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Folk Art Masterpiece

from Too Nice to Mean Much by Willi Carlisle

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Liam Otten
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lyrics

Folk Art Masterpiece

My grandmother grew up in a two room shack,
The last of seven children, used to dress in gunny sacks.
She said that times were hard, family scattered near and far,
Like seeds into the dirt or the dimmest set of stars.

And there's preachers every Sunday, muscodines each fall,
I'd like to die in Arkansas if I should die at all.
You could call it alchemy, some ancient art of old:
Hillbillies with no money spun their garbage into gold.

'Cause I swear a square dance saved my life one hot summer day,
I swear I's bout to kill myself, I swear I's bound away,
I swear I heard the voice of God between the caller's cries:
An Ozark fiddle tune and a pretty girl's brown eyes.


And there's preachers every Sunday, muscodines each fall,
I'd like to die in Arkansas if I should die at all.
I thought that bein' poor would weigh heavy on my soul,
But it's a little drunken happiness like this that makes me whole.

And you say that anyone could make it, and I guess that's so.
I guess I ain't Walt Whitman, I guess she ain't Van Gogh.
You can't account for taste, but I know my north from south,
And it's a goddamn folk art masterpiece when she opens up her mouth.


And there's preachers every Sunday, muscodines each fall,
I'd like to die in Arkansas if I should die at all.
You could call it alchemy, some ancient art of old:
Hillbillies with no money spun their garbage into gold.

credits

from Too Nice to Mean Much, released July 30, 2016

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Willi Carlisle Fayetteville, Arkansas

Folksinger/poet from the Midwest and upper South. Free Dirt Records.

Contact Willi
willicarlislemusic@gmail.com for insults, commentary, phone numbers.
Contact jatamian@teamwass.com & TAlexander@teamwass.com for bookings/inquiries. ... more

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