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about

This is no Jerry Springer song. I don’t actually have any relative or friend that’s anything like this. But I know folks who do, and you may, too. Anyone it’d be aimed at will probably never hear it. It’s also a metaphoric song for some of the ways we’ve strayed as a species.

lyrics

You come over for xmas, pick a fight with my Mom. You’re the only one that gets blind drunk, and you blame everyone. I don’t like the way you look at my sisters. Or those jokes that you make about ‘taxi drivers’. ‘Cause I used to idolize you when I was a little kid. they told me all the stories, all the crazy things you did. No one says what happened along the way. And if I ask, well, ‘It’s not for me to say’. But this I know: I grew up in a world like Sesame Street, where the golden rule was in full effect with all the people down the street. And this I know: I see that tightness around your skinny girlfriend’s mouth, and that bruise upon her shoulder. Please. You sure like your TV and you like that car. But you only like woman if she’s done up like a porn star. You got no time for blacks, no time for gays, despite all you did back in your college days. You’re ready for a fight with anyone. Told a native guy in Winnipeg, go back where you come from. You make fun of everyone without any end. And then you hit me up to be your new Facebook friend. But this I know: you were the coolest uncle in town when I was ten, you had a moustache, and a beer, and that was all that I knew back then. This I know: I saw that Playboy calendar on your basement wall, and my dog don’t like having you around. Please, please, please, Uncle, get some help. You’re the most hateful christian I’ve ever met. Jesus Christ would slap you, I’m willing to bet. You’ve got all of these opinions about ‘God’s will’ and you’re mean to everyone and you’re hooked on pills and you hate the poor and you hate the rich every kid’s a delinquent every woman’s a bitch you want all the damn immigrants to go back home. You wanna fall in love, sittin’ there by the phone. Man, something’s gotta change. Here’s my theory why you’re losing friends: you’ve got nobody in your life, just means to an end. And if you don’t wanna die out there, all alone, you’d better take this on, and down to your bones. This I know: when I was nine, you were the coolest one in town. then somehow i opened up, and about that time you shut right down. This I know: I want my uncle back. The hero of my youth. I’m just telling you my truth. Please, please, please, please, uncle Sam we love you, get some help.

credits

from Son of a Rudderless Boat, released January 16, 2010
Kev Corbett: acoustic guitar, upright bass, mandolin, voice.

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Kev Corbett Halifax, Nova Scotia

“The man is an exceptional guitar player – for one thing – but also writes extremely clever, finessed, clockwork folk-pop songs whose singable surface belies a tremendous underlying sense of craft. It was really great to see him again.” – Jowi Taylor, Six String Nation

“Well-crafted, skillfully written songs, dazzling guitar playing. Son of a Rudderless Boat is a marvelous listen.” – Penguin Eggs
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