Solitary Rider's blog: "My songs and poems"

“Smoky Mountain Frost” (c) by Solitary Rider aka Andyboy Georgia

I met you on the Little Tennessee river
and you showed me Mars and Venus in the sky
oh the nights in the Fall they bring that lonely shiver
but I’m plenty warm in the shadow of those eyes

So throw another log, in the fire
just hearing your voice, don’t feel so tired
Smoky Mountain frost, Smoky Mountain frost
is thawing me out, oh yes it is
you’re thawing me out

in winter’s bite I wait for your surrender
and our good friends they know what’s going down
you’re gonna see just what this Yankee’s made of
and I’ll be takin’ you home of these nights

throw another log, in the fire
your southern voice, wakens desire
Smoky Mountain frost, Smoky Mountain frost
is thawing me out, oh yes it is
you’re thawing me out

now Spring has come and you’re my one and only
and I’ve cut loose that northern state of mind
we’ll take slow and wind down that ‘ole river
and camp in the heavens on a soft, cool Tennessee night

throw another log, in the fire
just holdin’ you close, all the while
Smoky Mountain frost

“Back When Friday Night Used to Mean Something” (c) by Solitary Rider aka Andyboy Georgia

Crandall had an old Dodge Charger, 1968
used to rip them tires down Broadway and the neon signs would wake
and the shouts from the bars and the fearless crews sippin’ booze in parkin’ lots
catching looks from the chicks with the low-ride hips
who were trying to be somethin’ they’re not

Back when Friday night, used to mean somethin’

Back when Friday night, used to mean somethin'

Crandall and the boys went tokin’ ‘neath the highway overpass
you could catch a whiff down broadway and you just had to laugh
and the cops give a scare but they weren’t so square
back when they were hangin’ out
so they ‘d let the kids go and their folks wouldn’t know
what the good time was all about

Back when Friday night, used to mean somethin’

Back when Friday night, used to mean somethin'

oh the years rolled slow, but he’s 40 years old,
and no longer cool, now no one remembers that Friday night
they pulled his Charger from a pool

Crandall’s watchin’ Cold Case reruns, on a plasma screen tv
second beer on a couch strapped Friday, kids just went to sleep
Then he hears the tires rip from the kids on the strip and he thinks he’ll call the cops
but he puts the phone down cracks a fresh fifth of Crown and soaks in a memory

Back when Friday night, used to mean somethin’

Back when Friday night, used to mean somethin'

“Hangovers and Pancakes” © Solitary Rider aka Andyboy Georgia
 
Saturday in the morning
wakin’ up from a drunken sleep
in a haze I tried to call you
thought you might want something to eat
You know my life is always movin’
but everyday seems just the same
different town different bar name
same old headache Saturday

will we ever grow up
will we ever sober up
will we ever get tired of pancakes
it’s an unwritten law if we wake up at all
we’ll always go out for pancakes

meetin’ up at Amy’s Diner in a booth with my old gang
two stacks for me and black coffee
a side of grits and lemonade
that ‘ole Amy she’s a darlin’
works the griddle slings them ‘cakes
rings the bell our order’s steamin’
tongues are waggin’ while we wait

will we ever grow up
will we ever sober up
will we ever get tired of pancakes
it’s an unwritten law if we wake up at all
we’ll always go out for pancakes

yesterday I read your Twitter
about your broken, lonely life
nothing’ I can do, I’m here in Boston
and I got plans for Friday night

“An American Life” (c) by Andyboy Georgia

muscle cars and cornfields surrounded his old high school
and days breezed by with the warmth from his old flame
he had no gold on his tassel, but he stayed the course through high school,
and momma cried when he walked across the stage
he was married soon after with a baby on the way

he had just passed go, in an American life
he had just passed go, with an American wife
and the dreams that they shared, were common as the air
and the town where they grew, was the only one they knew
skippin’ stones beneath the moonlight, in an American life

now paychecks don’t come easy, in a town where all the factories
sit vacant, bombed from the rust belt’s glory days
and the jobs that do sustain them, do nothing to remind them
of the proud, stout past their fathers’ labor made
and the schools they are closin’ as more families drift away

watched his hometown die, in an American life
seen his old man cry, in an American life
and the hope for a living wage, well that’s sellin’ cheap these days
but a politician’s smile, can’t feed a hungry child
stockin’ shelves down at the walmart, in an American life

after 9/11, when his first born was seven
the guard called up and shipped him on a plane.
and the hell that he arrived in, was nowhere in his writin’,
in the heartfelt notes he wired home from base.
now he’s  tryin’ to ditch his wheelchair for a walker down at the VA

been a long time gone, from his American life
gotta wait so long, for that new start in life
and the dues that he gave, well they’ll never be repaid
just another decent man, used and tossed into the can
and he dreams of cars and cornfields, from his American life
He had just passed go, in an American life

“Dealers Night Out” (c) by Solitary Rider aka Andyboy Georgia

night falls down on Boston
and the lights beam from the shore
in a South End bar my drop comes
I send the barkeep for a pour
when my Guinness is through, get my ass out the door
I’ve had nothing’ to do, but now it’s dealer’s night out night out

 
lounging in the heavens, in a Fort Point artist loft
I ascend to bring the product and they don’t care what the cost
and it’s old money, new money top dollar whore
when my business is through- hit the button, ground floor, ground floor

and there’s always the next cravin’ more, sendin’ texts, ‘Call me, Oh call me’
but when my cookie jar’s clean and I’m flush with the bling, they blame me, blame me
and I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care

rusty, fading colors in a Fenway parking lot
he stoops to puke his guts out, as I cook him up a shot
and the damage I do, oh it's par for the course
hand the needle to you-cause it’s dealer’s, night out, night out

“Last Chance For Me” (c) by Solitary Rider aka Andyboy Georgia

rollin’ southbound down on 81
crossin’ Dixie by the morning sun
on an all night  run
and I’m wide awake
west to Nashville on I-40
gonna play to my fingers bleed
then I’ll wipe my sleeves
and keep strummin’ away

last chance for me, last chance for me
last chance to do the things I, only could dream

been a drifter running all my life
44 never filled my cup
now I’m all washed  up
except for one final shot
if you hate me baby get in line
take a number ‘cause it’s my time to shine
gonna walk that line and I won’t hear your jeers

last chance for me, last chance for me
last chance to make a stand and finally be free

I know failure like most know comfort
and when I go under I’m going down in flames

slinging hash at a choke and puke
hate my job but the waitress is cute
and she likes what I do
when I ain’t burning toast
earn enough just to fill my car
crash them bars drivin’ near and far
with this import guitar
and ya’ll hear me play

last chance for me, last chance for me
last chance to do the things I, only could dream
last chance for me, last chance for me
last chance won’t go softly into that good night