VID 20141221 122700


•	I got a pile of good cloth napkins, and a stack of china plates,
•	I got an even disposition, but a hunger that hates to wait,
•	I got cranial distemper, and a limited attention span,
•	I got one good foot and two good hands, and one big master plan,
•	I got memories of childhood dreams on hold for review,
•	I got sundries in the cupboard I could whip up a thing or two,
•	I got never-ending consciousness and a bad yen for defeat,
•	There’s always one more song to hear before my evening is complete,
•	A holiday dinner table, with a line a mile long,
•	I got a lotta company but my real friends have done moved on

o	Who remembers our memories when we each pass away,
o	Is it enough to try and make a difference every day
o	Who’ll carve the roast, and who will pass the peas,
o	Who will know which moment’s lost and which one we should seize



Cloth Napkins

You Aint Goin Nowhere 1

Cowboy Songs - Jack Santos, 2014
			“Cowboy Songs”
•	Cowboy songs, they just go on and on,
•	And you know ‘em when you hear them the first time,
•	Hillbilly rhymes, and old family lies,
•	Characters who always choose the worst line,
o	Grandpa Jack and Betty Mae,
o	Uncle Reefus and hounds that bay,
o	Bad Bart, and bad decisions always
o	Whiskey drinking, and stolen gold,
o	Wide open plains and the buffalo,
o	Just one man who still lives by the old ways
•	Cowboy songs, they just go on and on,
•	And you know ‘em when you hear them the first time,
•	Heartaches, in 3/4 time,
•	Coal miners and deep dark mines,
•	You might as well have heard it all in the first line,
o	Panhandlers, and snake oil snakes,
o	Legendary last mistakes,
o	Lost love, and found desperation,
o	Tijuana and Tennessee,
o	Old vendettas and robbery,
o	Handguns in almost any situation
•	Cowboy songs, they just go on and on,
•	And you know ‘em when you hear them the first time,
•	Hillbilly rhymes, and old family lies,
•	Characters who always choose the worst line,
•	

Cowboy Songs - 1

Cowboy Gallop

ShitVid 1

ShitVid 2

		“Denim Work Song” by Jack Santo, 2015
•	This morning dark and early, when I got up to rise,
•	I tumbled into my denim suit with the sleep still in my eyes,
•	I marched out the back door, to go out and work the land,
•	With nothing more than coffee black and a dirt spade in my hand
o	Whoa, woe is me,
o	I get paid to deliver hay but I farm the land for free
•	Sun gave way at 7, by 11 I was cooked,
•	All day long turning soil because that bankerman’s a crook,
•	Soft dirt beneath me, cloudless sky above,
•	Winter’s breeze blows a gentle tease of the fresh air that I love
o	Whoa, woe is me,
o	I can work straight till September when I remember that I’m free
•	The quiet snap of the evening calling brings me to my chair,
•	A cool glass of anything and I ain’t got a care,
•	I don’t think about tomorrow, as all the stars are lit,
•	I don’t think of that bankerman because he ain’t worth a spit
o	Whoa, woe is me,
o	I got lucky when the Lord made me I got lucky to be born free
•	Trouble in a foreign land, printed in black and white,
•	I avoid the newspapers and I avoid the traffic light,
•	I don’t aim to amass my riches in greenbacks or gold,
•	I just aim to breathe the air and every season grow a little old
o	Whoa, woe is me,
o	I don’t fret tomorrow or what may follow because right now I’m living free


Denim Work Song

     My Sweet Griselda, by Jack Santo 2015
•	I left before I knew it, but I knew I surely blew it,
•	I walked away then ran just out of sight,
•	I had nowhere to go, and just a stolen roll of dough,
•	My aimless aim spared me from another fight
•	Two muddy roads diverged, and my hope suddenly surged,
•	I threw caution to my back and swiftly chose,
•	If I could do it all again, or just remembered where I’ve been,
•	I probably would’ve packed a change of clothes
o	Where are you tonight, my sweet Griselda,
o	What winsome choice of lover did you take?
o	If I had anything in mind you know I’d tell ya,
o	Your patience may be your last mistake
•	A chilly wind blew through, and I shivered a time or two,
•	But I was steadfast and kept my eyes on the path,
•	A demon of mine passed by, I couldn’t look him in the eye,
•	But when there’s two or more I just can’t do the math,
•	With asinine intent, and all my good luck spent,
•	I sallied forth like a knight upon a steed,
•	But my epic soon was halted, my fragile pride was faulted,
•	Too scared to fall like the last of a dying breed
o	Where are you tonight, my sweet Imelda,
o	Neither loyalty nor grace should you forsake,
o	If I had another way out you know I’d help ya,
o	But your gentle heart was always bound to break

o	Where are you tonight, my sweet Griselda,
o	What winsome choice of lover did you take?
o	If I had anything in mind you know I’d tell ya,
o	Your patience may be your last mistake
o	
o	Where are you tonight, my sweet Imelda,
o	Neither loyalty nor grace should you forsake,
o	If I had another way out you know I’d help ya,
o	But your gentle heart was always bound to break


My Sweet Griselda

"No Refund"
Words and music by Jack Santo, unfortunately.

	“No Refund”
D-A-Bm-G
Bridge thing: Bm-A-G//Bm-A-F#m-A
•	It’s greedy, and lustful,
•	And you become plain distrustful,
•	Your loved ones can start to see it in your eyes,
•	As you fade into someone you don’t recognize

o	It’s like you picked a lesson and unlearned it,
o	Your refund came and you returned it,
o	Your instincts telling you not to gamble,
o	As you light both ends of the candle
o	Till there’s no whisper, there’s no voice,
o	You’re pretending you made a choice

•	Down across town by the broken bridge,
•	Where no one could find you ‘neath the windy ridge,
•	The smell of burnt fuel and taste of copper wire,
•	Burning your mistakes on the garbage pyre

o	It’s like a third-grade lesson you unlearned it,
o	A dreamy horror, son you earned it,
o	A vagabond feast, for a terrible beast,
o	You can’t squash or squelch what you unleash

o	And I can’t reach you through the space between,
o	Where you’ve come from and all you’ve seen,
o	I ask who you trust in all this darkness,
o	And the panic swells as you confess:

•	I don’t hear whispers anymore, 
•	And that terrifies me to the core,
•	All the demons I’ve long denied,
•	And ghosts have finally left my side

o	There’s no whispers, there’s no voice,
o	There’s no pretending you made a choice
o	Love never left you so there’s always hope,
o	If you can just hang on to the end of the rope,

•	It’s not a place for any one,
•	Who isn’t hiding from the sun,
•	And from the memories and the faith,
•	But there’s still love, it’s not too late,
•	There’s always one chance, it’s not too late


zacaulson

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