#108 TWO LEFT LEGS
#108 TWO LEFT LEGS
(Americana)
(DEMO)
(Full Arrangement)
Gather round friends, another tale about Bo,
No, not the time he blew up his tool shed.
This one's about warm beer, a fed-up woman,
And an old coonhound with two left legs.
Her beat-up, sparkle-green Toyota,
Spits gravel, roars off down the road.
Bo's on the porch, chugging warm beer,
Acting just like he don't know.
After spending two hours cleaning,
She had his dinner frying in the pan.
Caught him putting half in a dog-bowl,
She grabbed her bag and left -- took a beer can.
Don't take a date on a boat ride,
And then ask her to row.
Don't set up a hotdog stand,
Right in front of a Costco.
Don't fire up a chainsaw,
Drunk-hack at tree-limbs hanging low.
Get what I'm saying here?
Don't be Bo.
Bo turns, looks at who'd joined him on the porch,
Says "She's gone. Quiet'll be a mercy."
Tail wag, drops of slobber from his hound,
Bo waves him closer, says "Take a load off, Percy."
Bo drinks and burps -- Percy wobbles over, settles down,
In the kitchen, the still-lit stove sparks a fire.
Bo cracks a new beer, Percy sniffs, then whines,
Fire jumps to the kitchen curtains, rising higher.
Don't take a date on a boat ride,
And then ask her to row.
Don't set up a hotdog stand,
Right in front of a Costco.
Don't fire up a chainsaw,
Drunk-hack at tree-limbs hanging low.
Get what I'm saying here?
Don't be Bo.
Percy barks, Bo looks up, sees the fire,
Decides this time, retreat's a better way to go.
No big rush, gets Percy in the cab of his truck,
Then backs up to the porch, nice and slow.
Loads up the cases of beer, starts driving,
Hay bales in the truck bed caught some sparks.
Bales burst into fire, Percy nudges, Bo says "Quit!"
Percy HOWLS til Bo stops, puts the truck in park.
Don't take a date on a boat ride,
And then ask her to row.
Don't set up a hotdog stand,
Right in front of a Costco.
Don't fire up a chainsaw,
Drunk-hack at tree-limbs hanging low.
It's gettin' old telling you --
Don't be Bo.
First light next morning, house fire's now gone out,
Kitchen's a mess, main house and porch still stout.
Truck's way beyond fixing, burned cab's still smoking,
Burnt tire smell strong, right on the edge of choking.
Bo's drinking on the porch, hand resting on the head,
Of his wobbly old coonhound with two left legs.