Grant Peeples: Music
This Is Real Country (And It Ain't Pretty) (click for lyrics)
(A slap at neo-country music’s sentimentality about life in the rural south.)
Well the trailer smells like cat piss
And the cigarette smoke is choke thick
In front of the t.v. where she sits
With her wine between her knees.
Hard to keep the heat and the telephone on
The rent paid up and the weeds all mowed
Money's short, nights are long
And love has took its leave
A teardrop tattoo in the corner of her eye
Had a lotta dreams but they never would fly
End of the day your too damned tired
To worry 'bout what that means
Well, this ain't Memphis, and this ain't Houston
No, this is talk-back, get bitch-slapped and then some
This ain't Graceland, it ain't the Grand Ol Opry
No this is real country, man and it ain't pretty.
Garbage burning in the yard where a rebel flag
waves
A car on blocks and a pit bull chained
All the Sheriff deputies know his name
But his daddy never did
Well, its been years since he could drive
Had a leaving-the-scene and a DUI
The whole world smokes at the end of a pipe
And that's as bright as it gets
A bleeding heart tattoo on his neck
There's hardly a tooth left in his head
He's hocked his tools and his next paycheck
Still nothing wants to give
This ain't Atlanta; this ain't Charlotte
This is a test for the clap at a county Health
Department
This ain't the suburbs; this ain't the big city
No this is real country, and it ain't pretty.
This ain't Savannah, this ain't Charleston
This is road kill, landfills and trash dumps
This is food stamps, it is pain, shame and pity
This is real country, man and it ain't pretty.
Yea this is real country
Man and it aint't pretty