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I got to talkin' with my new friend
From Plano, Texas just the other day.
Her name is Suzie Q. and I met her
On the internet not too long ago.
She told me she likes country-western songs,
And I can understand why beings she lives
Down in the Longhorn Lonestar State.
Well, Suzie told me that she likes
Some of the songs I had written,
Told me she thought I had some talent.
Well, that was damned nice of her,
But I think she was bein' way too kind,
Tryin' to make me feel good,
Or maybe even tryin' to strike up
A romantic relationship with me!
Anyway, ol' Suzie Q. said that
All good country-western songs tell a story
About either drinkin' whiskey in a honky tonk,
Drivin' an old dusty pickup truck,
Ropin' doggies out on the trail,
Or tearfully regrettin' the loss of a woman.
Well, I gotta to thinkin' about what Suzie Q. said
And decided that I'd just write a country-western song
That would tell a story about all that stuff
And maybe a whole helluva lot more.
Well, friends, I decided to write me the lyrics
To the best damned country-western song ever!
And I also reckoned that as long as I was writin',
I might just as well write the lyrics for
The longest damned country-western song ever written.
Now, I recalled that Arlo Guthrie had written
A long-ass protest folk song called 'Alice's Restaurant'.
Yep, ol' Arlo wrote that song way back in the 60s,
And, as I recall, that song is over eighteen minutes long.
Well, it was then and still is a damned good song,
One of Arlo's best accordin' to my reckoning!
The only problem is that it's so freakin' long
That it doesn't get played much any more,
Especially not in these days and times.
These days, about the only doggone time
you can hear 'Alice's Restaurant' on the radio
Is Thanksgiving Day at 12 o'clock noon,
And that's because Arlo and his friend
Went out to visit Alice and her husband
In Massachusetts on a Thanksgiving Day.
I just imagine it's a kinda cult thing.
Now, lemme just tell y'all,
I sure do hope this here song will get played
On the jukeboxes in honky tonks, saloons, bars
And taverns all across America every night.
The way I see it though, I need to make
A complete and full disclosure to all my fans
Who will end up playin' this song on the jukebox.
I figure they need to be clearly forewarned
about just a few ctitically important things!
And that full-disclosure is this, my friends ...
"This here is a long-ass country-western-crappie fishin' folk song.
It's kinda country like Patsy Cline's famous song 'Crazy'.
It's kinda western like Ernest Tubb's 'Waltz Across Texas'.
But that don't mean that I wear a ten-gallon hat
Like Ernest Tubb, the ol' Texas Troubador, once did!
And last but not least, this song is real, real long,
And it's kinda like an old folk song from the 60s
That just keeps rattlin' on darned near forever.
I wanted to set a new American folk song record,
So I intentionally made it longer than
Arlo Guthrie's ol' hippie war protest song, 'Alice's Restaurant'.
It ain't no hippie war protest folk song though.
It's a crappie fishin' folk song, maybe the first one ever written.
Now, since this song is also the longest damned song ever written,
And since you're probably listenin' to it in a smokey ol' honky tonk,
saloon, bar or seedy small-town tavern,
I recommend that you settle back
And order yourself a bucket o' ice cold longnecks.
Or, if you're a hard-core straight whiskey drinker,
go right ahead and order up a bottle of Jack Daniels,
Jim Beam, Wild Turkey or whatever it is you like the best.
Now, there's just one other thing
Before I start tellin' you this long-ass story.
There are parts of this story that are funny.
There are parts that are sad.
If ya' get to drinkin' a little too much,
this song might even bring some sad memories back to mind.
And that could lead to you drinkin' even more.
Now, if that should happen to you,
I want you to give your car keys or your truck keys
To the bartender and tell him or her to call you a cab
Or give you a ride home if you live in a small town like I do
Where there just ain't any cabs.
Ya' see, I just don't wanna be responsible
For any of ya' gettin' a DWI or maybe killin' yourselves
In a terrible motor vehicle collision.
I'm warnin' y'all, and I hope that y'all will listen to me!
I accept no legal liability for
Whatever terrible and awful things might happen to ya'
When ya' listen to this here long-ass song."
So much for my full disclosure and warning!
Now, settle in for the absolute longest
And best damned country-western-crappie fishin' folk song
Ever written and ever sung .... if I must say so myself!
The story upon which this song is based begins
Way back in the early spring of 1984.
I guess y'all know that all good folk songs
Are based upon wild stories.
A part of this song is actually real,
And a part of this song is, well, just made up.
So, here we go!
Settle back and have another beer
Or another glass of whiskey.
Oh, and ya' just might wanna have some nachos n' cheese
Or some of those pickled eggs they keep behind the bar.
It was cold and rainy back then in March of 1984,
Just as it is on the day I'm writin' down this song.
Ya' see, I wrote this song on St. Paddy's Day, March 17th, 2008.
And it's pretty cool and damp here in Missouri today,
Just the way I remember it was back then!
My wife back then was seven months pregnant
With our first and only child, a girl as it would turn out.
MNow, my daughter is my pride and joy.
She's become a pretty good bluegill and crappie fishin' gal herself,
But let's leave all of that outta this story.
One of my best drinkin' and fishin' buddies suggested
That we head on down to Kentucky Lake to do a little crappie fishin'.
Now my ol' buddy, Pat, is a fanatic duck hunter,
A fanatic bass and a fanatic crappie fisherman.
He's just an all-around, A#1, fanatical outdoorsman!
His Dad used to be a successful fishin' guide down on Bull Shoals Lake,
Which runs between southwest Missouri and northwest Arkansas ...
A beautiful clear lake if I do say so myself!
Pat's Dad operated out of Pontiac Boat Dock
And he really knew his fishin'.
My good buddy, Pat, he was just the same way!
He was a chip off the ol' block!
Well friends, we hitched up my Hydra-Sport bass boat
Behind my full-sized Ford Bronco,
and we headed on down to Mansard Island Fishin' Resort
Right on Kentucky Lake near Paris, Tennessee.
Before we left out, we had to arrange for
Pat's black labs and my bird dogs to be fed and watered.
Ya' see our wives, they both worked to make money
So ol' Pat and I could go fishin' and huntin'.
We didn't wanna saddle them with havin' to take care
Of our purebred huntin' dogs.
We were already skatin' on pretty thin ice,
since we had gone fishin' just the weekend before.
This time we were leavin' for a whole week of fishin' relaxation!
Well, we managed to talk another good beer drinkin', fishin' buddy
Into takin' care of our dogs while we were away.
His name was Brian, and ol' Brian was real accomodatin' that way!
We told Brian we'd compensate him for his troubles
By buyin' him a case of Busch Bavarian beer, which was his favorite.
It was about a three hour haul down to Paris, Tennessee,
Especially when towin' a fishin' boat.
We stopped off in Cairo, Illinois at Shemwell's Barbeque Place
And got us a bag full of barbeque sandwiches to go.
This was our ritual every time we went down to Kentucky Lake.
We also filled up our coffee Thermos bottles at Shemwell's.
And as all fishin' buddies often do,
We talked and talked about our fishin' prospects
And what those crappie would be bitin' on.
After a good deal of careful planning and consideration,
we decided to try both live minnows and artificial crappie jigs.
We must've brought all the damned fishin' tackle we owned,
Plenty of jiggin' poles and plenty of bait casting equipment.
Lemme tell ya' friends, we were prepared for just about anything ...
Except, that is, for what was about to happen to us!
Now, as we got down into western Tennessee,
We started runnin' into a little rain and a cool n' nasty east wind
Which had picked up a bit too.
My windshield wipers were slappin' time
To the music of the Willie Nelson cassette I was playin'.
'Whiskey River', 'Blue Eyes Cryin' In The Rain',
'Georgia On My Mind' and many, many more!
Ol' Pat and I knew the words to 'em all,
And we were singin' along like a couple crazy fools.
My ol' buddy Pat and I were gettin' into
The Kentucky Lake crappie fishin' mood!
As we got closer and closer to Mansard Island Fishin' Resort,
The rain came down harder and harder!
As we pulled onto State Highway 79,
Pat said "Don't think we'll be doin' much fishin' today!"
"Yep" I said, "Let's just launch the boat and tie it up in our boat slip.
We'll get everthing ready and hit the lake early tomorrow mornin'!"
And so, that's just what we did.
Down at the boat dock, ol' John who ran the store
Greeted us like we were almost his kin folk.
Ya' see, we'd fished out of his dock for many years,
And ya' kinda get to knowin' folks real well around a fishin' dock.
Ol' John gave us the latest information on how the crappie were bitin',
which was not too good after the rainy cold front had moved in.
Anyway, Pat and I reckoned we might as well run into Paris,
Eat a bit and do a little drinkin' for the rest of the afternoon.
And so that's just what we did.
We hit several joints, the VFW Post 1889,
A joint I can't even remember anymore and finally Hank's Place.
Ya' see folks, Hank Williams, Jr. and his family
Are originally from around the Paris, Tennessee area,
And when ol' Bocephus got famous and made some money,
He invested in a big beer drinkin', country music place
In downtown Paris, Tennessee.
Although it happened to be St. Paddy's Day,
They didn't have any green beer at Hank's Place,
Which disappointed both Pat and me,
Because we were both engineers the University of Missouri
And St. Pat had also been an engineer.
Nevertheless, we proceded to drink our fill of regular beer.
Our bartender gal, named Michelle, was real friendly,
And we both liked talkin' to her a whole lot.
If ya' can't fish for crappie or drink green beer on St. Paddy's day,
It's kinda nice to talk to a sweet, good-lookin' barmaid
From the town of Paris, Tennessee.
And so that's what we in fact did.
I got real engrossed in our conversation and kept orderin' beer.
But all of sudden, I looked around an ol' Pat was no where to be found.
"Where did Pat go?" I asked Michelle.
"Saw him talkin' on that pay phone over by the restrooms
Just a few minutes ago!" she replied.
"Maybe he's in the restroom." I remarked.
Ten minutes later ol' Pat had not emerged from the men's room.
"Well I'll be damned, Michelle!" I remarked to Michelle.
"I wonder where the hell he took off to?"
Anyway, I kept drinkin' beer and talkin' to Michelle.
I wasn't worried too much about ol' Pat;
Figured he was big enough to take care of himself.
Michelle was an awful sweet gal,
And I was kinda takin' a shine to her!
Loved her sugar-sweet Tennessee accent!
Before long, it got to be closin' time for Michelle,
And I was the only dumb fool remainin' in Hank's Place.
"Do you need a ride home, hon?" Michelle asked.
Well folks, all sorts of wild ideas
Started runnin' through my head at about that time.
I kinda imagined how nice it would be to crawl into bed
With lovely, blonde-haired, sweet-talkin' Michelle.
It seemed like maybe Michelle was puttin' out the signal to me
That she'd like to maybe have a one-night stand with me.
Anyway, all the beer had gotten me to thinkin' that way.
I agreed to let her drive me to the cabin
Back at the Mansard Island Fishin' Resort where Pat and I were stayin'.
She locked up Hank's Place, and we got into my Bronco.
Evidently Michelle had taken many drunken' fishermen
Back to the Mansard Island Fishin' Resort,
'Cause she sure knew the directions how to get there
On all those remote Tennessee roads.
I remember unbuttonin' her Hank's Place blouse
On the drive back to the cabin, but then I must've blanked out.
The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the cabin,
And I had one helluva Budweiser headache.
Now, Pat and I hadn't shopped for groceries yet,
So I reached for a warm beer in the cooler we had brought with us.
Unfortunately, the ice had all melted.
Have ya' ever drank warm beer early in the mornin'
When your head is still spinnin' and poundin'
And your mouth is dry from the night before?
I looked at my watch and it was 9 a.m. already!
So much for gettin' out on the lake at the crack of dawn!
And then the cabin door swings open, and there's ol' Pat!
"What the hell happened to you last night? Where ya' been?"
I lit right into him for leavin' Hank's Place without tellin' me!
"Long-ass story ol' boy! Let's just say, I had me some fun!"
Pat grinned at me and I knew what that most likely meant.
"So, do ya' wanna fish or do ya' wanna sleep?" I inquired.
"Let's fill up the cooler with beer and ice and get out on the lake!" Pat said.
"I didn't come down here to sleep!"
I said "OK!" and off we went!
I had a helluva headache, so I bought some aspirin down at the boat dock.
I guess we both looked like death warmed over.
At least, I believe ol' John thought so.
But he never did rag on us too awful much!
John did, however, offer us a couple discount coupons
For breakfast up at the 'Oak Tree Restaurant'
Which was part of 'Buchanon's Fishin' Resort' just a mile away.
That sounded good to Pat and me, so we accepted the coupons
And jumped into my Bronco.
"Damn!" Pat exclaimed. "Who puked out of this window?"
"I don't know." I pretended I didn't know a blessed thing about it.
"Just roll down your window and let some fresh air in!" I told him.
On the way up to 'The Oak Tree Restaurant',
Pat forced me to confess that Michelle had driven me home the night before.
"Did ya' bang her?" he continued.
"No, no!" I defended my marital fidelity. "I was too damned drunk!"
"And what about you, ol' boy? What the hell happened to you last night?"
I came back on Pat with my own questions.
"Oh, nothin'." he grinned like a dammned Tennessee possum.
Well, I knew I'd never get the truth out of him,
And besides, I had a poundin' headache.
We pulled up to 'The Oak Tree Restaurant',
And we went inside get some breakfast with our 10% off coupons.
We got us a pot full of hot, black coffee
And tried not to look into the rising mornin' sun
That was blazin' through the window where we were seated.
Then Pat told me to look over at the corner table
Way across the restaurant.
"Do ya' know who that is?" he asked in a whispered voice.
My head hurt, my eyes hurt and I could barely see across the restaurant.
"Nope, who is it?" I answered.
"That's Hank Williams, Jr., you dumbass!" he chastised me.
Well, it just so happened that when we got up to pay our tab,
Ol' Hank, Jr., Bocephus himself, was headed there too.
We kinda met at the register simultaneously.
Hank, Jr. reached for the tooth pick container,
And he knocked the whole thing over on the floor.
Wearin' his dark sun glasses, he gave all appearances
That he might be even more hungover than me and Pat.
Anyway, I wanted to shake his hand, so I said hello and offered my hand.
"Howdy, guys!" he bellowed out. "Been catchin' any?"
Then Pat said "Nope, not yet! We got drunk at your place in Paris last night,
And we're just gettin' started this mornin'!"
"Well good luck boys! I'm here scoutin' out some places
To turkey hunt in a few weeks."
"I've got kin folk who own this restaurant as well as
The boat n' motor dealership down near the lake."
"Glad to have you boys fishin' here! By the way, where y'all from?"
"Cape Girardeau." Pat answered.
We got our change and then wished Hank, Jr. well,
And then we headed on out the door.
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I still ain't finished with this long-ass country-western-crappie fishin' folk song. And that's because this was the damnest crappie fishin' trip ol' Pat and I ever went on! I hope you'll come back when I get around to finishin' this thing! The story gets crazier and crazier!
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© Copyright 2008. All rights reserved.
Truman T. Tiger aka Richard H. Schaefer
Inspired by the long-ass Thanksgiving Day song "Alice's Restaurant" by Arlo Guthrie
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