ROOTS ROCK WEIRDOES (Fulks) -- in Em
VS1
The town was hardly stirring, the night clubs all were closed
-
Only a washed-up cover band hittin' the stage at Joe's
The guitar hit the first bar of "Secret Agent Man"
A door in the back flew open, and into the room they ran!
CH
Roots rock weirdoes, up from the underground
Starved for a Tele or a B3 -- any out-of-fashion sound
Roots rock weirdoes, out of their holes they come
Dressed up like it's 1951.
VS2
Well, they looked the band gear over and they noted with delight
-
The guitar amp was a Bassman, and the bass man played upright
Then they looked 'round at each other, and they cried, "We Are The Best!
For we like unpopular music, and just look at the way we're dressed!"
CH2
Roots rock weirdoes, slapping each others' backs
Using the hepcat language they thought made them sound black
Roots rock weirdoes, smoking their Camels straight
Makin' sure there was nothing up to date.
VS3
Now Joe, he was slow to anger, but that barkeep found it hard
-
Just to watch the air grow toxic with smoke and self-regard
So he jumped up on a barstool and he shouted out loud and clear:
"I don't know just what you weirdoes want, but I don't want you in here!"
VS4
The room grew deathly silent, then up from the stinking ranks
Rose a homely social worker in a bowling shirt marked "Hank"
And dropping the fake black diction, he said, "Since you enquired,
Let me take stock of what we roots rock -- ahem! -- 'weirdoes' desire...."
VS5
Fishnets for every woman, and lipstick as red as flame
For every man a tatoo, a Chevy, and a dumb nickname
Cigarettes in every shirtsleeve, black leather on every back,
Fanzines in every bookstore, LPs in each record rack.
VS6
Three chords in every pop song! Four white guys in each band!
A ruthless media empire to saturate this land
Then, with our alt.country comrades, and our brothers in neo-swing,
We'll reclaim music from the kids for our fat dead cracker king!"
CH3
Roots rock weirdoes, Christ! They're everywhere!
A little Doc Pomus in their hearts and dark pomade in their hair
Roots rock weirdoes, out of their holes they come
Dressed up like it's 1951.