I get so damn depressed sometimes I start thinking about trying to make it as a blues singer. I wouldn't even have to write stuff down. It would just flow. Day and night, gloom and doom keeps pouring from my soul. All I need are a couple of good riffs and a mess of minors and sevens and I'll have them crying in their beer.
But first I have to learn how to ignore those jerks that think I am somehow different because of my face. I need a chip on my shoulder. Hell, I need a whole tow sack full of chips. When some ignorant asshole gawks at my scars I need to stare the sucker right into the ground. I've got to train these piercing blue eyes of mine to become lazers so I can incinerate those bastards.
It's "The Tired of Bein Stared at Blues".
Keep your eyes off a my face
If they don't show no respect
If I detect one mocking look
Gonna break me a long proud neck
I got the tired of bein stared at
Tired of bein stared at blues
This face ain't made for pity
Gawkers gonna pay their dues
You know, they say John Lee Hooker couldn't write his own name on checks. His first musical instrument was an inner tube stretched across a barn door. And that guy ended up in the Rock-n-Roll hall of fame. If my man Johnny could overcome all his shit while wearing those socks... I reckon I can too.
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