Mat d. and the Profane Saints: Lyrics

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

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

Road Mother drove me up a slack jaw line
pushing methamphetamine and homemade wine
where the painted road still speaks in a voice that's soft and weak
gonna lay down on the tracks and free my mind

well, that Hotshot forty-eight she's passing through
where the tank town shiners split the batch in two
Oh, my Rag Front Mammas gone I'm gonna keep on moving on
gonna lay down on the tracks and dream of you

gonna lay down, down, down Delilah
gonna lay down, down, down oh, Delilah
gonna lay down on the tracks and and dream of you
when that Red Ball's rolling in I'm gonna ride those rails again
I'm gonna lay down on the tracks that's what I'll do

Old Flat Bed baby tied me to the wheel
Lord, and no one knows the trouble that I feel
when the white line fever strikes I'm gonna spend my time on you tonight
before I lay down on the tracks if that's alright

gonna lay down, down, down Delilah
gonna lay down, down, down oh, Delilah
gonna lay down on the tracks and and dream of you
when that Red Ball's rolling in I'm gonna ride those rails again
I'm gonna lay down on the tracks that's what I'll do
gonna lay down on the tracks and dream of you

copyright 2009 Mathew R. deRiso
Mary Moe Music

driving past the Skyline fifty miles to Palisade Flats
I'll push the white walls through the gravel use a the pedals as a gavel when the guilty verdict rises from the cracks
every headlight was an angel and they flew on down from heaven just to send me on a one way trip to hell
no trace of honky tonk redemption left save in the collison just a couple hundred records I can't sell

let me linger there in Texas haul what's left of me to Memphis when you leave me laying face down on the dash make my tombstone out of metal, as my body gently settles on a red dirt road and mingles with the ash
save the whiskey for the faithful - give my love to Guadalupe-as I fade into that smokescreen in the sky
be it beacon or a ladder, hallelujah or the clatter of a catalytic covert left to die


driving past the Skyline fifty miles to Palisade flats
I'll push the white walls through the gravel use a the pedals as a gavel when the guilty verdict rises from the cracks you'll hear the voice of Johnny Horton rising up just like a siren when that highway revelation comes to light no trace of Honky Tonk redemption left save in the collison just a telecaster screaming in the night


let me linger there in Texas send what's left of me to Memphis don't you leave me laying head down on the dash make my tombstone out of metal, as my body gently settles on a red dirt road and mingles with the ash
save the whiskey for the guilty - give my love to Guadalupe- as I fade into that smokescreen in the sky
be it beacon or a ladder hallelujah or the clatter of a catalytic covert left to die
be it beacon or a ladder hallelujah or the clatter of a catalytic covert left to die

copyright 2009 Mathew R. deRiso
Mary Moe Music

The moon was the devil's last searchlight
and a bullet sky they white-washed grey
when the last living king of Nebraska
drove his buick down to Mercy Town

her lace balconette runneth over
she smelled like soot God, she tasted bad
like a drink from the hot Mississippi
or the cheapest shot you'll ever have

Oh, the camera flash went supernova
and a chambermaid started to cry
as the last bit of cherry stopped glowing
and the note on her pillow read
"I'm going to Denver to Die"

there's a message she scralled out in lipstick
and a carnation hanging to dry
where the "VACANCY" sign's glowing cherry
and the words on the mirror read
"I'm going to Denver to Die"

The moon was the devil's last searchlight
and a bullet sky they white-washed grey
when the last living king of Nebraska
drove his buick down to Mercy Town

*dedicated to my Grandmother, Donna June McReynolds
1930-2009

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

That old sin city skyline keeps on shining like a diamond in the sun
That old sin city skyline keeps on shining like a diamond in the sun
yeah, but I ain't nobody left to call me honey when the daylight's gone

High rolling left my good gal six feet under in a flip-top desert grave
High rolling left my good gal six feet under in a flip-top desert grave
Lord the bright lights keep on flashing when you're cashing in what's left of you to save

Been traveling down that old sin city highway and I can't be satisfied
Been traveling down that old sin city highway and I can't be satisfied
That cruel high rolling woman's gonna haunt my motel door until I die
That cruel high rolling woman's gonna haunt my motel door until I die

*note - This song will appear on the Profane Saints' album "Dirt Town City Limits" and was formerly titled 'Old Las Vegas Skyline'