1. |
One of These Days
02:47
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One of these days I’m gonna go crazy
From all of this working and none of this paying me.
One of these days this stock I’m from
Gonna know the reasons I changed my name.
One of these days I’m gonna head home,
Find the farm been up and sold,
One of these days ain’t nobody gonna know the things that can grow on it,
One of these days.
One of these days I’m gonna move on
From all these church songs I been dragging along,
Play something country, dancing with your honey
With your working boots on.
One of these days this world I been loving
Gonna realize it can be loving too,
One of these days this world I been crying for
Gonna get the feeling that I’m going through,
One of these days.
You can stay home
Or you can get lost,
When kingdom come ain’t no carrying a cross,
Kingdom done come and kingdom done gone--
I’m still gonna lay my head here.
Time don’t steal the things it wants,
It just asks you to give ‘em on,
I don’t trust nobody that comes round telling me they’re gonna tell my time,
I don’t trust nobody that comes round telling me they’re gonna tell my time,
I don’t trust nobody that comes round,
They’re gonna tell my time.
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2. |
Mercedes Benz
03:28
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Welcome to the new year, ain’t nothing good kicking here,
Already up and over it.
Some kind of trouble left my side of town in rubble
Now we gotta live in it.
Texas quit on half my gigs, so I packed up and headed on home
When somebody I love got the smell of what was coming,
Got smart, and headed on.
When we make it out of here I’ll buy you a Mercedes Benz,
Feed the pigeons some clay, start talking again.
When the earth moves under your feet and the sky starts tumbling down,
Babe, you got a friend in me you can count, count, count.
Most of my ways drive you a special kind of crazy,
We already established that.
Guess I got to learn to be a little more subtle and a little more gentle loving.
Every good for nothing got a one way ticket to hell and a handbasket,
Guess it’s up to us to be good to each other, else there ain’t no use in getting through it.
Rather be stuck somewhere with you, babe,
Sharing vinyl, wine, and lost time.
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3. |
Lordhamercy
03:29
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Won’t you stay with me, my darlin,
For a moment longer
In this darkness,
There is nowhere
We are bound to be,
Won’t you stay in this darkness with me.
Lord, have mercy
Oh, Lord, have mercy,
Lord, have mercy what she done to me.
Lord, have mercy,
Oh, Lord, have mercy,
Lord, have mercy what she done to me.
Won’t you lay down your worries on our dresser
On this bed lay down all that you can bare,
In this darkness we will find our own blessing,
The blessing of a love’s tender care
Ain’t nobody gonna love me like you do,
Never wanted nothing like I want you.
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4. |
Carolina Boy
04:15
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Grandaddy was a drinker and gambler too,
Grandmama’d dip and curse while my uncle chased perfume.
We got three strains of weed ‘tween the corn seeds,
And we got harder stuff.
If ya ain’t paid your time to the county jail, we credit Lady Luck.
Just another lost Carolina boy, singing ‘stead of speaking in tongues,
Stranded out here in Tennessee when Georgia got too rough.
Ain’t nothing back home but a minefield of cornfields, old flames, and family grudges,
Momma said ‘Better not stick around here, boy; when you leave stick to beer.’
Momma’s still a brawler, did mescaline,
Daddy acts like laws are flexible things.
It was military school if the money wasn’t tight,
Thank God that it was,
So my folks kept me in playing church songs on most Friday nights.
I don’t know where I’m going, just know where I’m from.
Home’s a place I ain’t go often but often think of.
There’s a hole in my pocket where the money should go,
There’s a hole in my heart called home,
When I get to missing, I hit these hills and head out all alone.
Just another lost Carolina boy, singing ‘stead of speaking in tongues,
Stranded out here in Tennessee when Georgia got too rough.
Ain’t nothing back home but a minefield of cornfields, old flames, and bad drugs,
Momma said ‘Better not stick around here, boy; when you leave stick to beer.’
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5. |
Good Trucks
03:19
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I believe in good trucks
Loving who ya love,
Bills coming due,
Making sure folks is all taken care of,
Working hard if you can,
If ya cain’t ain’t nothing bad
‘Bout taking a drive,
Cutting on what you like,
I believe in good trucks.
Well, my honey bring in most the money,
She keeps me around, guess I’m good for something,
Ain’t trying to prove I’m a man or nothing,
That’s alright.
I kick round town in a compact car,
Every picker and grinner gotta get real far
On a spoonful of gas,
I make it big
I’ll get my big wheels back.
I believe in good trucks,
Putting a hitch in a rich man’s strut,
You can make it through most anything
If you got friends to get you unstuck.
I take my country songs honest,
And my folk songs mean,
If something’s good for everybody,
Oughta find a way to make it free--
I believe in good trucks.
There’s gotta be a way to fix some broken things and stop running on fumes.
I could use a way of getting by or getting through.
Well the dog won’t stop howling at nothing,
These four walls are getting me punchy,
I’m losing my mind, and trying to drink less.
I was grieving things before a storm rolled through,
Put holes in our landlord’s roof
Now I’m stuck here and got to live in it.
I believe in good trucks,
Not every dog should hunt,
There’s always a way to say the truth soft enough.
When you kill ‘em with kindness,
Hit ‘em so hard they’ll mind it,
Being strong ain’t always the same as being tough,
I believe in good,
I believe in good,
I believe in good
Trucks.
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6. |
When They Take the House
03:28
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Searching for static with a head full of sound,
Wishing something like whiskey could drown this noise out,
Making friends with my crazy and getting along
With a head full of somebody else’s songs.
Well the profits/propeht’s have all gone quiet,
The profits/prophets was once all the rage,
Well the peddlers of panic ain’t ever wrong, ain’t ever right,
Well the peddlers of panic still turn a mean wage.
Ain’t no reason for not being humble,
Ain’t no reason for not being kind,
When the bad days come and you’re all in and stuck,
When they take the house, don’t let ‘em take the fire.
Well you can spend your days digging ditches, burning bridges, casting wishes,
Everything’s wrong and everything’s a fault line,
Practice on your name to have something up on that headstone,
Don’t give a damn so long as you’re feeling fine.
She asked me to quit picking banjo,
I asked her to quit picking through my yard-sale mind,
Love is love ‘til a hillbilly gets stuck
On a seven chord where there used to be a five.
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7. |
These Four Walls
04:13
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Babe I cant keep my mind straight these days,
A heart like mine ought to learn forgiveness but I’m a sucker for
All of these cynical ways.
Ain’t nobody ever love me like you do,
Ain’t nobody oughta love me like you do.
These four walls are whatever we make of ‘em,
These days I’m home, these days I’m staying.
Never wanted nothing like I want you,
Never wanted nothing ‘til I wanted you.
This whole damn world’s boarded up and going inside
And the music in this town has up and died.
If you’re lucky to find it, a feeling out here could stretch for miles and miles
But ain’t no one got the space to unwind it.
These four walls are whatever we make of ‘em,
These days I’m home, these days I’m staying.
Never wanted nothing like I want you,
Never wanted nothing ‘til I wanted you.
We could make love,
We could make crazy,
We could get working on making some changes,
Never wanted nothing like I want you,
Never wanted nothing til I wanted you.
Let fall every thing we thought we couldn’t live without,
Gonna take more than some good luck to keep us sticking these times out.
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8. |
Damn Hard
03:59
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Drove through Tennessee sober,
Made it through Arkansas clean,
Still pointing these tires toward Luckenbach, Texas,
Chasing that honky-tonk dream.
Been working on fixing my troubles,
Tuning up a real mean heart,
Still broke in the pockets and the side of the highways,
Still tire of things falling apart.
Damn hard to quit this drinking,
Damn hard to find good luck,
Damn hard to make money in this line of working,
Damn harder to give it on up.
Damn hard just living in the country,
Damn hard to keep a soft heart,
Thank my stars it’s always come easy
Keeping a head this damn hard.
I ain’t seen straight since I heard that fiddle,
Cain’t sleep, no peace, and no rest,
Well my blood’s all coffee and burned off whiskey,
Ain’t a heart but a holler in my chest.
I’m in it for the taste of the wild honey,
Ain’t never had no sense,
I’m praying there’s good things coming,
Ain’t no way out instead.
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9. |
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They’re getting Beloved back together for one more show in Kernersville,
Junior died and Junior came back in the same year,
Me and Mike moved on from his three-inch-lift Nissan,
These days we kick round Nashville with the old songs on.
Everything will go,
Some things come back again,
The best of things are sweeter
With a little bitterness.
Me, I’m out in Nashville, thinking I might call this home.
Some things are coming back again,
The rest of them are gone.
The light comes back to day,
The dark comes back to night,
My body come on back to both,
Still can’t get back all that time.
The folk scene left Atlanta,
The cassette tape kids moved in,
Got back the old ways of listening,
The old ways of singing left.
My daddy’s brother came back round like he always oughta did,
When the dirt got back a good, good friend,
And we learned to drink again.
Ain’t nobody cooking mullein tea,
Growing blue ribbon, three-foot beans,
The dust is getting back a stack of Porter Wagner forty-fives.
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10. |
What's Intended
03:30
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I been dreaming you’re dying and suffering again
And I can’t find a place to rest,
Seems I’m losing the sound of your voice in my head,
Guess I’m losing my accent again,
Guess I’m losing my accent again.
I was born with a name for the church and a grave
And the cops to have something to say.
Seems I’m losing the fight of just staying alive,
All I got of you’s written things.
All I got of you’s written things.
Nothing ever means what’s intended,
But I keep talking anyway,
Spinning out in circles,
Pedal down and no brakes.
I’m the son of somebody’s daughter,
You’re the daughter of somebody’s son,
Whole world just keeps on spinning,
Coming undone.
Take me where the dust comes from.
And your daughter don’t know
The gardens we’ve grown
In the rot of most busted things.
And I’m kin to your tiredness, the grease stains of trying,
The heaviness of quilted shame.
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11. |
Put Money Down
04:45
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Ain’t nothing ‘bout these four walls I’m gonna miss,
Bills coming due on some else’s money pit,
No more fussing with the closet that’s always blocked,
No good working around
The sink full of dishes, ants in the kitchen, and the dryer always breaking down.
Maybe we’re more than we get credit for,
More than the things we live on or do without,
More than the lot where we were born,
Good as the grace we afford,
We put money down on things working out.
We keep building up,
Chasing the sun,
Dreaming of where stories will go,
No matter how high just as long as we’re good with the ground low,
Long as there’s a bed, long as there’s a porch, long as there’s a kitchen, and a front door,
Long as we know when to patch things up and when to let ‘em go.
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12. |
Wasted Love
02:54
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A hundred-sixty dollars over qualifying for Medicaid,
The last plans of an anxious man who died in ‘88.
You can suffer under someone so long who thought love was getting paid,
And be left to a stranger’s touch and bills that you can’t make.
No such thing as wasted love,
No such thing as wasted love.
Twenty-two months and counting since she caught a good night of rest,
But time feels more like fiction when there’s truths left to be said.
One sip from a coke can, give a damn if the rest gets touched--
The whole world can keep on counting score,
You ain’t call it wasted love.
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Nathan Evans Fox Nashville, Tennessee
Born and raised in western North Carolina, Nathan Evans Fox writes songs that sound the way gas stations feel. When it comes
to Nathan’s approach, Americana Highways writes, “It’s not cornpone, it’s not alt-country, country-western, or pop-country. Fox has a solid hold on a serious genre of country seldom covered by many artists. It cuts through the commerciality of country music.”
BMI
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