After putting up that last post, a couple of earworms wriggled their way into my internal playback loop.
Say man, when you going back to Florida?
When am I goin’ back to Florida? I don’t know, don’t reckon I ever will.
Ain’t you worried about getting your nourishment in New York?
Well, I don’t care if I do-die-do-die-do-die-do-die.
– Johnny Cash from “Orange Blossom Special”, from the album of the same name.
Florida, Florida, the redneck riviera
Florida, Florida, there’s no more pathetic place in America
Yes a man must make unpopular decisions, surely from time to time
And a man can only stand what a man can stand
It’s a wobbly volatile line
Florida, Florida, the water table is fucked
Florida, Florida, there’s no more perfect place to give it all up
A man must take his life in his own hands
Hit those nails on the head
And I respect a man who goes to where he wants to be
Even if he wants to be dead
Florida, Florida, its a tropical paradise
Florida, Florida, there’s no more perfect place to retire from life
That’s all of the lyrics to Vic Chesnutt’s “Florida” from the album West of Rome and, if you don’t own it already, you really should just stop what your doing and buy it right now.