"Porcelain Throne"

After a day filled with battle

I want a home that’s my own

You know my home is my castle

I’ve got a porcelain throne

I like to raise my own tomatoes

And pick an apple off the tree

We’ve got sixteen head of cattle

I know the city is not for me

I like to sit out on the front porch

With my feet up in the air

Sipping on a cold one

Loving my dog who really cares

You know my home is my castle

I’ve got a porcelain throne

After a day filled with battle

I want a home that’s my own

There’s a grill in the backyard

And I can play my music loud

With neighbors so far away

They don’t’ complain about the sound

No one can see us when we skinny dip

My beer belly is big and proud

I remember what my Daddy said

About partying hard and being loud

You know my home is my castle

I’ve got a porcelain throne

After a day filled with battle

I want a home that’s my own

We shoot targets in the backyard

Fish in the pond that I own

Life isn’t always what it seems

Beer chasing down some Jimmy Beam

You know my home is my castle

I’ve got a porcelain throne

After a day filled with battle

I want a home of my own

Every castle has to have a throne

Every castle has to have a throne

© 2012 Paul Mize

"Whiskey Fever"

I heard the front door slamming shut

Sounds like a fist hitting in my gut

She’s out of here this nowhere town

It’s all my fault I wouldn’t settle down

She’d always come and pick me up

I didn’t want to wreck my pickup truck

Pour me a shot I’ll drain it down

This king of nowhere, wears a plastic crown

Another night of whiskey fever

Why do I still dream for her

Memories of yesterday

Oh, Whiskey wash this world away

Now people ask me where did she go

Sometimes I answer I don’t even know

Because it’s really hard to say

That whiskey washed my world away

I got home really late one night

To tell the truth I was ready to fight

Fell up the stairs couldn’t find my bed

That whiskey bottle barely missed her head

Another night of whiskey fever

Why do I still dream for her

Memories of yesterday

Oh, Whiskey wash this world away

My morning started with a buzzing clock

Followed up with another shot

Face in the mirror looks like a clown

Can’t spend my life always falling down

Looked around and I found my phone

Called her up won’t you come back home

Poured me a shot I drained it down

This king of nowhere, wears a plastic crown

Another night of whiskey fever

Why do I still dream for her

Memories of yesterday

Oh, Whiskey wash this world away

Pour me a shot I’ll drain it down

This king of nowhere, wears a plastic crown

Another night of whiskey fever

Why do I still dream for her

Memories of yesterday

Oh, Whiskey wash this world away

© 2012 Hauk Heimdallsman and Paul Mize

"Chasing Rainbows"

I've lived my life chasing rainbows, And a shiny pot of gold I’ve always lived the life I wanted Did not listen to what I was told Now my dreams light up the heavens, Cause victory goes to the bold I've lived my life chasing rainbows,

 And that shiny pot of gold

© 2012 Paul Mize

"Working Man"

Oh, I’m a working man

And a baseball fan,

I love the USA

And all the games we play.

I hate to watch the news

Cause all the lefty views

I like a real good fight

And a romantic night,

On Friday’s in the fall

I’ll watch some High School ball

But I’m a working man

And a baseball fan.

I’m working overtime

And squeezing every dime,

I pay too much for gas

It really chaps my ass,

And all the suits in blue

That think that I’m a fool

Cause I’m a working man

And a baseball fan.

I thank the God above

For the wife I love

Yeah, I’ve got some guns

And they’re a lot of fun

I love the USA

Before I eat I pray

Cause I’m a working man

And a baseball fan.

I’ve got a big soft heart

I want to do my part

I’ll go and volunteer

To bring some people cheer

That’s when I really know

How luck can come and go

Cause I’m a working man

And a baseball fan

Oh, I’m a working man

And a baseball fan

I love the USA

And all the games we play

Oh, I’m a working man

And a baseball fan

I love the USA

And all the games we play

© 2012 Paul Mize

"I Got an Email From an Old Girlfriend"

I got an email from an old girlfriend

What was she thinking when she pushed the send

Attached to it was a cute photo

A little girl who was two years old

You used to say that you would marry me

When we rode the highways in our SUV’s

We talked about the world that made no sense

We’d move to Texas and a white picket fence

Three years ago It was just a text

She said the two of us had nothing left

It was a day that I almost cried

She said a baby rabbit died

I got an email from an old girlfriend

What was she thinking when she pushed the send

Attached to it was a cute photo

A little girl who was two years old

You always called me when you lost your luck

You’d say Hey Babe can you lend a buck

And even now I still dream of you

You know I wanted a baby too

Today I drive an old pickup truck

The seat next to me is filled with junk

My bed is covered by a big ol’ tent

It’s surrounded by a white picket fence

I got an email from an old girlfriend

What was she thinking when she pushed the send

Attached to it was a cute photo

A little girl who was two years old

I got an email from an old girlfriend

What was she thinking when she pushed the send

© 2012 Paul Mize

"Benghazi"

Eleven years to the day

They built a bomb and blew a wall away

We saw the pictures in the night

Streamed to earth by a satellite

They blamed it all on a video

You know this isn’t my first rodeo

We know you watched it in real time

Spending money it’s the people’s dime

Have you been to Benghazi

It’s a bump in the road from Tripoli

It’s a fact four Americans died

Can you tell me why the government lied

Oh, can you tell me why the government lied

It used to be a War on Terror

But empty chairs can’t make an error

They took the coffins off the plane

Will you shoulder any blame

Yeah you owe us the truth

Not that stuff from Mister Plouffe

They blamed it all on a video

Why won’t you tell us what you really know

Have you been to Benghazi

It’s a bump in the road from Tripoli

It’s a fact four Americans died

Can you tell me why the government lied

Oh, can you tell me why the government lied

You know it’s all about security

And hoping you won’t lie to me

The truth’s not in a crystal ball

It’s hiding in a government hall

And then we watched a President hide

Behind the words that Candy cried

Have you been to Benghazi

It’s a bump in the road from Tripoli

It’s a fact four Americans died

Can you tell me why the government lied

Oh, can you tell me why the government lied

© 2012 Paul Mize

"Don't You Cry For Me"

I've done a lot of stuff

Seems like I just can't get enough
But there's a constant theme
Seems you never know what I mean

I want to smell the sea
And feel a wave breaking over me
I want to touch a star
And win a race in a real fast car

But don't you cry for me

Plastic dreams are my soliloquy

I bet you'll never know

I did it all on a TV show

I'll try and thumb a ride

Take the day with an easy stride

I want to touch the sky

And climb a mountain thats really high

I want to touch a dove

And let the world feel all it's love 

And then it's all undone

Like ice cream melting in the summer sun

But don't you cry for me

Plastic dreams are my soliloquy

I bet you'll never know

I did it all on a TV show

I need to say a prayer

Seems like life's not always fair

But don't you cry for me

Cry for my friends that we'll never see

I've done a lot of stuff

Afghanistan was really rough

It's where I lost my leg

And got a Purple Heart instead

But don't you cry for me

Plastic dreams are my soliloquy

I bet you'll never know

I did it all on a TV show

I bet you'll never know

I did it all on a TV show

(c) 2012 Paul Mize

"Light"

Sunlight wakes me up through my window

Starlight gearing up for the show

Moonlight kisses me when I feel low

And firelight warms me up with it’s glow

2012 © Paul Mize

"I Know It's You I Adore"

Whenever I see your face

Feels like I’m floating in space

And When my feet touch the floor

I know it’s you I adore

© 2012 Paul Mize

Repost

In today's  excerpt - the gunfighters of the American West neither dressed, fought nor behaved as they were depicted in Hollywood movies and pulp novels: "As a class, gunfighters did not conform to the stereotyped image of the motion picures. Generations of Western fans have seen them portrayed as cowboys, gamblers and occa­sionally in the guise of a frontier scout com­plete with buckskins. But the cowboy image dominates. From the earliest appearance of the Western film in 1903, the dress and manner of the gunfighter has been reflected in the image of the cowboy. The huge sombrero, neckerchief, double or single gunbelt, knee high boots (worn with pants tucked in or pulled down over them), and jingling spurs, all served to create a false image of the man behind the gun. In reality, most gunfighters dressed normally according to the current fashions of the time, and would probably be missed in a crowd. Only when they openly carried pistols would they command much attention. In fact, the editor of the Kansas City, Mo. Journal on 15 November 1881 made a point of describing the 'man-killer' or 'civilizer' that today we call the gunfighter: The gentleman who has 'killed his man' is by no means a rara avis ... He is met daily on Main street, and is the busiest of the busy throng. He may be seen on change, and in the congregations of the most aristocratic churches. He resides on 'Quality hill', or perhaps on the East Side . . . This ubiquitous individual may be seen almost anywhere. He may be found behind the bar in a Main street saloon; he may be seen by an admiring audience doing the pedestal clog at a variety theatre; his special forte may be driving a cab, or he may be behind the rosewood counters of a bank ... He is usually quiet in demeanor, sober ... [and] ... he may take a drink occasionally, but seldom gets drunk ... He is quiet -- fatally quiet.. . Your gentleman who has dropped his man is, therefore, no uncommon individual. . . "The editor's graphic portrait of the typical gunfighter refutes the loud-mouthed, trouble-making 'shoot at anything that moves' Texas cowboy of the 1860s and early 1870s. Neverthe­less, there were cowboy-gunfighters but they were the exception. ... "The gunfighters, or perhaps their gunfights, loom large in America's folklore and remain the subject of debate a century or more since they last squeezed a trigger. Some died with their boots on and others in bed, but so fasci­nating is the subject that it has inspired a modern six-shooter cult that dwells primarily upon how fast on the draw certain individuals might have been rather than their accuracy and what first provoked them to kill. "The gunfighter arose out of the turbulent conditions that existed in the frontier West, when a man's best friend and hope of salvation was a gun, for there were many remote parts of states or territories where law and order was either overextended or unheard of. The clas­sic gunfight of fact, fiction and the silver screen, which depicts two or more individuals facing each other down in a high noon duel, is now an accepted part of Western folklore. In reality, the gunfight was loosely based upon the old-time code duello, but it lacked the rules of the original and instead relied on the cold-blooded science of getting the drop on an opponent. The importance of the 'drop' was para- mount. 'One must always have the drop on an antagonist,' noted the Topeka Daily Com­monwealth, on 23 September 1871, 'or nothing more than an exercise of the vocal muscles en­sues. The code of chivalry seems to be to fight only a smaller man who is unprepared and un­suspecting. Shoot him in the back, bite his ear or nose off as a memento, and your reputation as a fighting man is made . . ,' Among men of reputation, however, such brawling was rare, A man's 'honor' was set above everything else. And it was a trait that can be traced right back to earlier times when duelists fought hand-to-hand encounters that would have appalled some of the latter day six-shooter virtuosos who depended upon the drop and the killer instinct for survival.... "History changes yet it remains the same. Despite revision and review old myths and fables concerning the American West and its gunfighters are perpetuated. While historians strive for the truth, they often find that people prefer legends. It is much more exciting to read that Billy the Kid killed twenty-one men -- one for each year of his life -- or that Wild Bill disposed of 'considerably over a hundred bad men', than to be told that the Kid killed per­haps six people, and Wild Bill's tally was closer to ten than 100. In each instance legend took care of the remainder and it is the legend that appeals to most people and not the facts."   Author: Joseph G. Rosa   Title: Age of the Gunfighter Publisher: University of Oklahoma Press Date: Copyright 1992, 2002, 2007 by Salamander Books. Ltd. Pages: 10-13

The Girl That Made My Song

Howling at the moon Hangover won't leave too soon Think I'll go to Spain Living there won't be the same Thinking 'bout your face Soon we'll leave the human race Heart filled up with pain Purified by cleansing rain Sipping on a scotch Pictures that I love to watch Dreaming of the way you smell When your card came in the mail Loved it when you used to write Now all we do is talk by Skype Thinking 'bout you all night long You're the girl that makes my song Thinking 'bout your face Covered up by pretty lace Wiped away that lazy tear Wondering how I caused your fear You turned and ran away My finger ripped your dress away I was such a wretched sight In the shadow of your light Sipping on a scotch You're the picture I love to watch Thinking 'bout you all night long You're the girl that makes my song Sitting back to contemplate Trying not to make a mistake Sipping coffee with croissants Hanging out at our old haunts My head jerked off the table You sat down like a grecian fable When you winked it was hello As the sun rose with a glow Sipping on a scotch With the girl I love to watch Thought about you all along You're the girl that made my song

© 2012 Paul Mize

"Curiosity"

Let's bypass the moon go straight to Mars

Fill up all the Curiosity jars

Thinking about what's up in space

Like a little dolly made of lace

Trying to ride an asteroid

Baseball players doing roids

They're chasing life down a rabbit hole

The man above has my soul

Watching stars up in the sky

Seems like all I do is wonder why

Sitting around thinking maybe

Gotta try to cure my curiosity

© 2012 Paul Mize

Thesy

Saw you walking through the door

Couldn’t feel my feet on the floor

Wrote your name upon your coffee cup

Today’s the day I get to fill you up

She drives me crazy

It’s that pretty girl Thesy

The way those blue jeans hugged your hips

And how it felt when I touched your lips

What was that tingle going down my spine

My heart was pinging like fishing line

Oh, I don’t know what it was

It was that pretty girl Thesy

I was wondering Could I call you up

Come and get you in my pick up truck

We could go and take a hike

Or anything else that you would like

And by the way Thesy

You know you drive me crazy

The way those blue jeans hugged your hips

And how it felt when I touched your lips

What was that tingle going down my spine

My heart was pinging like fishing line

Oh, I don’t know what it was

It was that pretty girl Thesy

Drove up the hill going to pick you up

We’ll sip cold beer from a plastic cup

Looking down from the Hollywood sign

My heart’s still pinging like a fishing line

You drive me crazy

You’re a pretty girl Thesy 

The way those blue jeans hugged your hips

And how it felt when I touched your lips

What was that tingle going down my spine

My heart was pinging like fishing line

Oh, I don’t know what it was

But what it was was crazy

It was that pretty girl Thesy

You’re a pretty girl Thesy 

Be my pretty girl Thesy

© 2012 Paul Mize