The best of us lead lives or unswerving dedication to the daily routine.

Beset by the
vagaries, we hold as well we are able to our steady course down a road with no
uncertain end. The weak among us fall and die on the road; but we all fall and die
somewhere. Along the way our path is punctuated by fleeting moments of glory,
blessed periods of respite relaxing with our true friends, and the occasional slip into
hideous pits of shame and degradation. One moment we are secure, asleep in the
tender arms of a lover, the next battered down and about by some sudden calamity.
We are befriended by strangers, beheaded by cruel outlaws, nourished by gifts of
cheese, and each day we wake like poultry and confront our continuum. There is
much to do, and our priorities allow us neither the time nor the perspective to
poetize the prosaic.

Now and again, perhaps also routinely, there appears among us one who knows and
feels too much our collective predicament to heed the peregrinations of his own
existence; a centroid life form, subliminally assaulted by the vicissitudes of service
to the communal cerebrum. And there is not much for the fellow to do but tell the
rest of us how it feels. Such a figure is our friend Bill; a febrile fissiped whose
fragile future forewarns of a funky farrago of futility; a cultural liver, if you will,
full of the rank waste of human frailty. Yet the man’s glebous yearnings defy the
homogenized instincts of the priapized populace. He confutes the cast a numinous
wimple occluding the murderous maunderings of mundanity and offering us a glimpse
of our unadorned selves. So here they are, recorded at last, a rowdy round of
rhetoric from the rictus of that remarkable reprobate, William Charles “Wild Bill”
Minger IV. Enjoy!

-Paul Duffy, Tonasket, WA 2/25/95



































Track
Listing



1.
Where
the
Hell
Can
a
Wino
Hide
4:18

(W.C.
Minger
IV)




I
was
passed
out
on
a
mattress

In
a
shack
south
of
Tonasket

With
some
Western
Family
canned
food
problems

Sittin'
on
my
shelf

That
Frigidaire
was
loaded

With
the
stuff
that
keeps
me
going

And
I'd
go
pay
it
a
visit

If
I
could
get
there
by
myself.




Chorus:

So
where
the
hell
can
a
wino
hide

When
his
brain's
just
a
little
bit
fried

When
he
just
can't
be
bothered

When
he
feels
like
he's
being
smothered

By
fools
like
you
and
all
the
rest

That
want
to
waste
his
precious
time




That
boss
man's
comin’
for
me

He's
got
a
job
that's
bound
to
bore
me

Pickin'
pears,
proppin'
trees
or
pullin’
suckers‐

I
don't
know
where
it
ends‐

Right
now
highway
97

Looks
like
the
nearest
thing
to
heaven

But
that
bastard
on
his
tractor

Is
comin’
around
again.




Whiskey
Jenny
is
unemployed

So
she
swears
I'm
her
favorite
boy

She
gets
a
half‐assed
grin
on
her
mandolin

When
my
payday
comes
around.

I
don't
make
enough
to
loan
her

I
don't
even
want
to
phone
her

So
when
I
get
my
check

I'm
gonna
buy
some
wreck

And
leave
this
dusty
old
town.




2.
Ramona
3:33

(W.C.
Minger
IV)




Ramona
hitched
down
to
Aguanga

From
up
Tonnecula
way

She
got
off
in
Radee

And
to
the
driver
she
did
say

"Thank
you
for
the
ride

I've
only
got
four
miles
or
so

I'd
rather
walk
and
clear
my
head

And
get
a
drink
to
go




Chorus:

Now
up
there
in
Lake
Elsinore

Alessandro's
looking
for
her

You
could
say
he
was
the
bit
and
the
bridle

And
Ramona
was
the
burr

Underneath
his
worn‐out
saddle

And
digging
into
his
heart

But
Ramona's
gone
to
Aguanga

To
get
a
brand
new
start




Alessandro'd
picked
enough
lettuce

To
feed
a
million
rabbits
or
more

From
Brawly
to
Calexico

To
the
Colorado
River
shore

And
he
used
to
ride
the
broncos

At
the
Imperial
County
Fair

While
Ramona'd
braid
his
pony's
tail

With
a
flower
in
her
hair




But
Ramona
got
sick
and
tired

Of
always
being
so
nice

And
sharing
an
'84
Pontiac

With
a
family
of
field
mice

She
said
"Maybe
I'm
just
a
puta

And
a
loco
Indio
too,

But
I
ain't
no
wetback
Mexican

Like
Alessandro
and
his
crew"




As
Ramona
walks
into
Aguanga

To
buy
a
cowboy
hat

Alessandro
pours
some
oil
into
his
Pontiac

Ramona
runs
into
Alice
and
Bill

Up
by
Palomar

She's
gonna
hide
out
in
their
adobe
shack

And
pray
to
the
stars
once
more



3.
On
Beyond
Zero
5:59

(W.C.
Minger
IV)




The
river
was
all
but
frozen

When
you
brought
your
sorrow
to
the
chosen

And
nothing
much
was
happening
in
town

With
your
hair
like
daffodils

And
all
your
knowledge
of
the
hills

You
know,
you
could've
been
the
finest
thing
around

But
I'd
just
rode
in
from
Tonasket

With
Murrieta
in
a
casket

And
it
was
high
time
I
collected
my
reward

When
I
saw
you
at
the
table

With
Uncle
Dill
and
Mabel

And
it
was
plain
to
see
that
you
were
more
than
bored




The
snow
was
fresh
and
deep

So
Joaquin
would
surely
keep

Just
long
enough
to
have
a
drink
or
three

Uncle
Dill,
he
said
hello

And
Mabel
mumbled
something
slow

While
you
of
course
had
no
words
to
say
to
me

But
I
said
"For
all
the
miles
that
I
sought
you

Here's
the
treasure
that
I
brought
you

It's
out
there
in
that
wagon
in
the
snow

Y'know
the
mother
load
has
died

And
I've
got
crow's
feet
around
my
eyes

Just
from
bringing
in
the
carnage
that
I
owe."




Well
I
felt
quite
dramatic

But
then
I've
always
been
the
manic

Depressive
since
you
came
into
my
life

Be
that
as
it
is

All
your
love
was
truly
his

Although
he
never
would've
had
you
for
his
wife

With
all
the
trust
that
you
betrayed

From
Sonora
to
the
grave

And
the
weird
things
that
kept
fumbling
from
your
mouth

How
'bout
in
the
great
Northwest

When
he
turned
down
your
last
request

And
then
he
left
you
for
that
woman
in
the
South?




Well
Uncle
Dill
and
Mabel

Pushed
their
chairs
back
from
the
table

You
bowed
your
head
pretending
not
to
cry

I've
seen
better
acts

And
if
you
wanna
know
the
facts

I
once
saw
Sugar
do
the
Denver
Stomp
in
Blythe

Yeah
that
was
back
in
'51

When
me
and
Joaquin
were
on
the
run

From
Sacramento,
San
Jose,
and
Monterey

He
shot
a
cinnamon
in
Lodi

And
a
sheriff
down
near
Ojai

When
we
met
you
and
your
children
in
L.A.




Well
I
turned
around
to
leave

Another
heart
upon
your
sleeve

When
Uncle
Dill,
he
motioned
me
aside

He
said,
"Ain't
it
quite
a
shame

How
all
those
beaners
look
the
same."

And
when
I
looked
out
that
window
I
could've
died

'Cause
there
sat
Juaquin
Murrieta

In
his
boots
of
Spanish
leather

With
two
pistols
on
an
appaloosa
mare

When
you
ran
outside
to
kiss
him

Just
to
tell
him
how
much
you'd
missed
him

His
horse
and
him
just
vanished
in
the
air




4.
Something
to
Write
Home
About
3:58

(W.
C.
Minger
IV)




I
used
to
think
I
was
mighty
cool

With
my
pain
and
misery

I
played
the
blues
for
company

And
the
booze
was
killing
me

Until
you
came
along
to
tell
me
I
was
wrong

And
give
me
a
better
grip
on
reality




Chorus:

You
give
me
something
to
write
home
about

Life
makes
a
little
more
sense
to
me

Since
we
share
a
common
destiny

And
it
makes
me
sad
to
think
that
you

Don't
know
I
know
what
you've
been
going
through

After
you've
taken
that
gift
of
love
from
me




There's
other
women
that
I
know

They're
so
full
of
class

It's
just
a
conscience
that
they
lack

They
talk
behind
your
back

They're
more
socially
acceptable

Being
moral
derelicts,
you
know

Exchanging
lies
and
rumors
for
the
Facts




Now
that
we've
been
together

I've
got
a
job
that
hardly
pays

I'm
feeling
better
every
day

At
least
that's
what
my
doctors
say

We've
got
a
little
place
about
a
mile
from
Hell

With
a
hole
in
the
bottom
of
the
wishing
well

And
the
devil
comes
by
to
help
us
on
our
way



5.
Home
on
the
Range
5:44

(W.C.
Minger)




We
met
thinning
peaches
Northeast
of
Salinas

We
were
young,
impoverished
and
free

When
we
went
picking
cherries
we
decided
to
marry

But
there
was
something
you
held
back
from
me

By
the
time
we
hit
Lodi
I
thought
it
was
"Good
bye"

So
I
asked
what
you
had
on
your
mind

You
jumped
off
that
boxcar
and
into
a
dark
bar

And
came
up
with
these
original
lines:

(Refrain)



"I
want
a
home
where
the
buffalo
roam

Where
the
deer
and
the
antelope
play"







But
I'd
too
often
heard
those
discouraging
words

I'm
a
drifter,
I'm
a
rounder,
I'm
a
stray

And
despite
all
your
wishes
I
never
do
dishes

And
I
often
get
cloudy
all
day

My
house
is
a
backpack;
my
ranch
is
a
train
track

So
to
Hell
with
your
Home
on
the
Range




Well
the
bar
was
too
busy,
the
heat
made
us
dizzy

So
we
went
out
to
find
us
some
shade

We
had
a
few
beers
and
then
I
saw
the
tears

Shining
like
sweat
on
her
face

All
her
pent
up
silence
was
worse
then
her
violence

I
began
to
feel
alone
and
estranged

For
the
first
time
in
years
I
felt
a
great
fear

And
thought
about
some
home
on
the
range




All
those
years
of
running,
riding
and
hiding
from
the
law

In
some
jerk
water
town

All
those
years
of
working
another
man's
dirt

Seemed
to
plant
my
soul
in
the
ground

So
I
dreamed
up
an
adobe
with
five
pinto
ponies

A
mule
and
a
dog
and
a
truck

I
could
see
all
my
family
coming
up
to
me

Saying,
"Boy,
you
sure
got
some
luck"




We
hit
all
the
crops,
never
quit
one
job

We
lived
off
of
cheap
wine
and
beans

I
had
to
tell
all
my
friends
again
and
again

I
had
to
do
much
and
big
better
things

Then
to
play
my
guitar
all
night
in
some
bar

They
must
have
thought
I'd
gone
insane

Than
to
miss
all
that
fun
and
still
be
a
bum

For
that
mythical
home
on
the
range




After
we'd
picked
all
there
was
left
to
pick

We
decided
to
count
up
our
cash

The
frost
was
upon
us
so
we
bought
an
old
school
bus

And
had
one
big
harvest
bash

When
I
woke
all
alone
with
five
bucks
on
the
loan

Y'know
it
really
struck
me
a
nerve

There
I
was
in
the
snow

With
nowhere
to
go

I
hope
she
got
what
she
deserved

Cause
she
wanted
a
home...

(Refrain)

6.
Dryden
Blues
3:06

(W.
C.
Minger
IV)




I
was
sitting
on
the
drunkest
side
of
town

With
a
few
old
friends
that
used
to
come
around

We
were
drinking
Jose
Cuervo
Gold

Pretending
we
weren't
getting
old

So
go
when
you're
gone,
don't
try
to
use
a
canoe

Go,
Lord,
when
you're
gone
you're
like
a
fish
without
a
shoe




If
I'd
gone
then
I
wouldn't
be
here
now

But
I'm
still
here
and
so
are
you

We're
putting
our
foot
in
the
same
old
fish

Pretending
that
we're
getting
rich

So
go
when
you're
gone,
don't
try
to
use
a
canoe

Go,
Lord,
when
you're
gone
you're
like
a
fish
without
a
shoe




Go
when
you
go,
the
highway
calls

Be
what
you
are,
if
that's
anything
at
all

Go
when
you
go,
but
please
stay
gone

Don't
hang
around
singing
the
same
old
songs

Just
go
when
you're
gone,
don't
try
to
use
a
canoe

Go,
Lord,
when
you're
gone
you're
like
a
fish
without
a
shoe



7.
Deportees
5:03

(W.
Guthrie,
arranged
by
W.C.
Minger
IV)



8.
Okanogan
Blue
3:11

(W.C.
Minger
IV)




Blast
off
a
couple
of
rounds

Blast
those
beer
cans
into
the
ground

And
then
think
about
what
you've
done
with
this
life

Tell
the
world
you
know
"Adios'

Tell
'em
you
ain't
nothing
but
a
fucking
ghost

And
then
hit
the
trail
when
you’re
done
with
this
life




Done
with
this
life
‐
Who
really
cares?

Done
with
this
life
‐
Who
really
cares?

Done
with
this
life
‐
Who
really
cares?

I've
paid
my
share




Chainsaws,
tractors,
wetbacks
and
such

Everything
I
did,
I
did
too
much

And
I'm
living
here
to
swear
I
regret
it

Guitars
broken
on
broken
down
trucks

After
four
years
of
college
who
gives
a
fuck?

Just
tell
'em
all
they’re
full
of
shit




I've
worked
in
your
valleys
full
of
fools
in
saloons

I've
been
worked
over
by
loggers
and
goons

Wearing
badges,
some
were
changing
diapers

I
won't
sing
any
songs
about
riding
the
trains

I
don't
want
some
yuppie
to
capitalize
on
my
pain

Like
some
scab
paid
pied
piper




9.
Whiskey
Jenny
3:19

(W.C.
Minger
IV)




We
were
sitting
in
her
inner‐city
room

Talking
about
the
country
where
I'd
be
going
soon

And
all
the
folks
that
used
to
come
and
dine

On
beans,
biscuits
and
gravy
and
jugs
of
Gallo
wine




Chorus:

Then
she
pulled
out
her
fiddle
and
I
tried
to
play
it
fast

Singing
songs
of
love
gone
wrong
and
whiskey
for
breakfast

And

"Tonight
I'll
be
staying
here
with
you"

It
might
be
right‐
it's
prob'ly
wrong‐
but
what
else
could
I
do




I
said
"Jenny
I've
been
dirty
drunk
and
gone"

She
said,
"Who
hasn't
Willy.
Lets
play
another
song

"And
by
the
way
I'm
gonna
get
my
degree"

Which
didn't
make
much
sense
to
a
radical
like
me




I
woke
up
to
the
sound
of
trolleys
in
the
rain

To
hitch
a
ride
to
Oakland
where
I
could
catch
a
train

That
would
take
me
up
the
valley
in
the
dawn

And
to
a
woman
waiting
in
the
state
of
Washington




Now
I'm
wandering
with
the
rank
that
knows
no
rest

And
I
still
dream
of
Whiskey
Jenny
and
the
freckles
on
her
breasts

She
said,
"Never
lose
the
music
in
yer
head

"Because
if
you
lose
that
music
you
might
as
well
be
dead"




10.
Missouri
Breaks
3:02

(W.C.
Minger
IV)




What
is
that
sound
behind
the
hounds
on
the
trail

Like
steel
hitting
brass
in
the
dark?

What
is
that
sound,
that
hammer
on
the
nail

That
splits
the
cold
night
like
a
spark?

It
could
be
the
sound
of
the
enemy

With
their
sirens,
guns,
and
cars

It
could
be
the
sound
of
you
and
me

That
season
when
we
went
too
far.




What's
that
I
see
beyond
the
freedom
of
the
fields

Where
the
trees
make
a
prison
of
the
land?

What's
that
I
see
flowing
straight
at
me

Flooding
the
dirt
on
which
I
stand?

I
could
be
seeing
the
enemy

On
a
mission
to
harvest
and
destroy

I
could
be
seeing
you
and
me

Wondering
if
it
was
a
girl
or
a
boy.




Well
I
reckon
you’re
still
out
there

In
the
sunshine
and
the
corn

With
another
fool
nursing
the
shakes

I
reckon
you've
planted
another
garden
in
the
storm

Well
that's
the
Missouri
breaks.




What
is
that
cry
under
the
sighing
of
the
wind

Like
a
ghost
passing
through
my
door?

What
is
that
cry
that
pierces
like
a
pin

In
an
effigy
of
rags
on
the
floor?

It
could
be
the
cry
of
the
enemy

Plundering
our
houses
in
flames

It
could
be
the
cry
of
you
and
me

On
our
separate
trails
of
pain.



11.
Waltzing
Matilda
4:50

(Trad.,
arranged
by
W.C.
Minger)