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The songs that my banjo picks and my washboard kicks and my harp hums and my guitar strums are songs that hop freights, run rivers, ride ferries, and hit hard roads. They're songs that can fistfight, jig dance, whiskey sip, belly flip; songs about hard times, good times, just-sorta-in-between times, times when you can't quit laughing even though you ain't got a dime to dip out of your pocket. These songs that I sing in and around and up and cross-legged and eastbound and right-side-up are about honest folks who are trying to keep out of jails, fights, blackjack hands, drunken head stands, gunslings and nooserings, busted lips and broken hearts. Some of the songs ain't got no other job than to make your outsides wiggle, your hips jiggle, your lips sizzle. And some of the songs need to curl up on the thinkingest, contemplatingest, debatingest, worryingest, opinionatedest part of your brain that you oughtn't let rot away (you'll be needing it someday, I'll say). I never have tried to sing the down right prettiest song or cuddliest song or obscure lyric kind of a song. I don't aim to confuse misconstrue lead astray cast away or engage in any other discriminating way that winds up dividing me the singer from you the person. I'm mainly just a freight train on a tornado track trying to ride good times into your part of town.