. We gather in 'Bama; assemble in Missie, In Nashville we bivouac, collect mom and sissy. |
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| Georgia's a treasure but she's jist thar on the way
To our Graceland, blue heaven, so far far away. But jist when we feared we'd all have to git dirty, The crankcase gits filled up with fresh new ten-thirty. We head fer them pumps to load up with gas, I ran up thar so fast, I fell smack on my ass. |
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| ‘Some hi-test!’ I hollers. ‘Y' mean ethyl?’ sez pappy, ‘An' Lucy an' Ricky - if that makes you happy!’ Tho' gas goes in slowly, them thar numbers sure dance, I's now so excited I might jist piss my pants. I goes to the mens room: it smells like hand cleaner And I come out all smiles and much much less meaner |
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| The engine gits started, the ole pedal goes down, We leave bits of Goodyear strewn all over the town. Our dash-dice are shakin' an' our engine's a-roar, I smiles at my missus an' I calls her a whore. She laffs her fat ass off, and the kids all laff too, Then they all sez ‘We're hongry!’ Well what could I do? |
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| ‘Shut up, li'l rug-rats!’ I sez kinda thinkin'
Of what be around here fer eatin' an' drinkin'. Til junction route 90, we wuz jist high and dry, Then the sight of Joe's Diner comes into my eye. The car diesels down with that same old putt-putt, I smacks all them kiddies an' sez to th' slut: |
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| ‘Git on there inside now an' set all yersefs down,
Gonna find me a half-pint, then I’ll come aroun' . I picks up my whiskey an' I strolls into Joe's, An' I fancies jist breakin' some dumb bastard's nose. This stop sorta grates me, I'm lookin' fer trouble: I'll bust me some chops er some city boy's bubble. |
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| But containin' mahsef, I orders Black
Label. An' then some old crazy hops up on his table. ‘A score of us be here, inside of this diner, An' the salt o' the earth, we couldn't be finer. To Graceland we're goin', an' from Graceland we came, In mem'ry of Elvis, his glory an' his fame. |
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| Before we all go back to our homes and
our barns, It'd be kinda nice if we all jist swapped yarns.’ I shoulda jist thrashed him, but his way o' talkin', Froze us stiff in our seats, not movin' ner walkin'. Fer the rest of that day an’ well into the night, We sang praise of Elvis, so's I guess it's alright. |
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| As a matter of fact, we jist had
us a ball, So here's where we'll share all them yarns with yuh-all. to be continued ... 
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