Discovery

by Bill Ackerbauer

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dever67
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dever67 Nicely done sir! I think Sleeping in the Doghouse will make a good addition to the Junk Rocket family.
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about

This is a batch of seven songs and one poem that have been kicking around in my head, some for years and some just recently. These acoustic tracks all were recorded by me at home on a Tascam DR-40 and mixed with Audacity. At some point, I hope to re-record some of these songs with my bands Junk Rocket and The Doghouse Carpenters for inclusion on full-length albums. Stay tuned.

credits

released February 3, 2017

All words and music by Bill Ackerbauer except "Mutts in the Hutts," by Bill Ackerbauer and Carter Ackerbauer.

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about

Bill Ackerbauer Johnstown, New York

Smokin' Bill Ackerbauer performs an eclectic repertoire of acoustic music, both as a solo performer and with several upstate New York bands, including Junk Rocket, The Doghouse Carpenters and The Bentwood Rockers. His original songs reflect the many walks of life in New York's Adirondack Foothills.

For more info, contact Bill by e-mail at billackerbauer(at)gmail.com or find him on Facebook.
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Track Name: Discovery
"Discovery does not imply that the place is new
The place is the same, it is we who have changed," I agree with Eu.
You gave us a taste of your world in every elegant paragraph
With the voices and faces poppin' off of the page like a photograph

I'm riding around my hometown with the windows down
Every person I see calls up memories from the lost and found
My kid's in the back seat, asking for stories from long ago
Through his eyes I see discovery every place I go.

I've been to Thomaston, I've been to Mohawk and through North Bath
I shook that man's hand because he told it straight and he made us laugh
He left his home when Mother Ambition said he should
But I'm still around putting out fires in the neighborhood.

I'm riding around my hometown with the windows down
Every person I see calls up memories from the lost and found
My kid's in the back seat, asking for stories from long ago
Through his eyes I see discovery every place I go.

There's a one-eye carouser with a hole in his trousers
And he's playing guitar
For a liquoured-up crowd beneath a little cloud
in the Temple Bar
I tried to get some perspective but I found that objective eluded me
Till I shaved off my beard and I went for a swim in the snot-green sea.

I'm riding around my hometown with the windows down
Every person I see calls up memories from the lost and found
My kid's in the back seat, asking for stories from long ago
Through his eyes I see discovery every place I go.
Track Name: Five Questions
FIVE QUESTIONS

Down on Baltic Avenue we're badly bent
Staying out of jail and barely making rent
Oh no!
They never let us pass go

Tell me how, how, how
Should I grovel and bow?
Or should I just give up now?
Can you tell me how?

A banker's robot calls me up from cyberspace
Regrets to say my credit has just been erased
Oh no
Tell me how much I owe?

Tell me who who who's
Walked a mile in your shoes?
Hummed a bar of your blues?
Can you tell me who?

I just want the answers to five questions
I've opened up my mind to good suggestions
You promised us that you've got a clue
As to what the hell we should should do
So now I think you owe us a few answers to our questions

Drinking bitter coffee at the donut shop
Talking trash politics and it don't stop
oh no!
I guess I'll take mine to go

Tell me when, when, when
Will we be great again?
At a quarter to ten?
Will we be great again?

Red cap on a business suit says I'm okay
Because I was born inside the good old USA
Oh yay!
He says that I get to stay!

Tell me why, why, why
Do you mumble and sigh?
Look me right in the eye
Can you tell me why?

Down among the sugar cane and mango trees
A billion achin' backs and calloused hands and knees
Hear them moan
Tell me what have we grown?

Tell me what, what, what
Has a billionaire got
That really cost him a lot
Can you tell me what?

I just want the answers to five questions
I've opened up my heart to good suggestions
You promised us that you've got a clue
As to what the hell we should should do
So now I think you owe us a few answers to our questions.
Track Name: Sleepin' in the Doghouse
There's a new guy in the White House
It's the same old shit at mine
There's a tyrant in the kitchen
And she gives me a hard time
She's bustin' my cojones,
Tramplin' on my pride
I'm sleeping in the doghouse
It's too damned cold inside.

At three o'clock this morning
She kicked me out of bed
With my liver full of moonshine
And my pencil full of lead
She really hurt my feelings
I'm a sensitive guy!
Now I'm sleeping in the doghouse
It's too damned cold inside.

If I want to play the guitar
and carry on all night
And sleep until the afternoon,
I think I have that right.
But my wife don't see it my way
She says get off your lazy ass
Now I've packed up all my instruments
And I'm looking for a place to crash.

Maybe someday she'll convince me
To get a nine to five
Earn an honest paycheck
and bathe from time to time
But for now I'm just enjoying life
One six pack at a time
I'm sleeping in the doghouse
It's too damned cold inside.

I'm sleeping in the doghouse,
It's too damned cold inside.
Track Name: Strings
Strings

I could change the strings
on my old guitar
but it wouldn't sound like new.
I tune it up
then down again
a sloppy whole step
to play "Louis Collins"
in B flat.

That's the key to the highway
out of my weatherbeaten upstate town
looking over the once-majestic Mohawk as
it snakes through the shadow
of the Adirondack foothills
where lumber and leather
rolled down the line
on the F, J & G
to the E-RI-E
a rusty, dusty, rustic
memory of mules
flat-bottom boats
the sweet stink of woodsmoke
on my clothes.

Some nights my guitar sleeps
in its sturdy case
and pines for a player
dreaming the valley below
is a delta
muddy water
rocking in a cradle
of mossgreen levees.
Dreaming the hills above
make a rugged blue ridge
of rocky tops
dark hollows
and sour-mashed sunlight
on wet red clay.

I could change the strings
on my old guitar
but the coffee's almost ready
and it's just a brokedown engine away
from a blind man
wailing into a tin can
barrelhouse burning
gravedigger looking me right in the eye,
just the way I like it.