Paper Piano 

(S.A. Wolfe & A. Lott) 

Every good boy does a little bit better 

when they practice their scales after school. 

And every little girl’s got nothing left to wear, 

and who could ever know that you’re cool. 

Hair always tangled, fingers always crossed. 

Stars always spangled, eyes always lost. 

She wrote the keys on the door. 

She spilled the cookies on the floor. 

And did you never play a Paper Piano? 

And did you never ride a bike with no wheels? 

Did you never use a milk jug for a baseball glove? 

Could you ever know how happiness feels? 

Everybody knows when you ain’t got nothing 

that you ain’t got nothing to fear. 

I put on my Liberties and grab a good book, 

get on my best mule and ride outta here. 

Oranges on the TV screen, cigarettes on the porch 

Sunday dress on a sewing machine, braided mane on a horse. 

Go on and dye your blood blood red. 

I’m gonna hunt us down some water and bread. 

And did you never play a Paper Piano? 

And did you never ride a bike with no wheels? 

Did you never use a milk jug for a baseball glove? 

Could you ever know how happiness feels? 

They could put a fence around anything. 

It’s just a matter of posts. 

You could put your butter on my guitar strings, 

but that ain’t gonna make them toast. 

I’m gonna fall down a wishing well. 

I’m gonna get me a whole buncha change. 

I’m gonna burn down that old pawn shop 

and fall asleep in the rain. 

And did you never play a Paper Piano? 

And did you never love a man before me? 

Because I never knew a damn thing til I saw you smile, 

and I never knew how good it could be. 

 

 

Carpenter 

(S.A. Wolfe) 

You said you thought you kinda loved me. 

That’s something I don’t think I could help. 

Now you’re drunk at my bar with another homeless Nashville rock star 

And I wish you’d just go somewhere else. 

Cos Christ knows you bring out the worst in me, 

so I don’t know why you’re so surprised. 

Cos I don’t really know what happened here. 

I have no excuse for my behavior. 

But I was never much of a carpenter. 

I wouldn’t make you much of a savior. 

You got some good things going for you 

underneath your empty swimming pool eyes. 

You got a blank check torn up in your smile, 

like the most believable of your lies. 

And Christ knows that I’ve let you down again, 

but I can’t be on the cross tonight. 

Cos I don’t really know what happened here. 

I have no excuse for my behavior. 

But I was never much of a carpenter. 

I wouldn’t make you much of a savior. 

And Christ knows we’ve all been betrayed by a kiss. 

Ah, but maybe, baby, I’m just too human for all of this. 

Cos I don’t really know what happened here. 

I have no excuse for my behavior. 

But I was never much of a carpenter. 

I wouldn’t make you much of a savior. 

 

 

Dirty Girl 

(S.A. Wolfe) 

Dirty Girl, Dirty Girl, come with me to New Orleans. 

We’ll go on down to Oxford Square 

at Christmas time and see ol’ Jimbo there. 

Then at the Graduate, you gon and messed up my hair. 

Say, do you remember what we did in Oxford Square? 

Dirty Girl, Dirty Girl, come with me to New Orleans. 

We’ll stop off round bout old Clarksdale 

at the Repass, where everybody’s dressed so well. 

Razorblade and Shankerman and Kings for Sale 

Ain’t nothing we can do, it’s all for the family now, in old Clarksdale. 

Dirty Girl, Dirty Girl, come with me to New Orleans. 

Take me out in Jackson town 

to The Underground with Mr. Nutty Brown, 

F.Jones and tired bones and rain falling down. 

Hey, don’t tell nobody what we did in Jackson town. 

Dirty Girl, Dirty Girl, come with me to New Orleans. 

When we get there we’ll get some Good Voodoo 

Some tasso and trombone, some gator too. 

Ah, you know I took the long way home like I always do. 

846 miles in a rental car with me, the Pope, and you. 

 

 

About My Falling 

(S.A. Wolfe) 

the right thing to say 

just a few days too late 

and again your grace is shown 

water displacement 

a print for The Basement 

and the cover of a standard is blown 

and I prefer to have my dinner for lunch 

and dessert when I start 

and I prefer to use the metric system 

when it comes to matters of the heart 

but you broke all my beakers apart 

and I’ve misplaced my conversion chart 

liquid antibiotics 

cough suppressing narcotics 

holding court at the mission on my birthday 

pedialite and cigarettes 

bags full of cash and regrets 

with a good faith mistake what is there to say 

and I’d like to think that my problems 

come down to ambition more than facility 

and I’d like to think that my falling 

is just a natural decline in my mobility 

but that would excuse me from my own scrutiny 

so that this might go on into perpetuity 

 

 

Cemetery Blues 

(B.W. Goodwin Jr.) 

I can’t shake you and your 

Cemetery Blues. 

I tried to sleep but you’re eating me alive. 

I can’t miss you. 

Don’t miss me. 

It’s hard to leave when you can’t be seen. 

I’d be alright if I could sleep through the night, 

and not wake up to tell you 

I’d be ok if I could walk through the day. 

I’d be just fine if I could keep you alive. 

 

 

Mrs. Ernst’s Piano 

(M.J. West) 

The neighborhood was changing. 

They say it was going down. 

They were putting up new houses east of town. 

Now, Mrs. Ernst gave piano lessons Sunday afternoons 

to the children of the neighborhood. She’d teach simple tunes. 

At the old pianola, they’d hammer and they’d pound, 

while Mrs. Ernst’s husband read the paper with a frown. 

Mrs. Ernst had a visit from a neighbor, Mr. Gunn. 

Mr. Gunn wanted piano lessons for his son. 

Mrs. Ernst said “I must think it over.” He asked her “Why?” 

She said “I have my reasons, sir. Thank you, and goodbye.” 

Mrs. Ernst’s husband, he had fixed views. 

He saw the world as black and white, and he saw no subtler hues. 

Mr. Gunn was surely black, but Mrs. Ernst, she thought 

“A child is a child, and children should be taught.” 

So that evening Mrs. Ernst asked her husband if she might 

give piano lessons to a black child. “Surely it’d be alright.” 

Mr. Ernst answered her in no uncertain terms 

“Over my dead body!” said Mr. Ernst. 

“Over my dead body!” Mr. Ernst replied. 

“Over my dead body!” he said, and soon after, he died. 

Now, Mrs. Ernst, a widow, did what must be done, 

and gave piano lessons to Mr. Gunn’s son. 

Now Mrs. Ernst still gives piano lessons Sunday afternoons 

at the old pianola in her living room. 

While Mrs. Ernst’s husband looks down at her from a frame, 

and she knows he wouldn’t like it, but she does it all the same. 

 

 

Fault Lines 

(E.H. Puckett) 

Running north to south I promise you 

when you’re just west of The Great Divide. 

And is your heart and mind reminding you 

you were better off alive? 

Love is the real that’s sentimental 

when you’re trapped behind your new found walls. 

And I’m not getting any better. 

In fact, I can barely move at all. 

You break a promise that you never made at all. 

San Andreas, hell, I guess it’s not your fault. 

Oh, you remap the landscape, 

but then you float into the sea. 

While you reshape the Cascade Mountains, 

and there’s nothing I can do but leave you be. 

I guess we both knew this would happen. 

I should have known what you would say. 

But beneath your trembling depths, there’s heaven. 

And it’s strange now, all I can do is look away. 

You break a promise that you never made at all. 

San Andreas, hell, I guess it’s not your fault. 

 

 

Steel Wires 

(S.A. Wolfe & A. Lott) 

The world walks all over you 

You walk all over me. 

I’m a beggar that you’re kind to. 

And fear is an ocean, 

so stay on the island. 

and every time you talk, 

Your conversations turn into tragedies. 

The old car cleans up nice. 

And marriage turns men into butlers. 

Love is just a clay pot 

in a burned down New Orleans hotel. 

Steel Wires could open the door. 

Set fire to fire, and push me back again. 

Your tragedies become mere dinner talk 

Nobody’s horse is gonna live forever. 

And I’m a schoolboy, mister, play me a cover song. 

But this was not my decision, 

so don’t ask have I changed my mind. 

Steel Wires could open the door. 

Set fire to fire, and push me back again. 

The Bluesman plays The River. 

The walls bleed black with mold. 

And Jazz is always running out of incense. 

And politics will be. 

Hang a flag on your window, 

put the blood over the door. 

Steel Wires could open the door. 

Set fire to fire and push me back again. 

Light your cigars and stare at my wife. 

Drink your poison. 

Enjoy my life. 

 

 

O’ Magnolia 

(S.A. Wolfe) 

O’ Magnolia, it’s long past time to change your regalia. 

But keep the blue for the Scottish Seas, and for the warm gulf breeze. 

Stubborn as it may be, keep the blue for the bravery. 

Discard the stars and bars you hid behind when you meant slavery. 

O’ Magnolia 

O’ Magnolia, keep the red for the warnings we need: 

the hurricanes and hunger and heat, and the blood and lessons of defeat. 

See the bright and shining stars for what they really are, 

and from where they truly come – from the fertile earth of our hearts. 

O’ Magnolia 

O’ Magnolia, you are not just the crimes of you fathers. 

And until you forgive yourself, you will never know all your wealth. 

But the world will embrace your new display, and cheer you on towards a new day 

to grow strong and sound with your roots in the ground, with your trunk and your 

branches the only Gray. 

O’ Magnolia 

O’ Magnolia, let the white that you pride be your Petals. 

But keep the blue for the Choctaw tears, and know redemption will still take years. 

Painful as it may be, keep the red and its strength to remind 

Unlock the chains you’ve kept your mighty hills and trees and rivers behind 

and be free. 

O’ Magnolia