Miss Marigold

No Kings In The Wild

The Day I Walk Away

No Kings in the Wild

I Don't Want to Die in San Antone

Angelica

Castaways and Washashores

Seven Sisters

Green River Revival

I left my home in el Dorado 
To look for work in Avalon 
The trail went cold west of Ohio 
A borrowed myth a siren's song

On the south side of sorrow 
Another place I've never been
This town's been rusted shut and hollowed 
Buy out the work and raise the rent

Buy out the work and raise the rent
Here's to our health and our demise
It's hard to sing the blues when you're seeing red
It's even worse to never try

Railroad tracks across the midwest
Spider web throughout the plains
We all come from the wrong side of them
Dust and blood burn in our veins

So bury your last silver dollar
And grab the hatchet while you wait
We're turning wine back into water
Because this ain't no time to celebrate

This ain't no time to celebrate 
Here's to our health and our demise
It's hard to sing the blues when you're seeing straight
It's even worse to never try


Raise The Rent

I've got that west Texas sweat burning in my eyes
Running down my neck messing with my drive
I wouldn't be caught dead dying by your side
I've got leaving in my head trouble on my mind

Tried to play it straight take it stale and slow
I was early out the gate in a cloud of smoke
I swear I'll make my way to a place I can lay low
To a town of fifty-eight on the edge of Mexico

The road along the mesa won't get you anywhere
That's just where I'm going to do my time
I'm running out of road I'm going in this blind
I've got a pistol in my hand and trouble on my mind

Palomino gold a diamond highway weeps
This place it seems so old with no sign of history 
I turn my lights down low my sights are set on sleep
I shouldn't be this cold wrapped in a fever dream

The road along the mesa won't get you anywhere
That's just where I'm going to make it right
I'm running out of road I'm going in this blind
I've got a pistol in my hand and trouble on my mind

I've got that west Texas sweat burning in my eyes
A feeling of regret running down my spine
I hope I don't forget that girl I left behind
I've got leaving in my head and running on my mind

Palomino Gold

The name is McCoy I'm a brick mason's boy
I'm a honest boat builder by trade
I hail from Holly Hill and my friends call me Bill
But I've buried that name in my wake
Work as hard as we can me and my brother Ben
But lately the work has been slow
Hard times they come and hard time they go
But these hard times won't leave us alone

Leave us alone, leave us alone

The railways came in and the highways began
We sold the boat yard up in Jacksonville
So to Gloucester we went gave them every last cent
And left with Henry L. Marshall
The Marshall was fast and we couldn't be kept 
We ran rum from Nassau to Maine 
Whiskey and rye, champagne and wine
New York won't be dry not today

I'm an honest boat builder is what I use to say

My veins remain clean not a trace of the drink
But what a man needs who's to say
Still the best I assure the uncut the pure
The only thing watered down is the bay
We couldn't be bought stayed ahead of the law
We stay safe three miles off the shore
Supply and demand greenbacks in both hands
These hard times ain't so hard no more

I'm an honest lawbreaker but I carry my weight

The name is McCoy I'm a brick mason's boy
I'm a honest boat builder by trade
It was a calm quiet night not a cloud in the sky
But hurricane Perkin's awaits 
The orders came in when one ship turned to ten
And the storm rolled right in off the port
The thunder was swift it ain't hard to admit
There really ain't much worth dying for

I'm an honest bootlegger so give me my pay
There's holes the Marshall and booze in the bay
It's all over brother so anchor's away
I walked on the water and got wrecked in the waves

The Real Bill McCoy

This caged canary no longer sings
This coal mine's empty you can't hear a thing
The lights from the city they hide the stars
And all the pretty girls are on their way home from the bars

Just one more promise to make and break
Just one more asshole filling up ashtrays
Imported lager aborted faith
And all the desperate boys are just waiting to get saved

This holy water is all dried out
Just like our mouths and bank accounts
The city moans but we don't make a sound
Nothing left to do but kill the lights
On this eighty proof August night
Take only what you can't leave behind

I'm a walking dead man busting at the seems
Striking up the house band lighting up these streets
Another goddamn romance another goddamn dream
Another broken heart stands in the way of everything

Kill The Lights

Calloused, road-worn Americana from southeast Massachusetts

Greg Loftus

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