SHEEP, LIES, AND AUDIO TAPE
© Greg Keeler 1991

Post-Western Blues

I've got the post-western blues.
I've got a pasture full of llamas,
Llama prints on my pajamas too.
I've got the post-western blues.
I've got a field of Russian thistle
Near a silo full of missal,
And what the hell 'm I s'posed to do.

Well I drove down to Las Vegas
And stayed at the mirage.
Except for all them foreign folks,
It beats a Travel Lodge.
I watched that fake volcano
Erupt most every night.
The damned thing smelled like Pina Coladas,
Laced with dynamite.

I've got the post-western blues.
Please don't take away my subsidies.
I owe my country club its dues.
I've got the post-western blues.
I lost my El Camino
Playin' Keno down in Reno,
And what the hell 'm I s'posed to do.

Well, I drove up to Montana,
And from the interstate,
It looked like solid forests
Spread out miles and miles away.
But when I stepped off of the blacktop
To find a place to pee,
Except along the highway,
They'd clear-cut every tree.

I've got the post-western blues.
This land ain't your land. It ain't my land,
'Cause we've sold it to an Island called Japan.
I've got the post-western blues.
I've swapped my deer and antelope
For irrigated cantaloupe,
And what the hell 'm I s'posed to do.

I tried to read some writin'
By this guy named Derrida
'Bout how things deconstruct themselves
And don't go by no law.
Well, I don't know my Derrida
>From my derriere,
But if a rattlesnake don't rattle,
You'll never know it's there.

I've got the post-western blues.
These clear, blue skies don't turn dark blue
Like skies in good ol' John Wayne movies used to do.
I've got the post-western blues.
Forget the rough between,
We've got to water eighteen greens,
And what the hell 'm I s'posed to do.
Yes, forget the rough between,
We've got to water eighteen greens,
And what the hell 'm I s'posed to do.