1. |
Call Me Brando
03:12
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Call Me Brando
I'd tell you my name but the chances are if you're listening you already know it
And I know a dollar is hard to come by so I won't ask you to blow it.
So stream it for free and tell all your friends about the drunk singer you just discovered.
And no I didn't write that Manson song but if she asks you don't tell my mother.
My very first bar was called John D's and man I sure had the feeling
I thought they was serious when they yelled Free Bird and I knocked a hole in the ceiling.
Met a golden girl she looked just like Blanche she said boy with those bedroom eyes.
If you'll just wink when you half ass sing these girls will eat you alive.
I kept banging away and everyone said "boy you're just spinning your wheels, if you'd just go on the Voice you might land a record deal."
I said name one winner of the Gong Show and tell me is their purse still full
Cause I saw Bucky last Saturday night and he was picking at a tractor pull.
They said "play what we know" so I wrote instead and I said you'll thank me later.
It'd give me a giggle if I knew some hipster ever stopped to Google the crater.
I never had an escape plan, nothing brewing on the back burner
But at least I can say I got to play with a legend like Robby Turner.
I never made it big, I never toured the world and I never made a dress rehearsal
And I resent the one who tell me my songs should be more universal.
Cause I took my stands and I wrote about home and I lived every word I said
And no son I don't give a flying fuck if I ever play at Ole Red's.
Hey remember Blanche? She sure was right, I can't say I didn't love it.
I loved them each and every one and got some damn good songs out of it.
I drank like Hank, I partied like Keith and I damn near met the Lord
Almost circled the drain when I drank my cocaine that one night in Pigeon Forge.
Some want to know when I'm gonna go gospel and start doing the Lord's work.
I won't lie I know my eyes would be checking out longer skirts.
Besides religion's done gone to hell, it ain't Grand Daddy's revival.
And I know that's the truth cause he'd never stoop to signing tits and bibles.
So put the next trap in your Google map and come on out to the bar.
I'm an open book, you can take a look, I'll show you every scar.
And if you just tuned in I'll tell you friend anything you wanna know.
Cause I'm the blatant bastard with the Telecaster and you can call me Brando.
Written by Brandon Fulson
Fulsong Music Publishing
Copyright 2018
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2. |
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Can't Blame Nashville Anymore
He was over in the corner with the volume turned low
Shooting gin and tonic and pouring out his soul
He was singing about killing, scrapping and raping
While the yuppies sat chilling, yapping and vaping.
Had bruises and scars for the whole room to see
No fear in his eyes he had his heart on his sleeve
As he sang about his habits and cheating on exes.
They were busy Snap Chatting, Tweeting and texting.
Their heads were stuck in the Galaxies as they traveled to exotic places
They argued politics and they got their kicks out of fart apps and filtered faces.
Radio's dying, the band's a lost art and vinyl is a dinosaur
and we can't blame it all on Nashville anymore.
Years from now when they've put in their time
The drugs take their toll and their friends are all dying
And they've lived through broken homes and trying phases.
They'll bust out his records and sing his praises.
His heart is stuck in reality as he sings about familiar places.
He's sick of politics and he gets his kicks out of long nights well wasted.
He can rock'em like the Killer and sing like the King and somehow remain ignored
And we can't blame it all on Nashville anymore.
Written by Brandon Fulson
Fulsong Music Publishing
Copyright 2017
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3. |
The Millennial Hobo
02:51
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He rode into town in a Volvo but just wait til you hear him sing.
He'll swear he's slept in boxcars and he rode in on the train.
His boots never saw a dirt road, his hat never saw the rain.
His new guitar ain't got a scratch, no rust on his strings.
His picking sounds like a 12 year old who just learned to masturbate.
He talks like Jimmy Fallon but he sings just like Tom Waits.
He'll brag about the highway and how the times were hard
When the truth is all he's riding is his Daddy's debit card.
He can grow a beard but he can't grow corn
His suspenders hold britches that's barely been worn.
Says he's living off the grid, yet he's tweeting about the show.
The name Tom T Hall don't ring no bell, cotton candy vapor is all he's inhaled
Merle Haggard would kick his ass don't you know, the millennial hobo.
He'll pine about a lost love and a life of regret
When the truth is this old cruel world ain't began to fuck him yet.
Years from now it'll all come down and he'll write what he knows
And he'll pray to god the grand kids don't see his YouTube videos.
Written by Brandon Fulson
Fulsong Music Publishing
Copyright 2017
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4. |
The Villain
03:04
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The Villain
Down at Chilhowee Park it's time to call in the guards
The villain's a coming, the villain's a coming.
Grandpaw's shaking his fist, the boy's working up a good spit.
The villain's a coming, the villain's a coming.
He's gonna beat that man so bad he won't know his name
And if he had any back bone at all, he'd admit the same
It's gonna be an East Tennessee dog whoopin tonight.
Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Ron Wright!
She said the moon landing was staged
But don't tell Granny this is fake
The villain's a coming, the villain's a coming.
The boys in blue in the stands just in case things get out of hand
The villain's a coming, the villain's a coming.
He's gonna stomp that man so bad he's gonna shut his mouth
Pick him up one time just to knock him back down.
It's gonna be an East Tennessee dog whoopin tonight
Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Ron Wright
He'll rassle a bear, he'll whoop all the men
Distract the ref and get out with the win.
Knoxville Tennessee's gonna rue the day.
He'll soak in the boos, thrive on the heat
Still put an ass in every seat and if he gets one upped he'll deny it to his grave
Yeah it's gonna be an East Tennessee dog whooping tonight
Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Ron Wright
Written by Brandon Fulson
Fulsong Music Publishing
Copyright 2018
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5. |
Jellico
03:16
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Jellico
Wore out the back roads dodging the law
A chip on my shoulder I was testing the walls.
Her love left a scar, my heart turned to ice.
I would not rest til she lost her mind.
Jellico, I liked to drown
My sorrows never got peace in that sleepy old town.
Jellico, it's you that holds the key to my youth.
For a lost soul life on the edge, you were the muse.
Closed down the barrooms, burned down the stage.
A round of Tequila for turning the page.
Old FInn had the coldest beer I ever tasted.
Spent most of my money on liquor and whores
And the rest you know I just wasted.
Written by Brandon Fulson
Fulsong Music Publishing
Copyright 2018
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6. |
The Edge
02:58
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Taught the preacher man how to pick his guitar
Now he's out saving souls.
Last night I deflowered a virgin so I'm here laying low.
Traded my Washburn to the dealer, my favorite one I ever owned.
He wasn't buying til I played him the Blackbird
Then he started digging the tone.
Walked away from a good woman I never really knew her at all.
She claims to have forgave me But I know she's waiting for me to fall.
Made friends I thought I could die for, they all faded away
I thought I made love to some angels, now I can't remember their names.
I've been worn down by guilt, knocked down by hate
Made it back up and took the standing eight
I've been through hell and came out charred from the flames.
This won't be the last time things go awry
But I've learned to stare death straight in the eye
Down on the edge of obscurity and fame.
The kids were grown before I knew it, now they come to me for advice.
Remember that man when you were little?
Yeah don't ever be that guy.
If my son can learn from my mistakes, he'll be a hell of a man.
But it seems like the older that I get the less I understand.
Written by Brandon Fulson
Fulsong Music Publishing
Copyright 2018
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7. |
Something About A Sunday
02:52
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You can find me down at the whiskey house at a hot table right up front.
Call me a flirt, I'm watching the skirts wondering who's gonna be the one.
Shell out the cash, pass me that glass, the next round's on me.
Gotta unwind from the daily grind, gonna hit it hard next week.
Sunday morning I'm tucked away in a back corner pew
Smelling like sin, I try to pretend I'm one of his children too.
He pulls from the scripture, I pretty much figure
He's saving that altar for me.
When they bow to pray I slip away so no one can see me leave.
There's something about a Sunday, it should be my day of rest
But the sabbath sure gets lonely, I can't put on my best.
Everyone's hating on Monday, I'll be glad to see it come.
Cause there's something about a Sunday, I just can't rise above.
The choir sings a number on my old car's radio
The man says Satan's the only one making my spirits feel so low
I'll always wonder til they put me under if faith can be taken away
Was I really wasting the roots of my raising
Did I ever have it anyway?
Written by Brandon Fulson
Fulsong Music Publishing
Copyright 2018
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8. |
Kaylee's Song
04:47
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9. |
Dust To Dust
02:47
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10. |
Music
02:58
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