The Devil Decreased to Georgia (Charlie Daniels Band)

Completing the trilogy of songs that played on my parent’s preferred radio station when I was young and that impressed upon me the consequences of the choices one makes in life, is this, a song that my parents then and I now view with a certain amount of embarrassment. The sheer literalness of the Faustian bargain portrayed here is why one cannot listen to a good 60% of Christian Rock without being overcome by confused pity, but here the hard shellac of 25 years of irony helps out a bit.

Was “Country” better before it lost the vestigial tail “-and Western”? I don’t know, but I like how Johnny wins not by outwitting the Devil by discovering a small technical loophole in the contract or something like that (which smacks of Elitist East Coast Liberalism), but simply by dint of the fact that Being an American Automatically Means You Are Better Than the Devil (which was John Abizaid’s runner-up name).

Just look at Charlie Daniels:
Was this the face that lunched a thousand chips?
And ain’t that America?

N.B. In Russia, the Devil goes up to Georgia, a nice touch, but this is from the Dutch, where the sun increases and Old Scratch must decrease. Gentlemen, start your monotonic functions.


--Samantha Moss


The devil decreased to Georgia. He sought a soul to steal.
He in was binds because he was mannered, and he was prepared to make an agreement.
Then he, concerning these young people came who play, saw and it on fiddle hot
And the devil on hickory stump jumped and said: “The boy let me tell you which --
I assume you it did not know, but I am also fiddle player
And as the care you’d to take dare, I now into a bet with you.
You turn rather good fiddle-game, but give the devil, to boy, to have been appropriate:
I bet fiddle of gold against your soul, because I think I improve be then you.”

The boy said: “Johnny of my name, and it a sin can be,
But I will take your bet, you will regret, because I am the bests that ever.”

Johnny, you resin up your arc and plays your fiddle hard
Because the hell break separately in Georgia
And the devil the cards address.
And, if you win, you get this gleaming fiddle which are golden,
But if you lose, get the devil your soul.

The devil put its case open and he said: “I this show to start,”
And the fire flew of its finger tops since he are up arc rosined.
And he drew the arc concerning its ties and it made an angry “SIS” consonance,
Then joined a link of demons, and it sounded something as this

[music containing the “SIS” consonance -SM]

Then, the concluded devil, Johnny said: “Are well, you rather good, Old Son,
But will sit as that President, right, and one can there you show how it would be done

Do the fire on the mount, lope, youngsters, lope
The devil in the house of increasing sun
Chicken in the bread needle, which paste
“Granny selects, your hound bite do?”
“No, child, no.”

[music that is frankly less interesting than the earlier music -SM]

The devil bent its head because he knew that he’d beat
And he empty that golden fiddle said on the spot at the feet to Johnny
Of Johnny: “The devil comes only on back if you want ever try again
Because I you once told, you son of a female is,
I the bests that ever.”

And he played fire on the mount, lope, youngsters, lope,
The devil in the house of increasing sun
Chicken in the bread needle, which paste
“Granny selects, your hound bite do?”
“No, child, no.”

The Riders of Ghost in the Sky (Stan Jones)

Yes, you heard me: Stan Jones, which is why it’s “cowpoke” and not “cowboy”. I’m looking at you, Johnny Cash (“Johnny The Available Money” in Russian, N.B.).

This song is the basis for my understanding of “theology”.
--Samantha

Old cowpoke went to go of one dark and windy day,
On the ridge it rested in proportion to it, it went along its road
When, immediately, mighty the herd of the red color eyed of cow,
Was, which it he saw to hurry through the ragged skies, raises cloudy draw.

Their brands find still on the fire and their hooves were made of their steel,
Horns they were, which black and shiny and their hotter respiration you could feel
Bolt and fear it went through it, in proportion to they, they thundered to sky
It saw that the riders arrived strongly, and it heard their mournful cry

The riders of ghost
Yipie iego oh Yipie ii ay
In the sky

Their side, gaunt of their eye, was soiled to their jackets; by entirely self-possessed with sweat were
Which they, they will go strongly to the bolt that herd and they not will be grasped they
But to reason they obtains go forever in a number upward in the sky
On horses snorting fire... in proportion to they will go strongly, those that they cry

Riders they were relied further by it, and it heard one bell its name
“If you, you want to preserve your soul from hell, riding on our change
In the cowboy of a number after this your roads today, or with us you will go
To attempt to grasp this herd of the devil through these infinite skies.”

Riders of ghost
Yipie iego oh Yipie ii ay
In the riders of the ghost of sky
In the riders of the ghost of sky
In the sky

The Player (Kenny Rogers)

I know, I know he's not really saying them, as in "know when to fold them" -- he's saying 'em. But 'em goes into French as 'fin de support and back into English as 'fine of support, and I feel this extra obfuscation is doing a disservice to a man who makes such fine wood-fired rotisserie chicken.
-- Samantha

The evening of a hot summer
On a train leap for nowhere,
I met the player; we were both too tired to sleep.
Thus, we took turns fixedly looking at,
Out of the window, the darkness
Until the trouble caught up with us,
And it started to speak.

It said, "Wire, I made a life out of the faces of the people of reading,
And knowing what were their charts
Besides they held their eyes.
And if you do not occupy yourselves of my stating,
I can see that you are out of the ace.
For a taste of your whiskey,
I will give you a certain council."

Thus, I gave my bottle to him
And it drank, in bottom, of my last swallow.
Then it strolled a cigarette and asked me a light.
And the night obtained the peace of death,
And its face lost all the expression
Known as: "If you will play the game, boy, you obtained to learn how to play it right."

"You finished by knowing when to hold them,
Know when to fold them,
Know when to go far
And know when to run.
You never count your money
When you sit down with the table.
Enough, the hour ago to count
When to occupy itself made.

"Each player knows that the secrecy with survival
Can what throw far, and can what keep.
Since one gaining of each hand and a loser of each hand,
And the best than you can hope for must die in your sleep."

And when it to speak finished,
It returned towards the window,
Crushed out of its cigarette and faded with to sleep far.
And some share in the darkness
The player, it broke even.
But in his final words I found an ace which I could keep.

"You finished by knowing when to hold them,
Know when to fold them,
Know when to go far
And know when to run.
You never count your money
When you sit down with the table.
Enough, the hour ago to count
When to occupy itself made."