CREEPSHOW

Words & Music by Chris Gleason 
Mule-in-a-Swamp Music (ASCAP) 
© 2017 

Demagogues 
Red States 
Red flags 
Blue Plates 
Denigrator 
Generator 
Democratic 
Detonator 

Make it great again, 
Or make it whole 
Blood moon rising 
Tide’s gonna ebb and flow 
Sorry, Charlie 
Sorry, I can't roll 
With your creepshow 

Happy face 
Sans meat 
Dull knife 
Skin deep 
Couch Lock 
Can't sleep 
Adderall 
Can't weep 

Lightbulb Harry 
Leave ya with an afterglow 
Blood moon rising 
Tide’s gonna ebb and flow 
Lightbulb Harry 
Leave ya with an afterglow 
Cause he’s a creepshow 

Some things you'd rather not know 

You make a fine target, Pilgrim 
Empty your hands 
Same dumb pilgrim 
I've been smellin since I don't know when 
Skin it, Pilgrim 
Looks like you’re ready to roll 
With that creepshow 

Some things you'd rather not know 

Chris Gleason – vocals, tenor banjo, slide guitar, bass, anvil 

Lucy Martinez – vocals 

Jakub Trasak – fiddle 

John Chapman – drums

WINTERMOTHS

Words & Music by Chris Gleason 
Mule-in-a-Swamp Music (ASCAP) 
© 2017 

How can I miss you, if you don’t leave? 
How can I choke you — if you won’t breathe? 
How can I smoke without a light? 
Wake in the morning—without last night? 
How did we get here from there? 

The winter moths are in the trees 
Making resolutions to feed on springtime leaves 
Defoliators—drawn to sex and light 
It’s best to keep the porch lamp off at night 
‘Tis the season for despair 

Your pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty please 
It’s such a pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty tease 
Like trying to win 
At chess without checkmate 
Or listen to a Beatles song without the middle eight 

What keeps you coming back for more? 
Instead of walking out the door? 
One foot on the driveway, the other in the car 
You wouldn’t make it very far 
I guess that life just ain’t fair 

Is this the bed that we have made? 
Can’t tell if I’m the master or if I’m the slave 
Can’t stand up and be counted with my 
Head in the sand 
Or make it to the encore without beating up the band 

What keeps me coming back for more? 
Instead of walking out the door? 
One foot on the driveway, the other in the car 
I wouldn’t make it very far 

Guess that life just ain’t fair 

Guess that life just ain’t fair 

Guess that life just ain’t fair

Chris Gleason – vocals, tenor banjo and guitar, bass  

Lucy Martinez – vocals  

Jakub Trasak – fiddle  

Jimmy Ryan – mandolin  

John Chapman – drums  

FRY MY EGGS

Words & Music  by Chris Gleason 
Mule-in-a-Swamp Music (ASCAP)

© 2017

Wanna live ‘fore I’m deceased, I’ll fry my eggs in bacon grease 

Oh, Satan. 
Show me your hand. 
No, Satan. 
Haven’t seen Rockets nor a paired Rembrandt. 
Haven’t seen Rockets nor a paired Rembrandt. 

Omaha Hi-Low. 
Whiskey by the shot. 
Omaha Hi-Low. 
Wheel splits the low and a Flush wins the pot. 
Wheel splits the low and a Flush wins the pot. 

Oh, Satan. 
Got no pedigree. 
No, Satan. 
Charlemagne trumps a Bedpost Queen. 
Charlemagne trumps a Bedpost Queen. 

Walk back to Houston, 
Back from wence you came. 
Walk back to Houston. 
Find yourself another game. 
Find yourself another game. 

Oh, Satan. 
The sun’s still in the East. 
Go, Satan. 
Fry my eggs in bacon grease 
Fry my eggs in bacon grease.

Chris Gleason – vocals, electric 5-string mandolin, electric guitar, bass  

Lucy Martinez – vocals  

Jakub Trasak – fiddle  

John Chapman – drums  

COTTON MILL COLIC

Words & Music by Dave McCarn (1926) 
Peer International Corp

Well you go to work 
Slave like the devil 
End of the week,  you ain't on the level 
Payday comes 
You pay the rent 
End of the month you’re still in the red 
When you go to bed 
You can't sleep 
Owe so much at the end of the week 

If I don’t starve 
Nobody will 
Can’t make a living at the ol' sawmill 
Can’t complain 
We’re all that way 
Can’t make the money to move away 
Can’t make the money to move away 

Well, the poor stay poor 
Rich get richer 
APRs are a sonovabitch 
You got taxes to the left 
Fees to the right 
Cost of living it’s outtasite 
When you go to bed 
You can't sleep 
Owe so much at the end of the week 

If I don’t starve 
Nobody will 
Just keep payin’ that credit card bill 
No use to colic 
We're all that way 
Keep payin’ til we’re in our grave 
Keep on payin’ til we’re in our grave 

If I don’t starve 
Nobody will 
Can’t make a living at the ol' sawmill 
Can’t complain 
We’re all that way 
Can’t make the money to move away 
Can’t make the money to move away

Chris Gleason – vocals, mandolin, bass, Cajun triangle 

Lucy Martinez – vocals 

Jakub Trasak – fiddle 

John Chapman – drums

THIS WORLD OR THE NEXT

Words & Music by Chris Gleason 
Mule-in-a-Swamp Music (ASCAP) 
© 2017 

Whiskey in the hand of one man 
Whiskey in the hand of one man 
Whiskey in the hand of one man 
Anything pleasure is a sin 

Woman in the arms of one man 
A Woman in the arms of one man 
Woman in the arms of one man 
Anything pleasure is a sin 

Bible in the hand of one man 
Bible in the hand of one man 
Bible in the hand of one man 
He's waiting for the next world to begin 

Well, he never learned to live in this world 
Never learned to live in this world 
Never learned to live in this world 
It's a sin 
It's a sin 
It's a sin 
It's a sin

Chris Gleason – vocals, electric tenor and 6-string guitars, bass, electric mandocello  

Lucy Martinez – vocals  

Jakub Trasak – fiddle  

John Chapman – drums  

Bruce Bartone – additional electric guitar 

THE BITTER END

Words & Music by Chris Gleason 
Mule-in-a-Swamp Music (ASCAP) 
© 2017  

You hear what I'm thinking 
I don't have to speak. 
This is how life should be, but it's not. 

Torito en la Jaula, 
Capo different keys, 
Clever accidents and ellipses. 

Just stepped off the stage 
Still more acts to play 
We don't have to stay 
'Til the bitter end. 

Cool on the outside 
Inside burning hot 
Wondrin' who's there to back you up. 

So hard to balance 
What we say and do. 
I will always find the time for you. 

Know you're afraid 
To leave the bed you made 
I'm holding on 'til the bitter end. 

All them daily words 
We're just like stray birds 
All them daily words 

Know you're afraid 
To try a different way. 
You're holding on to the bitter end. 

The bitter end 
The bitter end 
The bitter end

Chris Gleason – vocals, acoustic guitar  

Lucy Martinez – vocals  

Jakub Trasak – fiddle  

John Chapman – drums  

Bruce Bartone – electric guitars, eBow, and organ  

Shamus Feeney – bass 

STILL AROUND

Words & Music by Chris Gleason 
Mule-in-a-Swamp Music (ASCAP) 
© 2017  

Saw you walking in your sleep 
Gaslight politics 
Lather, Rinse, Repeat 
Saw you talking to the sheep 
Coalitions 
Indiscreet 

Like a fat tick on a hound 
Wears a Leonard Cohen frown 
And though the leaves have all turned brown 
You’re still around 

You’re still around 
You’re still around 
You’re still around 

Met her at the winter ball 
Fed her jewels and alcohol 
Flies around the chandelier 
Tinfoil hats as souvenirs 
No, she hardly made a sound 
In that million-dollar gown 
And though the circus has left town 
You’re still around 

You’re still around 
You’re still around 
You’re still around 

Such mendacious alibis 
Stole my dirty laundry, though it’s half your size 
It’s a fantasy at best 
To imagine that you ever would confess 
Half a king, half a clown 
With a much-disputed crown 
Just can’t make it in this town 
When you’re still around 

You’re still around 
You’re still around 
You’re still around

Chris Gleason – vocals, rhythm mandolin,electric guitars, bass, Mellotron  

Jimmy Ryan – mandolin solo  

Lucy Martinez – vocals  

Jakub Trasak – fiddle  

John Chapman – drums