A song I wrote in 1986.  Rerecorded today.  35 years later.

A Winter's Tale

KUDZU & COTTON (Main Theme)
By Eric Wayne Key

Oooooohh -- have we got a story to tell?
Aaaaaahh -- A tale we know so well
Oooooohh -- have we got a song to sing?
Kudzu and Cotton, you’re not forgotten, USA.

We're gonna bare our souls
We're gonna shed a tear
We're gonna tell you things
You'd never, never, never, never, never, hear.

Oooooohh -- have we got a story to tell?
Aaaaaahh -- A tale we know so well
Oooooohh -- have we got a song to sing?
Kudzu and Cotton, you’re not forgotten, USA.

We're gonna wave our flags
We're gonna stand our ground
We're gonna stick together
And never, never, never, never back down.

Working hard or hardly working
Either way it’s hard
We do the best with what we have
That’s why we still cook with lard.

That Cotton Mill took dear old grandpa
Yeah, it tore his soul apart
We buried him in a cotton suit
Poor man, well bless his heart! ------------

Bridge
Oh, I wish I was in the land of cotton,
Old times there are you’re not forgotten,
Look away, look away, look away Dixie Land.

We're gonna pay our bills (60)
We're gonna work the land
We're gonna feed our kids
And never, never, never, never need a hand.

Working hard or hardly working
It’s just good to have a job
We do what we do to get along
Clap your hands and sing along!

My grandma was half Cherokee
I bet your grandma was too
But’s that’s another story for some rainy day
Right now we’ve got a show to do!

Oooooohh -- have we got a story to tell?
Aaaaaahh -- A tale we know so well
Oooooohh -- have we got a song to sing?
Kudzu and Cotton, you’re not forgotten, USA.

(Modulate)

Oooooohh -- have we got a story to tell?
Aaaaaahh -- A tale we know so well
Oooooohh -- have we got a song to sing?
Kudzu and Cotton, you’re not forgotten, USA.
Kudzu and Cotton, Calhoun County, USA.
Kudzu and Cotton, Alabama, USA.


Kudzu & Cotton Main Theme

This is a song about holding on to one's faith...

One Boll
Written and performed by Eric Wayne Key

That boy never showed
The scars he endured
He’d always smile
When the old man yelled at him

Those Piedmont cotton fields
Were hot and hard to tame
But that young boy was strong
It didn’t bother him

He picked one boll for his family
And one boll for the Lord
And the Lord blessed him plenty
And he picked a little more

One boll built a house
One boll made a home
And the Lord blessed him plenty
As he shared a little more

“I the Lord search the heart and test the mind, to give every man according to his ways, according to the fruit of his deeds.”
(Jeremiah 17:10)

That man worked his farm
From dawn till supper-time
He thanked the Lord for what he had
And what he’d left behind

That Boll Weevil came in ’55 and
Ravaged the fields he had sown
That old man lost his farm
So he went back to where he came from…

He picked one boll for his family
And one boll for the Lord
And the Lord blessed him plenty
And he picked a little more

One boll built a house
One boll made a home
And the Lord blessed him plenty
As he shared a little more

Through wind and rain and fire and cold the old man carried on
In time he reaped his Heavenly home – his faith, so strong
 
He picked one boll for his family
And one boll for the Lord
And the Lord blessed him plenty
And he picked a little more

One boll built a house
One boll made a home
And the Lord blessed him plenty
As he shared a little more

He picked one boll for his family
And one boll for the Lord
And the Lord blessed him plenty
And he picked a little more

(Repeat Chorus)

One Boll

Alabama Round Steak
(Fried Bologna Sandwich)
By Eric Wayne Key

When I was young and we were poor
And our bellies ached for something good
I remember mama’s face in that Frigidaire light
She’d unwrap a pound of pure delight…

She’d take two pieces of bread
A little mustard on each side
A big scoop of mayonnaise, she’d spread it on just right
She’d heat that cast iron skillet till it popped like last July
And when she pulled that bright red rind off, I nearly lost my mind!

She’d fix a fried bologna sandwich
Nothing ever, ever really ever, ever tastes so good
Fried bologna sandwich
Alabama Round Steak, thick as a brick
Goes straight to Dixie’s heart.

Some folks like to bake it, some folks eat it raw
Mama’d fry that slice of life into a little bitty ball!
She’d make four tiny slices: North, South, East and West
Then lay it flat on the bread, like a Great War Iron Cross

She’d fix a fried bologna sandwich
Nothing ever, ever really ever, ever tastes so good
Fried bologna sandwich
Alabama Round Steak, thick as a brick
Goes straight to Dixie’s heart.

My mouth would start to water, then it would open wide
And I’d taste that fried bologna like the first time every time
I’d smile wide for my mama and she would smile right back
It would be years from now when I have my heart attack!

Fried bologna sandwich
Nothing ever, ever really ever, ever tastes so good
Fried bologna sandwich
Alabama Round Steak, thick as a brick
Goes straight to Dixie’s heart.

Fried bologna sandwich
Nothing ever, ever really ever, ever tastes so good
Fried bologna sandwich
Alabama Round Steak, thick as a brick
Goes straight to Dixie’s heart.

Alabama Round Steak (Fried Bologna Sandwich)

Little Dark Child is an experiment in Minor Sevenths and such.  I have tried to mesh together two genres (Appalachian and Gothic).  Vocals and choir will finish it up.

Little Dark Child (Instrumental)

Depression Era Anniston, Alabama.

Hard times and bread lines
The end must be near.
The rich lost their money
and our jobs disappeared.

These are the good old days

This steel town's a ghost town
On the West side tonight.
But up on that hill
I see electric lights

Then they turned off our water
'Cause we couldn't pay our bill
Damn all those men
Up on that hill.

These are the good old days

Children cry in the night
'Cause their bellies wake 'em up
And I've thought about robbing
that store across the way.

But I'm not the kind
to take what's not mine
Like the men up there
on that hill...

Written, performed and recorded by Eric Wayne Key.

These Are The Good Old Days

1958, Oxford, Alabama.  A lone hitchhiker tells us about the progression of Lick Skillet to Oxford thanks to President Dwight D. Eisenhower's Interstate Highway System.

Long Gray Highway
By Eric Wayne Key

I have been many places and seen many faces
The same ones here that’s over there
This place used to be just a wide spot in the road
A dot on the map, a watering hole.

But this Interstate road, brought life into this town
And jobs that brought money, which spread out all around 
I like Ike for more reasons than one
But this road is second to none.

It’s a long gray highway
Like a river flowing from town to town
It’s a long gray highway
It brings me to where I am

Things have changed so much since those Lick Skillet days
There’s so much more to 
And in all my travels, I can’t reckon when I’ll
Get back to Oxford again

Three-thousand miles of Alabama Red Clover
The warm summer winds, they blow me right over
That blacktop melts into the ground like molasses
But I keep on walking this long lonely road…

It’s a long gray highway
Like a river flowing from town to town
It’s a long gray highway
It brings me to where I am

"I see. . .an America where a mighty network of highways spreads across our country."


Long Gray Highway

The gist of the Kudzu & Cotton Project.  To be aired July 7 2013 at 7am.

kudzuandcotton