Zevon at The End

As readers of this blog already know, the RRR has long enjoyed the music of Warren Zevon, now dead of a bad liver and a worse life. At the end he made one album, The Wind. I insert here the lyrics of one of the songs. Certain that like me, he didn't
have real faith in foolishness such as voodoo, I am assuming the references refer to his desperate attempts to cure his illness with herbs and natural remedies.


RUB ME RAW -- Warren Zevon

I know these blues are gonna rub me raw
Every single cure seems to be against the law

Went and told my psychic
I said “Keep it to yourself.
I don't wanna hear it and don't be telling no
one else.”

Word's out on the street
Whispers in the night
They come out of the woodwork, wanna see
what it's like

Pickle-ickle-ickle
Gonna run that voodoo down
How the crowd gets fickle when your face is to
the ground!

Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw
Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw

Now I'm shaking all over
I'm a shattering mass
But I'm gonna sit up straight
I'm going to take it with class

Old man used to tell me
“Son, never look back,
Move on to the next case.
Fold your clothes and pack.”

To the green horned chicken hoppers I say
“Get yourself a trade,
Or go back to the chat room and fade in
the shade”

Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw
Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw

I know these blues are gonna rub me raw
Every single cure seems to be against the law

I was walking pretty well then I fell into a hole
I should climb out quick, but I hate doing what
I'm told

Got a wang-dang-doodle wrapped in bog
snake hide
This goat head gumbo is keeping me alive

I don't want your fifty-dollar
words
I don't share your need to discuss the absurd

Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw
Oh no these blues are gonna rub me raw