Pony PayroLL Bones Talkin Country Music Dreamt In Tha OLe Georgia Hollow Log.

The sky is all a blue titanium saw mill. I hear the flesh sawing. I see the marrow of existence drip outta those cracked bones.

I got stabbed stabbed stabbed at the train station by DeFord Bailey. He meant a fool like me no harm. You live and learn, yet I will forever hear tha K.C. Moan. Mr. DeFord Bailey and I are the two ghosts that will haunt the Grand Ole Oprey. I have guaranteed this because I made Satan himself sign a Christian Contract to do my bidding. No one will notice us, except Zach Kouns and Tammy Wynette. We will haunt the old faded dreams of Dolly Parton's faded menstrual phantom tampons.

I am crying in a pontoon boat on the Tennessee River. I will murder Pony Bones with a pawn shop hunting rifle. I am crying on a leaking fishing boat upon the droughting waters of Lake Allatoona. I will hang Pony Bones with a noose upon an old ghost of an oak tree that still stands rooted and standing neath the red clay murky still waters. I will hang him high!

Fiddlin John Carson is played by Clint Eastwood in the movie Lima, Peru. Eastwood is Carson. He will kill all the children at every Atlanta Public Elementary School. His violin bow is now fitted with razors. Fiddlin John Carson has a hissing white cat with a black tail. He is perched on his boney shoulder. Not a damn thing can be done by anyone. Every time he kills a child, the cat screeches. Every time he kills a child, the child dies a good death.

Andrew and Jim Baxter are playing slow motion vhs dirge mourn songs at a Calhoun, Georgia Victorian picnic in the local cemetery. I saw a dead donkey rotting in a muddy shit ditch on tha way there. The ditch is called the Confederacy. There is a confederate civil war reenactment where all the soldiers are in hand to hand combat. Bayonets find their mark and groins gurgles and mouths vomit the fountain purple. Illegal Mexicano piņatas in the effigy of Jefferson Davis explode.

Burt Reynolds first country music album hits big in the charts. He dies in a rafting trip on the Nantahala River soon after. The river's cold pygmy currents took his mustache down.

Jimmy Rodgers is all insisting that we are ALL in the graveyard NOW. The other Jimmy Rogers is doing heaving heavy breathing with a split head like a rancid watermelon. He got pistol whipped by Jimmy Rodgers.

How do I know such announcements? I am just an ole time journalist who has tuberculosis of the soul and churned butter for eyes. My veins flow with the rude honest truth and alcohol poisoning.

There is a fire on Walker mountain. Yesterday I got drunk with your sobbing sister on Dead Horse road. Yes, the banjo is way yonder out of tune. Everything is okay though. My promises have promises. I am fermenting the pine blowing creaky loneliness of little girls. A southern snowstorm in all of our mule kicked hearts.

Here I go to audition for the Georgia Yellow Hammers. I have strung my fiddle with cat gut. I want to win your heart Moonshine Kate! Atlanta's even gonna burn in tha spirit world my doleful darling. Play me that drunken banjo Rosa Carson!

Let us take the notations of hymnal Georgia violence and bring vehemence visitation. Burn New Echota Burn! Let that stone Cherokee statue step down off that white man pedestal and destroy that John C. Calhoun Christian town. I see your vengeances burns a blistering blue cold of sorrows. I got tha OOstanaula RiVeR BLUES!

Now Henry Grady Proctor will play us an old gospel song upon tha banjo, between two mountains in a hollow called tha pocket. Here is truth. Here shadows shake out shadows.

There ain't no more sugar in sugar valley any more. Take that to tha horse trough brother and sister. I got them Skillet Licker blues!

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