I wrote this song with Lisa Aschmann.
Billy Mac and Don McCray drive to work each dawn at six
Down the mountain to the factory, makes handles outta hickory stix
Their job is easy labor, hanging handles on the line
That drags them thru the lacquer. Killing more than Time
First batch of handles drying on the dripping drying rack
Another batch of brain cells dying. They’ll never get ‘em back
Flatbed full of handles. Yard high with hickory chips
Eyes, glazed like a pastry. They wipe sweat from their cracking lips.
They don’t worry about no G man come close the factory down
They got a cousin’s got an uncle’s got connections back in town
And there’s not a living thing within ten feet of that room
Not a silver fish, not a cockroach, not a seed pod not a bloom…*
The wind once blew a firefly, blinking thru the door
They swore it was a space ship they swatted thru the floor
They don’t smoke tobacco. They don’t take no whiskey fix
At night, deep in their pillows, they dream about HICKORY STIX…*
Em - Hearse drives down the mountain, followed by pick-up trucks
The boys are leaving early and they’re going home de luxe.
Teachers say they’re slackers. Boss said, “They’re just hicks,
Somebody’s got to lacquer handles made of hickory stix.”…
Oooooooo Somebody’s gotta lacquer hickory handled hardware.
© 2007 Royal T Music