48 hours? Not in my line of work, bub. In my line of work you get 12 bars, 24 if you're lucky. And if the lady’s feeling generous, maybe a turnaround that don’t leave you face-down in a smoky dive with a broken pick and a busted alibi. See, justice don’t knock - it bends a note and slides in uninvited, like her. She don't wear heels or lipstick, pal. Just nickel-wound strings and a body that hums when I hold her right. Every case I’ve cracked, every lowdown lie I’ve ever heard... it’s all in the way she sings, like a siren with calluses and secrets to tell.

Lawn Order Blues

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