||Blues - Country
Mote made of sand
By Alan J. Blyth 06/05/2005
My heat?s on in the early morn then my A/C after noon.
That?s what kind of place this is as I found out real soon.
Hotter than a blazing fire when the sun beats on this place
But as the shadows grow so long it cools like outer space
But it?s my castle in the lea of a wind worn desert butte
Where my mote is made of sand and my cactus guards are mute.
Don?t need to lock my doors at all ?cause no one comes this way.
It?s to damn cold most every night and hot as hell by day.
Not the kind of spot you?d tarry just to raise some hell.
Not the kind of place I think where nasty people dwell.
Creature comforts are too few; the land just won?t forgive.
This creates a bond like steel ?tween all down here to live.
Give me a home where tarantulas? roam;
And the scorpion is known to play
I?ll fit right in, hear the rattlers? din
So I?ll grab up my gip box and play
I?m not sure I can explain in terms you?d understand
Why on earth I chose this place to buy a piece of land
But I?d like you all to know that I am happy here
So if I leave it?s not for long, it?s just to get some beer.