Me & Gary Lee

Me And Gary Lee

In a shoebox tavern on the first of June
Air so sticky that the seagulls swoon
Locals swagger in through the back doorway
Blink their eyes to wash the sun away
At a plywood counter polished with grit
Two leather-faced ladies get cigarettes lit
By a beefy bartender who once was a cop
Now he’s keeping the peace in his own little shop

Me and Gary Lee, guitars in our hands
Doing our best to sound like a band
Down at Crystal Beach, Sunday afternoon
Me and Gary Lee, holding down the room

From a dim-lit corner there’s a cue ball crack
A lumpy felt table leans in the back
Two half-drunk shrimpers swing their cues around
There’s money on the table, beer bottles on the ground
A nervous little man in a chauffeur’s cap
Runs errands for the owner in a car out back
He’s spilling the shrimp from a propane pot
On a wooden spool table in the gravel lot

Where that tavern stood there’s nothing but sand
The big storm Ike changed the lay of the land
Shiny new homes now line the roads
Gone are the wild and the weathered souls

In a shoebox tavern on the first of June
Me and Gary Lee sit picking out tunes

“Hey there, Gary Lee, why don’t you kick it off tonight.
How ‘bout Rainy Night In Georgia. Folks always love that one.
What’s that? Willin’? How about the Statesboro Blues?
Cause tonight, brother, we just can’t lose.”