Roots Rock Weirdoes

Lyrics

[Verse 1] The town was hardly stirrin' The nightclubs all were closed Only a washed-up cover band Hittin' the stage at Joe's The guitar hit the first bar of "Secret Agent Man" A door in the back flew open And into the room they ran [Chorus 1] Roots rock weirdoes Up from the underground Starved for a Tele or a B3 Any out-of-fashion sound Roots rock weirdoes Out of their holes they come Dressed up like it's 1951 Yeah! [Verse 2] Well, they looked the band gear over And they noted with delight The guitar amp was a Bassman And the bassman played upright Well they looked round at each other And they cried, "We are the best For we like unpopular music And just look at the way we're dressed!" [Chorus 2] Roots rock weirdoes Slappin' each other's backs Using the hepcat language They thought made them sound black Roots rock weirdoes Smokin' their Camels straight Makin' sure there's nothing up to date Yeah! [Guitar solo] [Verse 3] Now Joe, he was slow to anger But that barkeep found it hard Just to watch the air grow toxic With smoke and self-regard So he jumped up on a barstool And he called out loud and clear "I don't know just what you weirdoes want But I don't want you in here" The room grew deathly silent Then up from the stinking ranks Rose a homely social worker In a bowling shirt marked Hank And dropping the fake black diction He said, "Since you inquired Let me take stock of what we roots rock Ahem, weirdoes desire Fishnets for every woman Lipstick as red as flame For every man a tattoo A Chevy and a dumb nickname Cigarettes in every shirtsleeve Black leather on every back Fanzines in every bookstore LPs in each record rack Three chords in every pop song Four white guys in each band A ruthless media empire To saturate this land Then with our alt-country comrads And our brothers in neon swing We'll reclaim music from the kids For our fat dead cracker king!" [Chorus 3] Roots rock weirdoes Christ, they're everywhere A little Doc Pomus in their hearts And dark pomade in their hair Roots rock weirdoes Out of their holes they come Dressed up like it's 1951 [Spoken] I prefer your earlier work