Mat d. and the Profane Saints: Lyrics

copyright 2010 Mathew deRiso / Mary Moe Music

rubbed against the rivets of a diesel drinking jezebel
stranded in clutches of the hottest thing this side of hell
watched them women slither like two rattlesnakes around my bed
with curves straight out of babylon and sex appeal to raise to the dead

they said the king drove up from Memphis prophesying in a southern drahl
in clothes that reeked of bourbon street and hair that stood six inches tall
was he victim of El Muerto or an ancient rosacrucian curse
when he fell off his earthly throne and rolled into a hot pink hearse
the king drove up from Memphis Lord, they say it was the end of days
now they're calling for revival in the hopes they'll raise him from the grave

the true believers gathered in a circle and they spoke in tounges
they laid down on the dusty floor shook like it was kingdom come
a pilgrimage to vegas quoting scripture while they shook their hips
wrote his name on diamond studded jumpsuits and they curled their lips
they called for tattooed seraphim in blue suede shoes on bended knee
to ride down on that mystery train to raise that boy from tennessee

rubbed against the rivets of a diesel drinking jezebel
stranded in clutches of the hottest thing this side of hell
they wrapped themsleves around me and I felt my spine begin to crack
I asked them both if they had power enough to bring the old boy back
watched their bodies slither like two rattlesnakes around my bed
they glanced at me before they kissed and spoke the words "The King is Dead"

copyright 2010 Mathew deRiso/Mary Moe Music

all that sweet molten rubber
seeping into the road
filled the cracks like river
til the black top went cold
in a steel driving rhythm
with her breath keeping pace
displaced hips start to sway
in that old fashioned way
born again setting fire
to that place

with a shot glass of poison
left to bead on her skin
clothed in seersucker sugar
from an old cotton gin
sinking into the vinyl
naked flesh on the glass
where the bachlorettes drown
in their judgement day gowns
born again by the light
of the dash

all the dust off that engine
filled our lungs up with smoke
where the air smelled like liquor
and the reservoir broke
in steel driving rhythm
and a dying man's groan
Lord she held on to you
til her heart split in two
born again til you
left her alone
where the bachlorettes drown
in their judgement day gowns

billy rocket built for speed
wheels that turn and roads that bleed
finger tips that tap the dash
elastic bands and crumpled cash
telecasters scratched to hell
dialing in some voodoo spell
where cowboy hipsters rule the night
like zombies in the red moonlight

culture shock at 30 amps
old cadillacs and lava lamps
the billboards read like calling cards
on resurrection boulevard
lay her down and watch her twitch
light it up and kill the switch
and once that copper's glowing red
you'll scream so loud you'll raise the dead

telecasters scratched to hell
dialing in some voodoo spell
the cowboy hipsters rule the night
like zombies in the red moonlight
lay her down and watch her twitch
light it up and kill the switch
and once that copper's glowing red
you'll scream so loud you'll raise the dead

raise the dead....raise the dead
raise the dead...

bouncing down the mountain like a flat bed chevy
with her white walls spinning and her engine running steady
she's a lit match burning through the gasoline
up a ragged ass road if you know what I mean
a little further through the sticks on a dead half acre
she's fusebox glowing in a combination trailer
with her spot lights bright white 30 amps of static
and a live wire running from her crawl space to the attic
put your finger on her pulse til you feel her getting hotter
it's your last first date with the rednecked preacher's daughter

devil flew a comet down a dirt town alley
she's a scuffed up shelled out bimbo from the valley
rocking skintight fashions dipped in motor oil
twisted up in rollers and aluminum foil
a little further through the sticks on a dead half acre
she's fusebox glowing in a combination trailer
with her spot lights bright white 30 amps of static
and a live wire running from her crawl space to the attic
put your finger on the switch once you flip it then you got her
it's your last first date with the rednecked preacher's daughter

flat bed shaking up a gravel road
white walls popping from the weight of the load
like a lit match burning through the gasoline
up a ragged ass road if you know what I mean...

buckshot sermon and wedding dress
with straight six motor in a state of arrest
like a burnt match drowning in the gasoline
up a ragged ass road if you know what I mean
a little further through the sticks on a dead half acre
she's fusebox glowing in a combination trailer
with her spot lights bright white 30 amps of static
and a live wire running from her crawl space to the attic
put your finger on the pulse til you feel her getting hotter
on your last first date with the rednecked preacher's daughter

copyright 2010 Mathew deRiso / Mary Moe Music

straight six she ain't running
honey baby she turned mean
gonna trade that mother in for a cheap used car
before I head on back to Abeline

just the other side of Louie
burning up and down the track
hope I see my girl at that Gate Motel
sweet senorita keeps me coming back

I'm on the edge of the heartland
Oh, I feel the power coming up from the ground
in a junkyard machine spitting gasoline
with some junk in the trunk
like a bitch hell bent for getting down

straight six she ain't running
honey baby she turned mean
gonna trade that mother in for a cheap used car
before I head on back to Abeline

just the other side of Louie
burning up and down the line
gonna pop your clutch if you talk to much
(and that's a promise baby)


I'm on the edge of the heartland
Oh, I feel the power coming up from the ground
in a junkyard machine spitting gasoline
with some junk in the trunk
like a bitch hell bent for getting down

she's a junkyard machine spitting gasoline
with some junk in the trunk
like a bitch hell bent for getting down

she's a junkyard machine spitting gasoline
with some junk in the trunk buh-buh-buh-baby...

creeping towards the main line sticking to the back roads
little bit of swagger to boot
hunched above the dashboard revolution city
light the edges of an alternate route
she's not the killer you need
she's just the girl at the wheel
that little six gun Sally gonna rumble through the valley
she'll be riding on a rocket of steel
rolling up the blacktop lazy eyed and restless
milk and honey on the radio dial
big ol' tube of lipstick pressed between her fingers
gonna glide across the miracle mile
she's not the killer you need
she's just the girl with the fuel
little six gun Sally gonna rumble through the valley
looking meaner than a three legged mule

let's shake it...

creeping towards the main line sticking to the back roads
little bit of swagger to boot
hunched above the dashboard revolution city
lights the edges of an alternate route
she's not the killer you need
she's just the girl at the wheel
that little six gun Sally gonna rumble through the valley
she'll be riding on a rocket of steel
she's not the killer you need
she's just the girl with the fuel
that little six gun Sally gonna rumble through the valley
looking meaner than a three legged mule

dirt track diva bent the mac truck bumper
ulcerated baby in a kill switch number
big bones snapping in a back beat rhythm
toothpicks scattered in a chalk line prison
tripped out baby she's a purty little zombie
Fishnet brain and a super sonic body
Big bones shaking like a rattle in the caddy
keep the Beehive humming for your all night rocking daddy

getcha gone girl twitching in a pothole
knocked dead tethered a flag pole
rolled up like a complicated riddle
leave the barstool spinning when they brand you on the middle of your
big thighs jiggle in the backseat
Kick back searching for a heartbeat
Red hot dancing in the kettle
when the rat rod royal puts the pedal to the metal

dirt track diva left the black flag checkered
half nude devil on a rockabilly record
cheap angora in a sock hop get-up
twisting down to Vegas in a flat bed pick-up
tripped out baby she's a chick flick reject
fifty pounds of leather and a tattooed edict
Big bones shaking like a rattle in the caddy
keep the Beehive humming for your all night rocking daddy

getcha gone girl twitching in a pothole
knocked dead tethered to a flag pole
rolled up like a complicated riddle
leave the barstool spinning when they brand you on the middle of your
big thighs going jiggle in the backseat
Kick back searching for a heartbeat
Red hot dancing in the kettle
when the rat rod royal puts the pedal to the metal

wheel wells smoking way down underneath
God that smell of burning rubber like prophet's incense rising
resurrected from wreckage in a fiery wreath half conscious
off the diesel fumes go tumbling into you
white walls melting in the summer heat
sweet molten tar pits boiling over on the desert plains
I'll go down surfing on a pick-up bed while drowning in the asphalt
and the swirling pitch still reaching for the ditch

she's straddling my bones
pinned to her cellar door
working the black top grind
until she begs for more

grease fire burning in the dead of night
left my hand prints in the ashes of the fallen come before me
I can feel the sweat come trickling down her forehead in a river bed
of salt and tears Lord let her leave me here

snakes all around my feet
death letter signed in blood
no pillow for her head
here comes the raging flood


she's straddling my bones
pinned to her cellar door
working the black top grind
until she begs for more
snakes all around my feet
death letter signed in blood
no pillow for her head
here comes the raging flood
she's straddling my bones
pinned to her cellar door
working the black top grind

oh, the highway to hell ain't a mystery to me it's a half a mile down that old track through a passage so dark that the devil can't see  and I don't know if I'll make it back to you love, oh I don't know if I'll make it back

my wearisome soul became one with the earth in a cov'nant of silver and pine  I've seldom known grace nor the sweet savior's face in the gut of that hill country minewhen the steam whistle blows pray I rise from that pit and return to your bedside again  drag the lye soap across every inch of my frame rub me raw as original sin oh, girl love rub me as raw as original sin

oh, the highway to hell ain't a mystery to me it's a half a mile down that old track through a passage so dark that the devil can't see and I don't know if I'll make it back to you love, oh I don't know if I'll make it back

should the tunnel give way and I'm trapped down below or wages of death become due come and lay yourself down at the base of that hill pray my soul  finds it's way back to youmy body and blood reconciled to the earth in a cov'nant of silver and pine they'll be no tales to tell on the highway to hell if I die in that hill country mine

oh, the highway to hell ain't a mystery to me it's a half a mile down this old track through a tunnel so dark that the devil can't see and I don't know if I'll make it back to you love, oh I don't know if I'll make it back

copyright 2009 Mathew deRiso

They've got a neon cross flashing on the highway down a mule plow line rubbing you the wrong way got a brand new woman come to bring religion to me She's a bible belt testament of everything that I want to see. 

I believe.

They've got a rebel congregation burning with desire it's a newborn devil dancing in the fire in a big black chevy rolling down the backroads of love hell it's a straight six miracle been sent to us from heaven above They've got a bar room girl serving holy water like a hilltop hooker led away to slaughter I'm your doomsday prophet telling you what you need to know and if you don't know how to shake it then you're headed for the fire below.

Let's go.

I, I believe I'll dust my bed and take my leave-before I die she's gonna be my disciple...

My Roadside Revival.

Just like a vagabond evenagelist that's calling for repentence got the pine-box blues living out your sentence and a hot rod woman serving up American pie...

I'm taking on more piece before I leave her on the highway to die.

It's just a small town tramp coming back for seconds it's a waitress in a pink dress swinging with avengeance got my blue plate special rolling down the highway tonight...

Just like a rocking holy roller on the Sunday morning I saw the light.

That's right.

I, I believe I'll dust my bed and take my leave-before I die she's gonna be my disciple...

My Roadside Revival.

copyright 2007, 2009 Mathew R. deRiso

 

 

an angel ain't nothing but whiskey the devil ain't nothing but pain the last shot's as brown as molassas salvations an old lonesome train

a bullet ain't nothing but passion the trigger ain't nothing but sin been writing this gunpowder gospel and I'm ready to sound the amen.

cause heaven ain't nothing but highway and hell she ain't nothing but sky been writing a gunpowder gospel believing I was sent here to die

an angel ain't nothing but heartache the devil ain't nothing but lies the last touch will burn you like liquor redemption's a dirty girl's eyes

a bullet ain't nothing but passion the trigger ain't nothing but sin been writing a gunpowder gospel and I'm ready to sound the amen

I'm writing a gunpowder gospel and I'm ready to sound the amen

 

copyright 2009 Mathew R. deRiso

Baby left her paycheck back in Reservation Vegas townthem jackpot bells were ringing while the one armed bandits held her down styrofoam and cigarettes a seasoned gambler's sacraments nickel slots and sleepless nights underneath the flashing lights

baby left her inhibitions naked in a motel kitchen bottles with generic labels spilled out on the dressing table when her blue jeans hit the floor she heard a knocking at her door a whisper from the other side it's time to let the devil ride

devil done Dakota now he's rolling down I-29 out there on the prairie with a neon bends in broken lines devil done Dakota girl he's wrestled with the likes of you loves you just to leave you floating face down in the muddy Sioux

baby spent her last night in a reservation Vegas town them jackpot bells were ringing about the time her body hit the ground ripped up like a southern queen from bankrupt porno magazines eyes of black and lips of blue tumbling up the muddy Sioux

devil done Dakota now he's rolling down I-29 out there on the prairie with a neon bends in broken linesdevil done Dakota girl he's wrestled with the likes of you loves you just to leave you floating face down in the muddy Sioux

copyright 2009 Mathew deRiso

Baby wants to ride with the King she wants to dance with the Duke up top the finest picnic table in a cradle called the King of the Juke they're selling bottles for a dollar and the decor's Mexicali with a body resurrected from the San Fernando valley pushing chicken pickin twang on a demolition train to the roots

Baby drinks for free she wants to boogie with you all night long she keeps it rocking at the King of the Juke equipped to do you wrong built like a statue of Godiva all the way from Talahassee with some Honky Tonk Tremelo just enough to keep it classy pushing all night trucking grooves on a demolition cruise to the heartland

We're gonna Float it on down the river shake it til we start to shiver We're gonna Float it on down the riverShake it til we're tumbling back up to the King of the Juke

Baby wants to ride with the King she wants to dance with the Duke up top the finest picnic table in a cradle called the King of the Juke she loves that rockabilly rhythm and a heavy dose of creole in a sound they resurrected from a riverboat casino pushing chicken pickin twang on a demolition train aw, yeah back to the King of the Juke

copyright 2009

Mathew deRiso

pale skinned woman in a patchwork dress

raised up from the belly of the wilderness

backwoods mamma in a Mobile shack

ran to Alabama and she ain't come back

listen to the clatter of the dinosaur bones

burning up the jelly where the big dogs roam

long gone daddy gonna howl and scream

pretty little mamma gonna shake that thing

pale skinned woman with a 12 gauge touch

blow you back to Billy if you talk too much

barefeet kicking on a hardwood floor

big ghost scratching at a stillhouse door

Backwoods Mamma built to do you in

rot gut rythym and a dead horse grin

long gone daddy gonna wreck that train

pretty little mamma gonna wiggle n' shake that thing...

pale skinned woman with a tattooed breast

creeping towards the border in her sunday best

Backwoods Mamma gonna melt them tires

rolling down the highway in a ball of fire

lit up like a roller at the big tent show

caught up the spirit when they hit that floor

long gone daddy gonna call you honey

pretty little mamma gonna bring him money

 

pale skinned woman with a 12 gauge lips

blow you back to Billy when she pops them hips

barefeet kicking on a hardwood floor

big ghost scratching at a stillhouse door

Backwoods Mamma built to do you in

rot gut rythym and a dead horse grin

long gone daddy gonna wreck that train

pretty little mamma gonna wiggle n' shake that thing

 

copyright 2009

Mathew deRiso

she was long, she was tall, she was twisted

like a fuse from a coal miner's dream

with a crucifix pressed to her cleavage

at the helm of some custom machine

found the love of her life in a motor

you could trace out her past on the tires

of the last junkyard hot rod left standing

with them Arkansas plates half expired

she was hot as an old copper kettle

boy, she'd whistle and scream through the night

down a highway the Lord had forgotten

purified from the abscence of light

tied a big ball and chain 'round her ankle

turned as cold as a bare kitchen floor

took to sleeping alone in the front seat

couldn't lay in that bed anymore

she was flesh, she was blood,she was lonely.

spilling out of old strapless dress

with her big hair all pinned up and perfect

all that Tammy Faye make-up a mess

she could tear through a room like a train wreck

tear you down on a hot afternoon

til she rode out of town back in ninety

just to die in a non-smoking room

she was long, she was tall, she was twisted

like a fuse from a coal miner's dream

with a crucifix pressed to her cleavage

at the helm of some custom machine

copyright 2009

Mathew deRiso

four wheels I've been given

white wall tires rural life's torn to hell

down a brush road due north out of Kearney

in straight six that faith couldn't sell

I've been living damned near dying

all but chasing these dead legends down

where the highway runs straight to the border

of what's left of this bucolic town

painted grey at the seams down a ribbon of gold

where they drowned out the light in a landslide of coal

mixing in with the pitch in pool of deceit

in a bible belt bar south of miracle street

in a bible belt bar

south of miracle street

four wheels I've been given

white wall tires that were destined to ride

where a brush road due north out of Kearney

bred this unending burning inside

clay dirt hymnal bound in gravel

laid to rest in some slaughterhouse grave

where that highway runs straight to the river

like the sinner that grace couldn't save

ride the old chapel doors like a barge through the mud

where the prairie still reeks of the body and the blood

or a mule skinner's bones bleaching out in the heat

in a bible belt bar south of miracle street

in a bible belt bar

south of miracle street

clay dirt hymnal bound in gravel

laid to rest in a slaughterhouse grave

where that highway runs straight to the river

like the sinner that grace couldn't save

 

words and music by Mathew deRiso

copyright 2009

gonna roll discount deluxe to the edge of the boondocks
got an aching in my belly like the diesel turned to jelly and rot gut
pressed against the cleavage on a Saturday night
lit up like a barrel full of dynamite with the headlights burning half bright

another dose of of ammunition left me wounded in a vision of buckshot
left us tugging at the handle on a gamble in a mexican car lot
smoother than the stocking slipping off her thigh
screaming like a rocket falling out of the the sky on the last ride to the dark side

sticking to the vinyl in the morning funk
creeping down the highway in this hunk of junk for the last time
for the last time
scratching like the devil at her cellar door
pull into the station laying four on the floor on the last ride to the dark side

gonna roll discount deluxe to the edge of the boondocks
got an aching in my belly like the diesel turned to jelly and rot gut
working up the voodoo with a motor doll
lit up like a stomach full of ethynol with the whitewalls in a fireball

sticking to the vinyl in the morning funk
creeping down the highway in this hunk of junk for the last time
now that you're mine
scratching like the devil at your cellar door
pull into the station laying four on the floor on your last ride to the dark side
on your last ride to the dark side

copyright 2009 Mathew R. deRiso
Mary Moe Music

well they killed what's left of Polly Jane
stuck her in a grave somewhere in New Orleans
but the good ol boys found Betty Lou
in a state of ill repute back at the home of the blues
on a drag strip track in a southern land
where every honky tonkin' rebel's got a Nashville band
and big legged mamma sent to show em how it's done
when those hips they start to shaking hell it's best if you hold on son

well the souped up Ford done turned to rust
found it down in Texas in the dirt and and the dust
where the junkyard prophets stripped it down
ditched her on the highway and they rode out of town
to a drag strip track in the desert heat
where the Corpus Christi lawmen took to sniffing the seat
of a bigged legged mamma sent show them how to do
when her hips they start to jiggle boys it's best if you shake yours too

gonna say goodbye to Jezebel
leave her at the chapel near the entrance to hell
where the good ol boys go to meet their end
with the smell of cigarettes and yankee blood on their hands
'cross drag strip track down a prairie line
their ain't a soul in any county got a woman like mine
she's a bigged legged trucking mamma gonna show em how twist
when her hips they start to swivel hell it's best if you rock like this

copyright 2009 Mathew R. deRiso

doll in rags bone dry gulch
old tin roof and a roundhouse floor
a doll in rags working on the motor
but the big iron beast won't howl no more

nails and grease pitchin and a hollering
frieght car burning on a saviors hill
nails and grease step into the fire
if the Lord won't take you then the devil will


dust bowl babe dancing to the rhythm
with protest flag and a mule skin drum
dust bowl babe dancing in her britches
gonna pound that earth til her feet go numb


nails and grease whiskey in the bucket
girl ghost tapping on the window sill
nails and grease drop you in the coffin
if the Lord won't take you then the devil will


doll in rags bone dry gulch
old tin roof and roundhouse floor
doll in rags working on the motor
but the big iron beast won't howl no more
nails and grease pitchin and a hollering
freight car burning on a saviors hill
nails and grease step into the fire
if the Lord won't take you then the devil will
if Lord won't take you then the devil will

copyright 2009 Mathew R. deRiso

tries to look dolled up but her make-up's a mess
another hundred dollar weekend in a hot-house dress
she got the back road swing and some junk in the trunk
a little honky tonk demeanor with the roadhouse funk
got a different kind of beauty in the bar room lights
she's a little beat up but the girls alright

does her hair up big like they the did in the day
a little cherry disposition gonna give it away
got the farm girl fight in her blue jean skirt
clean enough for kissing but she's dirty enough to hurt
yeah, she's a different kind of lover than the kind you've had
she's a little bit rough but she ain't too bad

good enough for loving if you've got to leave
hot enough for praying when you don't believe
stronger than the whiskey on a Saturday night
sweet enough to do you wrong when you can't do right

tries to look dolled up but her make-up's a mess
another hundred dollar weekend in a hot-house dress
got the back road swing and some junk in the trunk
a little honky tonk demeanor with the roadhouse funk
she's a different kind of beauty in the bar room lights
she's a little beat up but the girls alright
she's a different kind of lover than the kind you've had
she's a little bit rough but she ain't too bad
good enough for loving if you got to leave
hot enough for praying when you don't believe
never was a diamond just a scratched up pearl
think I'm gonna fall in love with a Roadhouse girl

copyright 2009 Mathew r. deRiso / Mary Moe Music

I wrapped everything up in barbed wire and string when I hurt you
stranded shy of the border at medicine knife and militia
with the sound of that lonesome wind calling me back to your bounty
but tears turn to black smoke and ashes in Hollowheart county

I'd use what was left of a cheap thrill in denim and spangles
just to tattoo the shame and another god's name on my ankles
where the roar of those chrome plated heathens unite in a rally
gonna wear down these six strings til morning in deadwood gulch alley

getting chained to a bedpost with shackles that cannot be broken
where words flow like rivers that drown out the love left unspoken

we rolled off that mattress and fell like a star from the heavens
towards a wasteland of liquor, casinos and raw independence
while the sound of our ecstacy echoed like thunder resounding
knowing love don't come easy to strangers in Hollowheart County
yeah, love don't come easy to strangers in Hollowheart County

copyright 2009 Mathew R. deRiso / Mary Moe Music

baby caught ride on riverboat sinking
dancing to the rhythm of of the low end shaking
little bit of blood on her blue jeans glowing
redder than the clay dirt from a mud spring boiling slow

honey cut her teeth on a tree stump fiddle
hotter than the grease from cast iron griddle
split her little lip on a gear shift shining
moaning like a zombie in a Mac truck whining

down down baby with a small town swagger
drop another lover from a roadhouse rafter
throw a little meat on the fire before they hit the ground
down down baby with a dead ignition
frying up the carnage in a drive thru kitchen
pit stops on a mission of love but I can't read the signs
I'm gonna trace another cross on her chest and make the guilt divine

down down baby in a chain gang holler
drag her cherry lips 'cross a dead man's collar
wrap them big ol' thighs round the hitch before we hit the ground
down down baby in a juke joint fire
melting down the passion in a deep fat fryer
pit stops on a mission of love but I can't read the signs
she's gonna trace another cross on her chest
I'm gonna put that rocket queen to the test
pit stops on a mission of love but we won't see the signs
I'm gonna trace another cross on her chest and make the guilt divine

copyright 2009 Mathew R. deRiso / Mary Moe Music

every telephone pole in Pueblo'll snap
about the time that little pistol comes to life in the back
I need a rusty El Camino with the radio on
when that all night country DJ gets to playing our song
I'll feel the twang bang until she's licking her lips
behind a run down filling station off a route 66
we'll shake that rocket to the landmark at a quarter to seven
50 miles out of hell another thousand to heaven

Alright...gonna truck it to the desert tonight
yeah, Flo...gonna work it like the devil you know

it's like a live wire kicking up truck load of sparks
about the time that little pistol comes alive in the dark
got a rusty El Camino gonna ride like the King
even though she's no Priscilla if you know what I mean
I'll feel the twang bang and she'll be rocking along
about the time that po-dunk DJ get's to playing our song
we should be pulling into Mesa at a quarter to eight
every inch of her a rebel flying out of the gate

Alright...gonna truck it to the desert tonight
yeah, Flo...gonna work it like the devil you know
every telephone pole in Pueblo'll snap
about the time that little pistol comes alive in the back
hey, Flo get your bags packed we're ready to go
gonna work it like the devil you know.

Alright...gonna truck it to the desert tonight
yeah, Flo...gonna work it like the devil you know
just like a live wire kicking up a bucket of sparks
about the time that little pistol comes to life in the dark
hey, Flo get your bags packed we're ready to go
gonna work it like the devil you know

copyright 2009 Mathew R. deRiso / Mary Moe Music

Love was a steel wool mistress softly scratching out the image of the devil on a roadhouse door
Faith was a bullet from a barrell in a rag doll painted evil slowly writhing like a serpent on the floor
some say you're running from your cravings and you sure could use some saving but the bad luck's got you picking at the seal
unleaded lust to fuel your throttle got no message in that bottle there ain't nothing left but what you've got to feel
in the Valley of the Wheel
Down in the Valley of the Wheel

Love was a voodoo generator built by John the Revelator down a service road that's running north to south
Faith's that lonely stretch of black top sinking down into the Delta like a shot of bad tequila in your mouth
some say you're running from salvation in your time of tribulation but the bad luck's got you scrounging for a meal
a bloody hand print in the cotton burning bibles in your coffin try to tell yourself black magic isn't real
Down in the Valley of the Wheel

love was a steel wool mistress softly scratching out the image of a devil on a roadhouse door
faith was a bullet from a barrell in a rag doll painted evil slowly writhing like a serpent on the floor
a set of hips with good potential and a kiss so providential it's that final act of mystery revealed
a heaving chest of desperation and the moans of expectation burning up what's left of all your sex appeal
Down in the Valley of the Wheel
Down in the Valley of the Wheel

copyright 2009 Mathew R. deRiso / Mary Moe Music

words and music by Mathew R. deRiso copyright 2009 Mary Moe Music

 three AM off a deluxe roll in ten room town with a corn fed doll on loan in a West Mex hole down a gas light mile where they flash their grey tattoos in the old school style when the jukebox hums gonna dust those planks with a back beat thump that'll make that jip rock shake little dirt town dance at a two step dive getting all shook up and mystified I'll fall in love with you again living three AM burning midnight oil you put the devil in the whiskey and the rock n roll we'll ride these Glory days on down when the jukebox hums gonna feel that heat off a back beat drone down a dead end street but you can't turn back when you've come this far only one way out of a small town bar gotta break that lock gotta crash those gates stick your heels straight up when the levee breaks let the flood roll in when the fuel lines blow and I'll forget to let you go I'll fall in love with you again living three AM burning midnight oil you put the devil in the whiskey and the rock n roll we'll ride these Glory days on down when the jukebox hums gonna feel that heat off a back beat drone down a dead end street but you can't turn back when you've come this far only one way out of a small town bar gotta break that lock gotta crash those gates stick your heels straight up when the levee breaks let the flood roll in when the fuel lines blow and I'll forget to let you go