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  1. Man with a Gun

From the recording Living Low

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Lyrics

Forty-seven years ago
I was born in a foreign land I still call home
But it’s no more and it’s all gone
There’s nothing I can do
But sit drinking right here
Struggling through midlife
I’ve gotta twelve-year old boy, a lovely wife
I built my home up high on the edge of knife
Trying to get a view

Of all the years that have come and gone
The trials, the tribulations that are words in this song
I struggled as boy and more as man
I had a funny sounding name in American lands
Landed seven-three on jet airplane
Settled south of Chi-Town in the pouring rain
In a Northwest Indiana steel mill town
This Region Rat boy finally settled down

Land Ho’ it’s time to go
Pack your bags we’re heading south to Mexico
You gotta set your sail to the setting sun
And try and out run the man with a gun

So, I chased my dream just as far as I can
I hit the road in search of fame I’m a musical man
With a four-string guitar, my band in van
Seven shows a week we were in high demand
But the dream ran aground on corporate greed
‘Cause the business in the music is what nobody needs
And I turned from the band green thumb in hand
To a new muse I could love and could understand

But my time was up I had to pay my dues
I made the daily paper and the evening news
For all the good and bad things in my life I’ve done
Had to face the sheriff’s man at the end of gun
Spent my share of nights jail
Hidden from the sun denied my bail
I was facing 6 to 30 years of my life
Just for walking too close to the edge of a knife

Land Ho’ it’s time to go
Pack your bags we’re heading south to Mexico
You gotta set your sail to the setting sun
And try and out run the man with a gun
Land Ho’ it’s time to go
Grab your wife and kids and hug them slow
Set your sail to the setting sun
And try and out run the man with a gun

So, I find myself again with a guitar in my hand
Singing songs to you I’m the music man
I’ve finally come full circle in my life
Trying to avoid the pain at the edge of that knife
Begging that you hear the words I preach and sing
Cause the Worlds a wicked place and can be a terrible thing
If you run afoul of the law of the land
You find yourself wanted and a hunted man

Land Ho’ it’s time to go
Pack your bags we’re heading south to Mexico
You gotta set your sails to the setting sun
And try and out run the man with a gun
Land Ho’ it’s time to go
Grab your wife and kids and hug them slow
Set your sail to the setting sun
And try and out run the man with a gun