(Verse 1) Dim bulbs hummin’ in this old beer joint dive, Steel guitar weepin’, keepin’ heartache alive. I’m nursin’ a longneck, chasin’ shadows from last year, She packed up in December, left nothin’ but tears. Rusty pickups parked deep in the gravel and dust, Jukebox spinnin’ old Jones, turnin’ memories to rust. But there’s this guy down the bar, glarin’ hard my way, Mumblin’ somethin’ ’bout peckerwoods night and day. (Chorus) I don’t know the peckerwood, don’t know what he means, Is he talkin’ ‘bout me or some busted-up dreams? With my worn-out Levi’s and my outlaw heart shine, Two-steppin’ slow on this sawdust and pine. Pour another round, bartender, keep ‘em comin’ strong, I don’t know the peckerwood, but I’ll drink along. Twangy guitars with a gritty feedback bite, In this ‘90s haze, dancin’ into the night. (Verse 2) He tips his Stetson low, got a sneer sharp as glass, Says “Son, you’re just peckin’ at ghosts from the past.” I shrug it off easy, but it cuts all the same, Bartop mirror shows a man without a name. Fiddle saws wild with an indie rock edge, Drums poundin’ heavy on this worn wooden ledge. Couples slow-draggin’, forgettin’ their woes, But his words keep ringin’ like a cold north wind blows. (Chorus) I don’t know the peckerwood, don’t know what he means, Is he talkin’ ‘bout me or some busted-up dreams? With my worn-out Levi’s and my outlaw heart shine, Two-steppin’ slow on this sawdust and pine. Pour another round, bartender, keep ‘em comin’ strong, I don’t know the peckerwood, but I’ll drink along. Twangy guitars with a gritty feedback bite, In this ‘90s haze, dancin’ into the night. (Bridge) Maybe he’s right, I’m just woodpeckin’ blind, At the trunk of old heartaches I can’t leave behind. Overdriven steel howlin’ like Wilco gone South, Indie rock soul in a honky tonk mouth. But damn what he thinks—raise your bottle up high… (Final Chorus) I don’t know the peckerwood, and I don’t aim to learn, Just let this bar burn slow till the tables all turn. With my worn-out Levi’s and my rebel heart free, Lost in the shuffle of who I used to be. Pour one last round, bartender, ‘fore the sunrise calls, I don’t know the peckerwood, but these wooden walls Hold twangy guitars and that fuzzy feedback roar, In this ’90s honky tonk, forevermore. (Outro fade: Raw steel guitar solo meltin’ into lo-fi indie distortion)

Peckerwood