Editor’s Note: Like Arrias and his Muse, those of us who are not Georgians, and whose teams were crushed on the way to this new-fangled National Championship scheme can only sigh, and then strangely begin to sing along…
– Vic
Author’s Note: We Georgians despite the Dawgs beating the ever-loving snot out of the Tide last night were having a Pulp Fiction kind of day, when even our fat broad of color sent her regrets to PresBid’s visit today in Atlanta – something about her sock drawer, I suppose. We used to work with, if not like, these rambling beltway types. No more. They’re like old disgruntled ex’s.
So, as my mind wandered fast past things up in Hotlanta over to that film and one of its tunes, this draft resulted.
– Marlow
SH Fire Ring Theme Song
Sung to Flowers on the Wall by the Statler Brothers
We keep hearing they’re concerned about our happiness
But all the thought they’re giving us is just their bad conscience, we spose
If we were walking in their shoes, we wouldn’t worry none
While they and their friends are worrying ’bout us
We’re having lots of fun
Puffing smokes by the pack, by the fire out back
Killing time winter, spring, summer and fall, don’t want them to bother us at all
Shooting the shit until dawn, our ATMs never overdrawn
Watching DC play solitaire with their decks of fifty-one
We’re smoking cigarettes, watching beltway clowns playing Captain Kangaroo
Now don’t tell us we’re needing something for them to do
Last night we dressed in mess blues pretending we were on the town
As long as we can sip n scheme, it’s hard to keep us sailors down
So they shouldn’t give a thought to us, we’re really doing fine
They can always find us right here, we’re having quite a time
Puffing smokes by the pack, by the fire out back
Killing time winter, spring, summer and fall, don’t want them to bother us at all
Shooting the shit until dawn, our ATMs never overdrawn
Watching DC play solitaire with their decks of fifty-one
We’re smoking cigarettes, watching beltway clowns playing Captain Kangaroo
Now don’t tell us we’re needing something for them to do
It’s good to see each other, getting older, despite looking a fright
Anyway, our eyes are accustomed to these days’s low light
And our shoes no longer trod the City’s streets of hard concrete
Each day, we gotta go back to the bunk room and make our day complete
Puffing smokes by the pack, by the fire out back
Killing time winter, spring, summer and fall, don’t want them to bother us at all
Shooting the shit until dawn, our ATMs never overdrawn
Watching DC play solitaire with their decks of fifty-one
We’re smoking cigarettes, watching beltway clowns playing Captain Kangaroo
Now don’t tell us we’re needing something for them to do
Now don’t tell us we’re needing something for them to do
Now don’t tell us we’re needing something for them to do