Do What Now?

One of the many Hats of HoodyHoo involves being live on the radio on a country music station.  Now, I am what you might call “not a fan” of most of that genre, but hey, if Kenny Chesney’s buying my hot dinners, so be it.  The point is, I have to listen for my time cues, which ends up as me listening to WAY more of this shit-kicking-crap musical style than anyone-should-have-to I would prefer.

I amuse myself by mocking the lyrics — for instance, there is a song that goes, “If Heaven was a pie, it would be cherry.”  So I have expanded this theme to include “If Heaven was a chair, it would be La-Z-Boy, “If Heaven was a pizza, it would be deep-dish,” and of course, “If Heaven was a snack, it would be Munchos.”  Another song, “We’re a Team, Me n’ God,” makes me wonder what sport we play (it’s tennis, right?  It’s pretty much gotta be tennis…) and what our record is.  This is what happens when you make a philosophy minor listen to country.

But there’s a song now that’s pissing me right the fuck off.  It’s called “If I Die Young,” and I. Have. ISSUES.  Let’s break down the lyrics. shall we? (my comments will be in bold):

If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses (gosh, emo much?)
Sink me in the river (isn’t that illegal?) at dawn (oh, okay, so no one will see)
Send me away with the words of a love song

(So far, it’s insipid and annoying, but hey, teen angst DOES sell… Let’s move on.)

Lord make me a rainbow, I’ll shine down on my mother
She’ll know I’m safe with you when she stands under my colors (whoever said high school yearbook poetry wouldn’t make ya famous?)
Oh, and life ain’t always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain’t even gray, but she buries her baby (still emo)

The sharp knife of a short life (are you in your room cutting yourself again?)
Well, I’ve had just enough time (wait, what?)

<creepy chorus again>

And I’ll be wearing white when I come into your kingdom (ah, the obligatory reference to let us know you’re a good little church-goer)
I’m as green as the ring on my little cold finger (and here’s the virginity thing)
I’ve never known the loving of a man (see?)
But it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand (and now you’re dead, probably shoulda nailed him)

There’s a boy here in town, says he’ll love me forever (he’s lying)
Who would have thought forever could be severed (nice rhyme) by
The sharp knife of a short life (here we go with this again… and besides, it was either that or a cheerleader who puts out)
Well, I’ve had just enough time

(And here, ladies and gentlemen… HERE is where it gets TRULY fucked up)

So put on your best, boys, and I’ll wear my pearls
What I never did is done (oooh, you’re deep)

A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I’ll sell ’em for a dollar
They’re worth so much more after I’m a goner (DUDE! Not cool!)
And maybe then you’ll hear the words I been singing (really, you need to stop this…)
Funny, when you’re dead how people start listening (DUDE!  SERIOUSLY???)

There’s some more of the creepy-ass chorus and such, but I think you get the point:  Somebody needs to call a fucking hotline.  This is basically a musical suicide note and it plays all the fucking time. Now, your 2 Live Crew gets blamed for encouraging violence and druggery, your heavy metal dudes get SUED every time some kid offs himself because of some message you have to play the record BACKWARDS to hear… but these yay-hoos can flat-out tell sad, angst-y teens that people will only listen to them AFTER THEY’RE DEAD and this is perfectly FINE?  No wonder rock stars do some many drugs… it’s the only way to make this shit make sense.

End of rant.