Don’t ask me how I wound up here in LaRue.
‘Cause I’ve been here 20 days in a drunken haze and still don’t have a clue.
Just one gray day when I come to, feeling like my head had been split in two.
A man said, “Boy, what you doin’ here in LaRue?”

A man at the bar said I can call him “Big Ed.”
Then he tells me that he’s got a little something for my aching head.
He says he’s six foot straight the day he was wed,
Now he’s five foot eight and his wife is dead.
It’s been a long time gone, but I believe that’s what he said.

Big Ed’s daughter, Wanda was her name;
She come in from the kitchen with her red hair head all aflame.
She tossed me a deck, she said, “Name the game.”
We played and drunk a little gin and then the Bud Man came.
She was a beautiful woman, man, I tell you it’s just a shame.

Train tracks run out of town, about a mile or two.
Then they double on back off a spur and so you never really leave LaRue.
I’ve got no reason to doubt that what you say is true,
About Wanda, Big Ed and the Bud Man, too.
So maybe you can tell me why I do these things that I do.
Maybe you can tell me how I wound up in LaRue.


“LaRue” appears on Yarn: The Great Unravelling.

© and ℗ 2003 Marques Bovre