Jankee Roots

GCDG

CGDG

Take a right, then a right, we're meeting at Lone Star.  It's the best place to hit, on the far north side of Frisco.  Near the trails.

Run a drill, another drill, play songs with grunge guitar.  Fractions of milliseconds, all the difference.  Never fails.

To the track, the rough track, but progress can't be stopped.  Excavation all around, ran out of business.  Take a hike.

No big deal, here's the deal, went south to this other spot.  In the middle of the city, like a preserved jungle.  Paradise.

Then we rode, rode and rode, through rocks and jankee roots.  Found the high gear, powered up hills.  Grooving tunes. 

Made it back, all in tact, tired and dirty with burrs in our shoes.  Dried the sweat, popped Oktoberfests.  Before noon.

DG

AmCx3

GC

Well, it's near the trails.
No, it never fails.
Just take a hike.
To paradise.
Keep grooving tunes
Before noon.

Those jankee roots, those jankee roots, those jankee roots, those jankee roots.

One Careless Beat

Mysterious parking meters.

Wounded warrior recordings.

Towers surrounding in the late afternoon.

Remembering the 11th.

Heat still heating.

Extended summer.

No shadows for the underground.

Automobiles and trucks, nothing's seen.

A private preview of art.

Took the DNT south to the DMA.

On the list.

Sparse beginning of sandwiches and wine.

Prior to the advance viewings.

Ragnar's postcards of daily sentiments.

From Iceland with love.

Rain, sister.

One careless beat and it all becomes reality.

You crazy, crazy heathen.

There is ash in the air.

And then the gasoline ran out.

On a ladder at 92.

The challenging wet-on-wet technique.  Faces on a table.

Canvasses to the ceiling.

Listening attentively.

Breakdown of the audio video.

Music First

We could explore the roads of Rome.
Far, far away from our home.
Walk the oldest roads ever known.
But some music first, some music first.

We could fly a private jet to Japan.
Buddha seems like a big, big fan.
Seen pictures of that beautiful land.
But some music first, some music first.

(Chorus)
Let's play some music first.
Get some music going first.
Never hurts, some music first.
Lets play some music first.

We could drive the USA for weeks.
New York, Chicago, LA, Pikes Peak.
Golden Gate, Salt Lake, Orange Beach.
But some music first, some music first.

Kinda wanna go to the Amazon.
To the jungle, under that jungle sun.
The waterfalls seem so much fun.
But some music first, some music first.

Could get lost in my own imagination.
Avoiding certain invisible situations.
Continue to create my creations.
But some music first, some music first.

Maybe all my dreams will come true.
Maybe I'll never really feel that blue.
Maybe I'll be fine by the time it's noon.
But some music first, some music first.

B7Gx3
DD7

G
D
D7D
D7G

Reality Of The Immediate

The story must be told, truth can be scripted.  It is best that way.  Going along, determining, deciding, knowing the ending.

Confidently coy, beaming like neon in the night.  These steps and hours.  These miles and days.

These final years.  The reflectuons of the past, the reality of the immediate, the race to the future.  Pace it out, immerse, connect with the temperatures, brave the winds.

For the good of others.  Let them live too, how they want.  Wherever they go, whatever they do, whenever they choose.

The picture is crystal, the colors are striking and bold.  This is more than a hint, denial is idiocy, wished upon the last star.  That armour don't shine, it's dented and used.

Same Ole Moon

The jokerman wouldn't ever plant that seed.
Cause it would grow for a 1000 centuries.
Cause we would know how it all came to be.
And if we know we wouldn't have to believe.
We would shine.
We would shine.

Jezebel just walked through this park again.
An apple in her hand and a box of sin.
Well I be damned, she's found her prince.
And he's got no chance, he's got no defense.
It's a lie.
It's a lie.

The devil dropped in just yesterday.
Didn't have anything special to say.
Told me bout dreams and altered states.
Been there, done that, already saved.
Passing by.
Passing by.

Looked in the mirror and knew the truth.
Knew that I absolutely had no clue.
Knew that I knew nothing new.
It's all been thought, it's the same ole moon.
And it shines.
And it shines.

GCx3
DCDG
DD7Gx4

In Our Boat

Talking about talking about it.
The rooms of my mind.
The nice and kind.
Remember that time.

Thinking about thinking about it.
Consider this.
A future bliss.
Some twisted kiss.

Dreaming about dreaming about it.
Faint and hazy.
At our most lazy.
Delightful and crazy.

Singing about singing about it.
Finish the vowels.
Croons and howls.
Sing loud, sing loud.


We could find another sea to float, float that sea together in a boat.  Think of all the new things we'll see, in our boat we got everything we need.


Guessing about guessing about it.
No one knows.
Of course it shows.
How our minds got blown.

Praying about praying about it.
Let that decide.
Lift them high.
To the sky, to the sky

AmEm
G
Am
DG

AmEmx3
Am...G.

The Junkyard Court: The Wilt Of Tennis

Apologies in advance for any offense, especially to Stevie The Grit, Sandgren, Kudla, Tiafoe, and Fritz The Slammer, but come on dudes!  Not one in the RO16 at the 2019 U.S. Open.  Keeping track from afar, was the Texan Harrison even in the field?  Isner flamed, no way he's going beat the likes of Cilic in New York.  The Wilt of Tennis.  Big Sam did nothing.  Oh well.  Golly, this tennis life must be tough.

--The travel, the regiment, the pressure, the pressers, the mean coaches, media socializing, speak into this. Exhausting. Town to town, city to city, and no multi millions, only millions.  We have to pay for our stringers, chefs, team.  Those European players get more government support, we want a subsidy!  These South Americans are monsters.  Have you seen Del Potro in person?  Garin?  No one can get a serve past Nishikori.  The Asian wizards are just now emerging.  Now Rublev and the other Russian.  He destroyed our good buddy Nick.  He's so cool, Nick I mean, the Laver Cup was a blast.  When he was on our team.  Was got smashed.  On the court, and off.  Lol, lol, lol.  We got lives too, man.  You have no clue, we're professionals.  It's really hard---

Sickening, disappointing, predictable, and a shame.  We American men are better than this.  Perhaps Connors, McEnroe, Sampras, and Agassi should call a meeting.  Courier could come, Roddick and Chang.  Maybe round up the ashes of Arthur Ashe and Tilden.  Just sit down at a table and figure out what the heck is going on.  Figure out some solutions, identify some adjustments, make a list, brain storm.  We'll arrange a late working lunch, whatever A/V, maybe Brad Gilbert could facilitate.  BG, yes!  Perhaps set up Venus and Serena for an afternoon guest speaker session.  Then maybe have some fun, a match for charity the next day.  Bank a million for the cancer fight.  Cancer can go fuck itself.  Here, here!!  Two days is all.  Start finding a spot, the 2020 season will be here soon.  We're working on a two decade dry spell, this could take a minute, or a billion minutes.  We ain't got much to work with.