A quiet guy with a distant stare?
A hard case who grumbled like a grizzly bear?
A sad-eyed clown who could make you laugh?
A face peering blankly from a photograph?
How will you remember me when I’m just a memory?
A stern old man you could not deceive?
A tall-story teller full of make believe?
A lullaby that you liked to hear?
A bag full of pretzels and a can of beer?
How will you remember me when I’m just a memory?
I walk away from the hometown lake where we used to swim,
Getting more remote with each step I take as the light grows dim
And my thoughts turn back to him…
When my dad died, I was twelve years old.
I’ve searched for mementos, but the trail’s gone cold.
Hope your scrapbook is more complete than mine,
Like gift wrap and ribbons ‘round a box of time.
How will you remember me when I’m just a memory?
Hard Case
Brubaker was a real big fat fecker
He lived by the jail and hunted escaped cons
Using three Bloodhouds and his wits
He carried a shotgun loaded for cons
With rock salt to maim but not kill
Brubaker was a hard case
Being an ex con from the same jail
He was offered a job for his skills
Help us catch fleeing jailbirds
And we won't lock you up
Call yourself a semi-peace officer
Halfway between good and bad
A job needs doing and its yours
Searching the fields woods and rivers
For smart or not too smart cons
None have escaped or beaten you yet
Coz once you were one of them...
Beware those who are not,
A little bit bias.
Or a little bit pious.
A little bit selfish,
Or a little bit standoffish.
A little bit sexist,
Or a little bit racist.
A Little bit forlorn,
Or little bit stubborn.
A little bit lazy,
Or a little bit crazy.
Beware those who are not,
A bit of a risk taker,
Or a Muck-raker.
A bit of a snob,
Or a hard case when on the job.
A bit of a joker,
Or a gambler.
A bit of a blower of trumpets,
Or a layer of red carpets.
A bit of a liar,
Or a Town Cryer.
Beware those who are not a little bit,
They will be hard to please,
Whenever there is even a little breeze.
Which makes it hard for them to care a jot,
Every time they lose the plot.
They will never cause just a little harm,
If they decide to leave the farm
And shoulder arms,
Without any qualms.
The next time you meet anyone who admits to being a little bit,
Don't throw a fit,
Just help them be a little less,
And give them a god bless.
You won't have to worry about them even throwing a little fit,
As you take a little nip
In honour of your new friendship,
When you too admit to being a little bit,
Of a misfit.
You can call me mad
Or call me bad,
You can even call me sad or whatever.
You can think me a nutcase,
Or a hard case,
Even a basket case or whatever.
I will only shrug my shoulders and say whatever,
No matter what the weather.
But should you err in even thinking of me as a charity case,
Well that would be a bird of a different feather,
And would call for a change in the weather.
With my best advice for you to change tack
And reset your course for a safer climate.
Everyday you are the smile painted on my face
Ripping every cells off my system, giving me a hard case,
In deciding to tell or not to tell, that my heart desire's only you.
Counting each passing day the chances I let slip away
Keeping you silently in my heart, completely ignoring you in anyway.
Ranting myself for this indistinct heart beating
About those li'l butterflies growing inside me teasing,
Making me antsy, tickling every part of my body.
Only my eyes were awake but my whole system dreaming
Save me please, some space in your heart, don't keep me hanging.
I sit here poised and ready, slip the thong off of my gun;
I saw him when he walked in, No good son of a gun;
Half the men here recognize him, when he strode through the door;
The room is taught with anger; we’re fixing to mop the floor;
He ordered up a tall one and threw a glance around the room;
I remember my good buddy, he sent on up the flume;
Tombstone was where it happened, that drifter came to town;
Johnny was loud mouthing, when the drifter shot him down;
Now Johnny was a hard case, but he had him lots of friends;
And most of us in this here bar were there when he met his end;
I toss a glance off to my left and drop my hand down to my colt;
He was staring down my barrel when the drifter tried to bolt;
I hit the ground a running and I pulled that hammer back;
Today ended in bloody revenge, that was the end of Zack…
Know one knows the life I’ve had,
I grew up dirt poor but don’t be sad.
Material things were always out of reach,
But the lessons I learned no classroom could ever teach.
It seems like all my life I have walked on the edge,
Being a hard case was my only pledge.
To walk my walk you had to stand tough,
And just to be good wasn’t good enough.
Some call it ego I call it being a man,
And sucking up pain used to be part of the plan.
Truth be known I’m lucky to be alive,
Chalk it up to a stubborn attitude and a will to survive.
I guess I use myself as a measuring stick,
And I know that is wrong and it makes me sick.
Another truth I don’t like to admit,
Is my old body done wore out before I was ready to quit.
So if I offend I’m probably not mad at you,
It’s just that I get frustrated not being able to do what I use to do.
My star that use to shine so bright,
Is now just darkness and hidden from sight.
I’m like a Chihuahua with a ferocious bark,
I can sound pretty tough standing in the dark.