| I awoke and I arose
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| And said to you, «Let's go see Rose»
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| Rose gives the best haircut in all of Elk Grove
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| And she’s as funny as any person I know
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| She says, «Who in the fuck in this world only knows how to do one job?
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| If you only know how to do one job in this world, you’re fucked
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| Learn how to change a tire, learn how to draw blood.»
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| I said, «Rose, I got to tell you, that comment, it stings
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| For I only have one job, I play guitar and sing.»
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| She said, «Well that’s two jobs you can dingaling.»
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| I said, «Well, I’m also a songwriter.» |
| She said
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| «There you go, that’s three.»
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| I said, «Yeah, but all of the theaters and churches and nightclubs are closed.»
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| She said, «What are you talking about? |
| Everything’s closed
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| The dentist offices are closed, and the places that sell clothes
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| Even the dry cleaners are closed, J. Coors is closed.»
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| I said, «So how are you staying in business, Rose?»
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| She said, «I'm creative, I know the in’s and out’s
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| And I’m in with the cops, you know.»
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| I said, «How do you suggest that I reopen, Rose?»
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| She said, «Keep playing and singing, and before you know it, you’ll be back on
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| your toes
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| While the rest of the world is battling it out and shaming each other county to
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| county
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| Stay in your lane, exercise your mind and grow.»
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| And in that moment, I awoke and I arose
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| I told her, «Thank you for the haircut, Rose.»
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| And then we drove on past the whispering oaks
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| Past the galloping horses and Black Kite Road
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| Elk Grove, the home of Tritones
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| Elk Grove, the home of Zecky’s Fish Tacos
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| Elk Grove, South Sacramento
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| Elk Grove, the home of my old friend Rowan
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| Sitting on my porch next to a blue and white Chinese vase
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| Full of red and white salvia and lavender and wild yellow aster picked from a
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| storybook landscape
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| And a copy of John Fante’s Ask the Dust
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| Where the Mayan princess, Arturo Bandini, is in love
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| Where the Mayan princess, Arturo Bandini, is in love
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| He’s in love but he doesn’t know how to show it
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| Every time he tries, he insults her, and he ends up blowing it
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| And when she tells him just how much she hates him
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| He tells her that he’s proud to be raided by her hatred
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| Today we walked into town, the rose petals were falling, the lilies were
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| turning brown
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| While the spireas were turning fluorescent pink
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| All the way up to the foothills, where the houses overlook the Sierra Mountain
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| peaks
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| And from my porch, I saw two paramedics outside just down the block
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| I told you they were there and I went outside to watch
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| Later on you asked me, what did I see?
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| I said, «I had to stop looking, I don’t have an ounce of voyeurism in me
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| What’s happening over there I am not meant to see.»
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| And tonight’s another beautiful night and I’ll be up until dusk
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| Reading John Fante’s Ask the Dust
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| Beside you, sporting a fresh haircut
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| Grateful for my city water, that I’m not on septic
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| Everybody I’ve ever known that’s been on septic complains relentlessly that
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| septic is hectic
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| And I’m laying awake wondering about who was being carried away by paramedics
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| I went vocational in high school and not academic
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| I didn’t choose to be a songwriter, it’s just what I am, and I know I’ve not
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| perfected it
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| Is this song compelling, do you find it copacetic?
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| Whatever it is, it’s what I do, and you can expect more of it |