Home > diy, friends, poetry > Poetry Archive #2 (Johnny Watson poems)

Poetry Archive #2 (Johnny Watson poems)

John E. Watson is a larger than life character. He is an artist and craftsman and lovingly hapless. I’ve written 2 songs about Johnny and i found the rough draft of one of them, Hey Mister Painter Man,  in the large sketch book. I’d forgotten all about it and dredged it back up out of memory. I sang it for an associate who was tunelessly singing Hey Mister Tambourine Man, and he said he’d like to write some music for it. Chicken Fried Johnny i recorded with Milk Carton but we never did anything with the recording. Johnny claims the song is insulting but he listens to it. I never got a copy but our studio guy Nick Ridgio burned him one. How is that for fair? I started it when i went to see Johnny and he had gotten a nasty gash on his finger. He was going to sew it up himself because he didn’t have insurance and had preceded to drink a bottle of whiskey in preperation, which like a lot of projects, was as far as he got.

Hey Mister Painter Man

How ’bout a pretty picture

One that’ll make me smile

And maybe then I’ll forget her

Maybe you have loved before

Then you may know

Love brings the greatest joys

But leaves the lowest lows

So how ’bout it Mr. Painter Man

Can you fix my soul

Paint a picture to fill me up

Where love has left a hole

Maybe you have loved before

Then you may know

A place where i can heal my heart

I am ready to go.


Chicken Fried Johnny

I put a suture in my finger

Cuz i didn’t have the money

For the plastic surgeon’s fee

To come and take a look at me

But i keep searchin’

Looking for the reason

Why most folks struggle to survive

But others got six cars to drive

But i like my chicken fried boy

I like my chicken fried

If i can’t have steak and champaign

I’ll settle for a chicken wing

I like my chicken fried boy

I like my chicken fried

With no fat to remind me

This was a living thing

Well I saved up a bit of money

And since i don’t have a honey

I’m gonna buy myself a forty ounce beer

It sure beats shedding a tear

And i’m gonna get me some bugler to smoke

And maybe a little toke

Of some cheap-ass mexican weed

That’s mostly just stems and seeds

But i like my chicken fried boy

I like my chicken fried

Categories: diy, friends, poetry
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