Oh man, my head is killing me. Give me a smoke.
Yeah, somebody open the window – it's hot in here.
Where am I anyway?
How did I ever get in here?
And how? How do I get out?
I was standing in the corner when they dragged you in the room.
Your eyes were red and bloodshot, your face was full of doom.
Sat you in the middle, and you swore you would not beg.
Then you crawled out to the window, on a pair of broken legs.
You said “I know I'm crazy – I hear voices in my head.
If I end up in that rubber row, I might as well be dead”.
Looked down to your navel, began to hum a tune
Suckin' like a millionaire, on your silver spoon. You started to sweat.
Bullets from your soul.
Lost all means of self control.
Like a twenty dollar whore.
Lord, that's when she walked through the door.
She said her name was Sadie, that she was your doll.
That look of apprehension you wore said that wasn't all.
Looked down to your pockets. She said her legs were sore.
Undid the buttons on your jeans and dropped them to the floor.
She said “Lay back and enjoy it. You know it's just a perk.
A blow job's better than no job – Lord a girl's just got to work”.
A look of catatonia, came upon your eyes.
When she took your head between her hands, sure did get a rise.
She made you sweat.
Ah, let me tell you about her man …
Six foot five and bullet proof, three hundred pounds of meat.
Badder than a bad dog lying dying in the street.
Sadie looked from me to him, then back from him to you,
Then she passed out cold from thinking 'bout the things that he might do.
Pulled a pistol from his pants, apologized and sighed.
Shot her sixteen times, one more time and said good-bye.
Left us sitting all alone, all we could do was cry,
And the sweat that mingled with our tears was such a sweet good-bye.
Made you sweat.
11 III 5 | 10 II 9 | 5 X 11 25 I 11 — 12.7
Terry Rippa «you should add Stan's post … :-)»
Stan Graves «“… so I told my friend that he had NOT written the perfect song for West Coast Swing because he hadn't mentioned anything about $20 whores, shooting people, breaking people's legs, passing out from thinking about being tortured, and blow jobs. So my friend sat down and wrote Sweat and I could see that he had indeed written the perfect WCS song, so I felt obliged to include it on my list.”
«(With apologies to Steve Goodman and David Allen Coe)»