Bad Water

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Bad water in the well

Not much wood out the back

And I’m rattle-tooth cold

In this stack stone shack

No jingle in my pocket

My shoes are wearin’ thin

My next meal is coming

but I don’t know when

If I just had me a woman

keep me warm at night

Some sweet little mama

would make everything all right

I could do the cooking

I could even clean

And I swear, I swear, I swear

I’d never treat her mean

Well there’s only one

depression in my bed

It’s a big one

Lordy, It fills up my head

Maybe when winter’s over

and the work returns

I’ll be like a millionaire

with money to burn!

But, there’s bad water…

At one point, while we were living in our camping car and touring around France, we were hanging around La Rochelle. In particular Garibaldi Pub, owned by our special friend, Illaria whom we love dearly. She also had a property out in the Marais in a little village named La Taillée. It was a ruin but had ‘promise’ of being fixed up. (this photo is actually after it was fixed up… a lot) She offered it to us to stay there for free in exchange for putting in some work on it. It really was a ruin and a bit more than we could handle, but we gave it a try. We found the well out back was no good tainted with black water. The only wood available were old palettes which were no good for the furnace. We still lived in our camping car. This song was written for this place.

My goodness 3 versions!

Acoustic w/ Donna