Originally written in 1991, Texas Honey was inspired by trips through East Texas via Highway 59, where roadside vendors set up shop in any available space along the highway. Homemade signs advertise everything from handmade quilts to baby rabbits, barbeque, mayhaw jelly, boiled peanuts, and Just Ahead - Texas Honey.

Rollin' down Highway 59
'Neath those tall east Texas pines
A homemade sign got my heart a-jumpin'
Said Just Ahead - Texas Honey

Deep desires began to rise
Self control was compromised
Countin' floorboard change just like some junkie
Got a powerful cravin' for Texas Honey

CHORUS
I would walk barefoot across a hundred miles of hot coals and broken glass
Swim the sea, crawl on my hands and knees across the burning desert sands
I would storm the gates of hell - cut heads with the devil himself
For one sweet taste of heaven - Texas Honey

Recall my wild and wasted youth
Sowed my seeds in search of truth
Found the answer I was yearnin'
What makes the world go round - Texas Honey

Memories of a preachers daughter
Skinny dippin' at Hippie Hollow
A case of Lone Star and a campfire burnin'
She gave me my first taste - of Texas Honey
REPEAT CHORUS

©1999 Gene Kelton Music, BMI

Growing up in the sixties and early seventies, there was alot of controversy as to whether or not a white boy could truly play the blues. That question has certainly been answered through the years. Every line in this song is a true statement in reference to my life. Written in 1990.

I was born in Mississippi on the wrong side of the tracks
Three families shared the tin roof of a sharecroppers shack
We chopped wood in the winter drew our water from a well
We went to Church on Sunday, Lord but everyday was hell

People called us white trash... hillbillies too
Learnin' how to fight was all I learned in school
The blues was a way of life... we was poor but we was proud
That's why I still get fightin' mad when I hear someone in the crowd (say he's)

CHORUS
Too white... what gives you the right (to say)
Too white... make me want to fight (when they say)
Too white... too white to play the blues

I never knew my daddy, he left when I was young
So mama waited tables at them joints on 61
There were rumours and gossip by them righteous folks uptown
But they'd buy my grandpa's moonshine when that evenin' sun went down

I started pickin cotton... soon as I could drag a sack
It didn't matter to the bossman... if you was white or black
He said I pay by the pound boy... not the color of your skin
So if you think that I'm too white to play the blues think again... (when you say)
REPEAT CHORUS

I used to go down to this juke joint where the Southern 'cross the Dog
We danced barefoot on a dirt floor the bands played from dusk 'til dawn
In that dusty Delta darkness 'neath a Mississippi moon
I saw a vision at the Crossroads where I was Baptized by the Blues

I hitchhiked into Texas learned survival in the streets
When the oil fields ran dry this guitar fed my family
Through hell and highwater, look who followed in my shoes
The Good Lord gave me two sons who were born playin' the blues
(don't say they're...)
REPEAT CHORUS

© 1999 Gene Kelton Music, BMI

For years, people have approached me at my shows and after noticing the obvious wear and tear on my guitar... they often ask the same question... "If that guitar could talk, what would it say?" They they give you that sly grin and occasional wink as if to suggest that the guitar could tell all my secrets... you know, all the sex, drugs and rock 'n roll stories that musicians are supposed to be so famous for. This is another song that has been lived, by me, line by line. Every scratch has a story... listen with your heart.

If this guitar could talk, what do you think it might say
Would it tell you all my secrets - about my lowdown, sinful ways
Do you think you would be delighted with everything you heard
If you listen with your heart you can understand - each and every word

If this guitar could talk, it could tell you about elusive dreams
One night stands, all night jammin, hitchhikin in the rain
Endless sacrifices, pawnshops and the blues
Every scratch has a story, this guitar tells the gospel truth.

If this guitar could talk - the tales that it could tell
About the cheap motels, small town jails, payin' our dues in hell
Late night, long distance telephone calls to someone waitin lonely at home
And the night the phone rang off the wall but the show must go on

If this guitar could talk - don't you think you might hear
How the road goes on forever, just follow the trail of tears
It's secrets might surprise you, its time for show and tell
Cause this guitar is talkin', tellin' you about yourself

© 1999 Gene Kelton Music, BMI

Ok, Ok, Ok... she broke my heart and I wrote a song about it. 1994 was a rough year. Good thing I play guitar... if I were a mechanic this song might have been called Tears On My Tools...

Sad refrains from my guitar echo from my soul
They're my last hope for sanity since your love for me turned cold
Every weeping melody pours from my breaking heart
I struggle with your memory and tears on my guitar

CHORUS
Listen, as my guitar cries for you
Longing for your harmony fore your love fell out of tune
Sweetest song we ever sang was in each others arms
Theres nothin' left but silence, and tears on my guitar

You have closed the curtain on a love we shared so true
No more sweet love songs, nothin but the blues
Saddest notes I ever played float softly toward the stars
With my desperate prayers, and tears on my guitar
REPEAT CHORUS

© 1999 Gene Kelton Music, BMI

Lord I'm gettin' restless, I'm runnin' out of time
I've been around the world and I still ain't satisfied
That's why I'm going back to Memphis... where the feeling felt so fine
And let that magic Memphis rhythm rock 'n roll me one more time

CHORUS
Well... I'm going back to Memphis... (going back to Memphis)
Yeah... I'm going back to Memphis... (going back to Memphis)
Well... I'm going back to Memphis... back where it all began

Where rock 'n roll was born and gave the world a dream
Well the spirits living on in Memphis, Tennessee
Well... I'm going back to Memphis... and do it all again

From Bourbon Street to Broadway to Hollywood Boulevard
I drifted with the wind too long and too far
Thats why I'm going back to Memphis cause Memphis is my home
And let that River City Rockabilly blues soothe my soul
REPEAT CHORUS

Got my sunshades on... guitar in the back
Blue Suede Shoes blastin' from an old eight track
I'm goin' back to Memphis in a rag top pink Cadillac
There'll be a rock 'n roll revival and more than one heart attack
REPEAT CHORUS

© 2003 Gene Kelton Music, BMI

We used to go cruisin’ Texas Avenue in Baytown, Texas during the height of our glory days, the late sixties and early seventies. Like a scene out of American Graffitti - every night was Saturday night on Texas Avenue. I wrote the song shortly after a fire destroyed Robert E. Lee High School in 1987. The school was rebuilt, but Texas Avenue turned into a ghost town when The Mall was built out on Interstate 10.

Oh it seems like only yesterday we were ridin' in my old Chevrolet
Cruisin' up and down the Avenue - laughin' and yellin' at everyone we knew
Our whole gang would pile inside we'd all trade places at every light
With the radio blastin' our favorite songs on a dollars worth of gas we'd cruise all night long
When we go

CHORUS
Cruisin' Texas...
Cruisin' Texas...
Cruisin' Texas Avenue...
Cruisin' Texas Avenue

Remember that night out at Roseland Park, we were so scared there in the dark
As the Cedar Bayou tide went out the mysteries of life we were learning about
And in the halls of Robert E. Lee nobody even dared to mess with you and me
So restless and young and so on fire with our rebel yells and screamin' tires
We'd all go
REPEAT CHORUS

Now the years have come and gone
I've still got you baby, our love is strong
Our kids just laugh cause they don't understand
Cause the whole damn town has moved to Interstate 10

The Avenue looks like a ghost town now
And Robert E. Lee has burned to the ground
But when I hear those old rock 'n roll songs
It makes me want to take you in my arms
And go...
REPEAT CHORUS

© 2003 Gene Kelton Music, BMI

Originally titled "I Want A Woman With Some Meat On Her Bones", written in 1985. I used to see little skinny women in pink tights excersising on TV programs, selling diet plans and aerobic videos. They were too skinny! Do women think men are attracted by women who look like skeletons? Ask any man...

Turn on my TV, what do I see
Little skinny women staring back at me
They're selling diet food, they're selling diet drinks
and diet pills guaranteed to make you shrink
I'll tell you something that they don't know
(It takes a) big-legged mama to satisfy my soul

CHORUS
A big-legged mama satisfies my soul
A big-legged mama satisfies my soul
More to love when we rock 'n roll
Keeps me warm when the nights are cold
Ask any man Hey wha 'chu want? He'll say,
A big-legged mama satisfies my soul

They're jumpin up and down countin' 1-2-3
Agonizing over every calorie
They binge and purge and starve for weeks
All for the glory of those tight blue jeans
You anorexics you better take note
It takes a big-legged mama to satisfy my soul
REPEAT CHORUS

A big legged woman always drives me crazy
Lickin' her fingers and soppin' that gravy
And when she tears into them BBQ ribs
I wanna kiss her on her greazy lips
I'll spread the butter on your sweet jelly roll
'Cause a big-legged mama satisfies my soul
REPEAT CHORUS

©1995 Gene Kelton Music BMI

The newest song on the CD. Written in the spring of 1999, and performed only a few times live. The positive response (especially by women in little black dresses) helped me make the decision to include it on this CD. Inspired by my next ex-wife Joni, (aka The Queen of Resale Shopping), when she put on her little black dress.

She looks so good in her tight blue jeans
The faded ones with the holey knees
Dancin' to the radio
Barefoot cross our kitchen floor
Shes always fine but she looks her best
When she puts on that little black dress

She bought it for a dollar in a resale shop
Ran it through the washer and it shrunk right up
When she tried it on I heard her scream
Oh my God this things obscene
I took a look and she took my breath
There she stood in that little black dress

CHORUS
Just a little black dress kinda plain and simple
You'd never see it on the shopping channel
It ain't fancy, it ain't in style
But when she puts it on it drives me wild
Baby loves me till it hurts
Oh she makes her mojo work
She knows that I can't resist
When she puts on that little black dress

Invitation to a social ball,
It said RSVP y'all
Drinks at seven, dinner at eight
Promptness we appreciate
We were later than the rest
Blame it on that little black dress
REPEAT CHORUS

© 1999 Gene Kelton Music, BMI

© 1993 Gene Kelton Music, BMI

You just have to buy the CD to get the lyrics. Thanks!

She's got tatoos on her titties
and calluses on her hands.
She's a little bit of both and not enough of neither,
But you'd swear she was a man.
She wears an old hard hat, she's loud and proud
She don't run and hide.
She's known across south Texas as The Texas City Dyke.

She's rough as a corncob.
She's tough as a boot.
Meaner than a a pit-bull,
She's a welder for Brown & Root.
Well her real name is Bertha
But we all call her butch,
She's just like one of the guys.
Ah... But don't'cha get on the wrong side of
The Texas City Dyke.

CHORUS:
Don't'cha get on the wrong side of
The Texas City Dyke.
There's two things that she likes doing...
And one of them is fight.
She'll do you in in front of all of your friends
And spit Red Man in your eye.
So don't'cha get on the wrong side of
The Texas City Dyke.

I've seen her bite the caps off of Lonestar Longneck
Beer bottles just for fun.
And arm wrestle them truck drivers...
Take their money one by one.
She claims she can lick her eyebrows
And steal any woman in sight.
She keeps her vibrators on a gun rack.
She's the Texas City Dyke.

Well she's got herself a cute little girlfriend.
Sweetest thing you ever saw.
Brings her down to our old hangout,
She likes to show her off.
And when they'er kissin' in the corner,
You'd better not criticize.
You might get your ass whipped
By The Texas City Dyke.

REPEAT FIRST CHORUS

Well now me and the band, Sid and Jamie,
Fat Bob and his old lady.
Were shootin' pool when all hell broke loose
at an ice-house in Texas City.
That Diesel Dyke whipped Fat Bob's ass
And spit red Man in his eye.
And Fat Bob's old lady up and ran away with
The Texas City Dyke

NEW 3rd CHORUS
Fat Bob got his ass whipped
By The Texas City Dyke.
Two things she likes doing,
And one of them is fight.

We heard her yell and laugh as she rolled past
With Bob's wife by her side,
"Don't cha piss off a bitch in heat
When it's the Texas City Dyke.
No, don' tcha piss off a bitch in heat
When it's the Texas City Dyke".
Naw, Don't 'cha get on the wrong side of
The Texas City Dyke.

Written while performing at a biker bar in Bacliff, Texas in 1988. I was in the middle of a grinding, gut-bucket blues song by Muddy Waters called "Mean Mistreater". A biker chick jumped up on a table, started doin' the bump and grind, and took her t-shirt off, swinging it around her head. It was like a scene out of" Roadhouse". The crowd went wild.

Then this other biker stood up and yelled "That ain't nothin' - my baby don't wear no panties - ask me how I know!" At this point his woman proceeded to prove to the audience that he was right. I began singing the words to his announcement, ad-libbing to the rhythm I was already playing.

The immediate reaction to those lyrics was overwhelming to the point that I decided to write a real song. The rest is history. The part of the song where the audience yells back "how do you know?" was added by the general public as the song evolved through the years.

CHORUS
My baby don't wear no panties - ask me how I know
(How do you know... how do you know...)
I said my baby don't wear no panties - ask me how I know
(How do you know... how do you know...)
She said she likes that natural feelin' and she knows it turns me on

I took her for a ride in my drop top Cadillac
She put one foot in the front seat, one foot in the back
The full moon was risin as she began to squeal
Keep your eyes on the road, your hands on the wheel, (cause)
REPEAT CHORUS

I came home late from work, tired and plum give out
Baby wanted to party... she was dancing all about
She stood up on the bed, started doing the bump and grind
She raised up her dress - you know it works every time
REPEAT CHORUS

I took her to party, the band began to play
The music and the whiskey seemed to carry her away
She was dancing on the tables and putting on a show
The crowd was goin' crazy, now everybody knows
REPEAT CHORUS

Took her riding on my Harley, she wore a leather mini skirt
She dug her nails into my shoulders when we laid into the curves
I went through all the gears, maxed out the RPM
She was screaming faster faster, with both legs in the wind, cause
REPEAT CHORUS

My baby wears garter belts, my baby wears spike high heels
My baby wears fishnet stockings, she's always dressed to kill
My baby likes to tease me, when shes dancin' on the floor
She sneaks me a peek, says do you want to see some more, cause
REPEAT CHORUS

© 1990 Gene Kelton Music, BMI