Road Trip: Sunday Drive Back To Georgia

In our previous Road Trip post, I had traveled with my parents to visit my sister’s family in South Carolina. These trips most often happened over a weekend. Of course, the weekend always ended, and we would return home.

On Sundays during a trip to visit family in South Carolina, we would rise early that morning and go to church. Over the years, we came to know many of the people at the church a few hundred miles away from our home by visiting with them. We came to understand how important these folks were to my sister’s family.

After church, we returned to the farm for lunch knowing in the back of our minds the visit was almost over. In the early years, I know we sometimes stopped to pick up lunch from Kentucky Fried Chicken. I recall this because my nephew once referred to it as Turkey Fried Chicken, a name I think of every time I see anything KFC related. Other times, we ate leftovers or my mom and sister whipped up something.

After eating, we began loading the car for our return trip to Georgia. Soon enough, the car was loaded, and we were pulling out the driveway on a four-hour trip home. We pulled away slowly from my sister’s house. Almost every time, my mom and sister shed a few tears. My sister’s family stood in their yard waving until we were out of sight. In our car we waved back until we passed the tree line where we could no longer see my sister’s family’s house.

So, it began. We retraced our route home through small towns and communities through the mountains of South Carolina and Georgia. We knew we were about halfway home when we crossed the state line into Georgia crossing over the Chattooga River, where the movie, “Deliverance”, was filmed.

A few minutes later, we usually made a stop at a convenience store. This store was locally owned. We stopped here to visit the restroom and pick up a snack. One time we pulled into the parking lot to the right side of the store. My dad saw a man walk out a door near the back of the building. There was something about the look on that man’s face or some other thing my dad noticed that made him believe that this store was selling illegal booze out the back door. I am sure he still believes this to this day. Maybe he was right. It was Sunday. It was a small town. Most small towns did not sell alcohol on Sundays, if at all. Anyway, this incident did not deter us from stopping there throughout the years. Once inside the store, Dad and I would usually pick up a candy bar and soft drink. My mom almost always chose a packaged fried pie. We made a stop here then continued our journey.

A few miles away we began our drive up a mountain. Near the very top was a roadside park area. We usually stopped here to sit at a concrete table to eat our snack. It was a nice change of pace from being stuck in the car for hours. Soon enough, we were back on the road to finish the last stretch of the ride home.

On all these trips I was always fascinated at the various road and street signs and billboards along the way. This last stretch home went by an area in a county east of our home county that pointed to a community called Ivy Log. When I was younger I actually thought John Denver’s “Take Me Home Country Roads” featured a line which said “to the place, Ivy Log, West Virginia.” Of course, the line is "to the place, I belong, West Virginia" but I just heard otherwise back then. I was sure he was singing about this “Ivy Log”. If he was singing about Ivy Log though I just never could figure the West Virginia part.

In the fall, we might pick up a football game on the static-filled AM radio. Sometimes, we stumbled across a station that provided a radio serial or show of some similar type. Mostly though, the AM radio signals bounced around providing nothing more than strange background noise.

We traveled on toward home. If Big Mama was with us, we drove her to her house. We helped her with her suitcase. We then hugged her looking forward to the next trip she would take with us.

Shortly thereafter, we pulled into our driveway about four hours or so after we left family in South Carolina. While we enjoyed being with family and being away for a short time, it was always good to be home. It never took very long to slip into the familiar and comfortable place that home provided. We unloaded the car. Usually Mom picked up the phone to call my sister to let her know we had safely made it home.

It was good to be home. Another road trip though would happen soon enough.

Playlist for "Road Trip: Sunday Drive Back To Georgia"

The Marcus King Band "Goodbye Carolina"
The B-52s "Roam"
Ricky Nelson "Travelin' Man"
The Allman Brothers Band "Ramblin' Man"
Sister Rosetta Tharpe "This Train"
Shaver "I've Been To Georgia On A Fast Train"
Levon Helm "Watermelon Time in Georgia"
Eric Weissburg and Deliverance "Dueling Banjos"
Doyle Lawson & Quicksilver "Country Store"
Ella Fitzgerald & The Duke Ellington Orchestra "Sweet Georgia Brown"
John Denver "Take Me Home Country Roads"
Flatt & Scruggs "Blue Ridge Mountain Home" 

Road Trip: A Mall, A Wal-Mart Before Wal-Mart and Burgers, Fries and a Shake

Another road trip I recall from my younger days happened a time or two a year. Much like some of the other trips remembered so far, me, my mom and dad and an aunt and uncle hopped into a car on a Sunday afternoon but these times we drove northwest to Cleveland, TN. Cleveland is located about half an hour east of Chattanooga. From our Georgia home, it was probably about 50 miles to Cleveland. The trip though took over an hour usually because of a stretch of Highway 64 we always called the River Road. Some call it the Old Copper Road since it was the road that led  into the copper mining town of Copperhill. We called it the River Road because it rested down deep in a valley beside the Ocoee River. That stretch of road is curvy and dangerous. Trucks have to drive it slower and those who are not native to the area drive it slower. Most natives respect it enough to tap their brakes once or twice during the ride. All this causes the drive time to be extended.

A few times each year, we went to Cleveland. Usually when we went there we went to the Village Mall. For those of us from a sleepy Georgia mountain town, this mall seemed like the largest place in the whole world. Usually, we visited Kresge's. Kresge's seemed to be a good spot for our group of five to begin. They had enough variety that each of us could spend some time there before venturing off  into other directions. While the Village Mall was like a city unto itself, my memory doesn't stretch far back enough to recall a lot of details about the other places there. I do recall the mall had a downstairs floor that housed a bowling alley. There were times we bowled a few games while there.

Another place we visited in Cleveland was near this mall. If I recall it was across the street a bit. It was a store called Gibson's. From what I recall Gibson's could be likened to today's Wal-Mart. They seemed to have everything from groceries to clothing under one roof. There are two vivid memories I have about two separate road trips to this Gibson's in Cleveland.

The first was in cold weather. I recall walking down a wide open aisle toward the food section of the store. As I looked in that direction, I saw a man in heavy clothing. What startled me though was he had a weird cap on his head. Now today I would recognize that cap as some sort of pilot's cap. Back then though in my tender years I don't ever recall seeing anyone wear such a cap. When I saw this man stride down the aisle in the clothing and the cap, which I though was some sort of mask, I just knew the store was being robbed. I thought how we were a group of plain ordinary country people who had gone to the big city to do a bit of browsing and shopping only to walk into a robbery in progress. I relayed my concerns to someone in our group who quickly set me straight how the man in the weird clothes was not in disguise but was just probably looking for some decent looking porkchops at a fair price. Their confidence made me realize this man was in no way there to terrorize the employees and customers of the friendly neighborhood Gibson's.

The second incident at Gibson's involved my aunt and uncle's car. I don't recall the model year of the car but looking at pictures on-line I tend to believe it was either a 1966 or 1967 model Plymouth Satellite. It was yellow. We referred to it as "the Lemon," although it always seemed to be a very dependable car for my aunt and uncle. I remember the console between the front bucket seats. My aunt and uncle were major country music fans, so this car had a modern eight-track tape player which complimented the AM radio quite well. My uncle dressed his car out with shiny chrome wheels. He washed it often making it shine and sparkle every time you saw it.

Outside of my brother's deep blue Plymouth Barracuda, "the Lemon" was my favorite car. I have no idea how it ran, no clue about gas mileage or oil usage. All I knew was it looked cool.

One summer afternoon, me, Mom, Dad and my aunt and uncle got into "the Lemon" then drove to Cleveland. One of our stops was at Gibson's. I don't recall much about the trip until we were ready to leave Gibson's. My uncle was an auto mechanic. He more than knew his way around a car. We walked out of the store. I spotted "the Lemon" off by itself in the parking lot. I took off in a mad dash to be the first to the car not really realizing the adults were not about to take off in an effort to get to the car before me. I remember getting there and the windows to the car were down. It was summer so it was hot. It was also the 1970s when you could trust leaving your windows rolled down. I don't recall thinking how I should not open the door to the car so I did anyway. When I opened the door, my uncle's homemade alarm was triggered and the car's horn blared throughout the parking lot. I do remember turning around to see my uncle running frantically toward his car in an effort to quiet the alarm. At that point I remembered how I had done this before on other trips and knew better. Between these two trips to Gibson's, I am not sure we were welcomed back there.

Usually on our way home from Cleveland, we stopped at a burger joint just outside town called the Shake Shack. This place is still in operation now although I am not sure if it is still under the same ownership. Each time I drive by there now I recall times when we ate there. Although they do have indoor dining, we usually ate in our car. You could walk up to a window and place your order or someone would come to your car to take your order. This was during a time when eating out was more a novelty than a way of life, so each stop for burgers, fries and milkshakes was special.

After this, we pulled away from Cleveland headed down by the Ocoee River in the days before it became a must-visit for whitewater fans. We drove the snaky curves in the shadows of the mountains. My uncle, who often was on call for wrecker trips on this stretch of road, shared stories from time-to-time of those who did not respect the twists and turns of the River Road. Soon enough if we were in "the Lemon", my uncle pulled into our upper driveway. We exited the car. Usually, I watched in amazement, how my uncle did not use a spot by a walnut tree to turn his car around instead choosing to back his car up the driveway into a the drive's curve then out into the highway before pulling away. I watched him do that dozens of times over the years and it always amazed me. As they drove away, I usually stood there waving at them wondering when the next road trip would happen and where it would take me.

Road Trip: A Mall, A Wal-Mart Before Wal-Mart and Burgers, Fries and a Shake playlist:

Raspberries "Drivin' Around"

Joe Ely "If You Were A Bluebird"

Waylon Jennings and Jessi Colter "Storms Never Last"

Johnny Rodriquez "We Believe In Happy Endings"

The Wreckers "Tennessee"

Daryl Hall and John Oates "Abandoned Luncheonette"

Starbuck "Moonlight Feels Right"

The Doobie Brothers "Rockin' Down The Highway"

Steve Miller Band "Take The Money And Run"

Ronny and the Daytonas "Bucket T"

Hoyt Axton "Boney Fingers"

Margo Price "Tennessee Song"

13 Observations After 50 Days of Quarantine

On the day this post will appear, I will have been part of the stay-at-home quarantine surrounding the COVID-19 virus right at fifty days. It started for me on Friday, March 13. From December until March, we had a major renovation at our house. This renovation closed off part of our house during this time. To say that we looked forward to the day when the work was over so we could enjoy our house would be an understatement. By Friday, March 13, much of the work was over with only a few small items to be completed. I planned to take that day off from my job so I could get a few things at the house in order.

At work though, we were in a rush to prepare things so that we could work from home in case the virus spread enough to force closing our physical office. By that Friday, I also learned Hannah’s school, fearing the virus, had already determined to close their campus then provide lessons online beginning the following week. So, on the day I intended to do a few things around the house, I found myself setting up my portable work office then prepped a portable school space for Hannah. While my work colleagues had to report to our physical office the following week, I began working from home that weekend.

After picking Hannah up from school on the afternoon of the 13th, I can probably count on both hands the number of times I have left our house. Jennifer’s job requires her to continue to report to her office so, most days, it’s been me and Hannah holding down the fort. I am grateful Hannah’s cousin has been able to help Hannah with some of her school days so far.

Honestly, I am a homebody. I have never had any major desire to do any serious traveling. Knowing I was about to be at home for an undetermined time I just knew things would be all right. Still, a month and a half into this situation, with no exact end in sight, I would like to share a few things I have observed during this unusual time.

 

~Shoes may be necessary for some walks of life but, y’all, I haven’t missed them at all.

~By the time restrictions are eased enough that I return to my work office, I hope my already-dated wardrobe has had a chance to come back in style.

~I never considered a day would come in the good ol’ U.S.A when toilet paper would be so valued.

~Fighting through morning and afternoon traffic is stressful. I don’t miss it but stress is still there. It has been replaced by trying to help Hannah complete a homework assignment for her school in between video conference meetings for work.

~I worked in local television years ago. I know full well how on-camera personalities often wore a nice blouse or suit and tie but underneath the newsdesk wore a ragged pair of tennis shorts. Knowing that during these video conferences I try not to think what others may be wearing below their neckline and hope they don’t consider what I may be wearing. In this situation, I am proud to say I don’t own a pair of tennis shorts.

~I appreciate freedom more. In normal circumstances staying at home all day but not going anywhere would not bother me. Now, staying at home all the time but knowing I should not go anywhere brings home the importance of freedom in everyday life. I hope others feel this way, too, but I have grown very concerned how some seem willing to trade freedom for perceived security.

~This is the best gas mileage I’ve ever gotten from a tank of gas in my whole life. Of course, my old, weak car battery gave out, so any savings from buying gas was gobbled up when I had to purchase a new battery.

~Hannah can be an eating machine. I never thought someone so petite could eat more than me during a day.

~That said, I am convinced more than ever after participating in video conference after video conference how the camera adds at least fifty pounds to my video image. Now, excuse me, the microwave just let me know my pimento cheese and buffalo chicken sandwich is ready.

~I miss seeing family. This includes my wife’s family who lives very close to us. I miss my blood family, too, as they are at a true distance. Just knowing traveling to see them is frowned on makes that absence more pronounced and makes the distance seem greater than what it is.

~I never thought I would ever give such consideration to washing my hands. We have been told to count to twenty with hands under warm, soapy water. Early on, I kept singing that line from the Beatles song "Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey," you know "Hands across the water, heads across the sky..." but I was having to sing it a dozen times just to last twenty seconds. I then moved on to the “Happy Birthday Song” but I grew tired of that since no cake was involved. “Jesus Loves Me” also made the song list. Meantime, I mostly just count while I wash my hands. I have counted to twenty. I have counted backward from twenty. I have counted to five four times. I have counted to ten then counted backward from ten. The last time I washed my hands I counted to forty by twos.

~Many of the things I planned to work on around the house on March 13 remain to be done. It is amazing how being in the same place all the time can sometimes freeze things in place.

~I miss the sweet chaos of how life was before all this came about. I’m glad though I am living through this new chaos with my wife and daughter.

Of course, there are other things I have observed during these past fifty days, much of it very disheartening. This situation is very serious and even though this post has hopefully been lighthearted not a day goes by where I am, in some way, sobered by the harsh realities of this devil sickness. I am dismayed how many now find themselves struggling financially because of sudden job loss. I don’t even want to mention how much of the media and many politicians have behaved and performed through all this. Much of all that has happened can deflate one’s spirit if it is dwelt on too long.

I have also observed how courageous many people are, especially those who brave the front lines in various medical fields. I have seen the ingenuity of good people who have made masks for others so that as many people as possible can protect themselves from this virus. I have seen teachers transform their classrooms into a form of virtual reality then trust parents with an underappreciated task. I have seen others do their jobs knowing they are in danger while also understanding the service they are providing. I have talked to my neighbors more, at a six-foot distance, of course. I have taken a short break from my workday, stepped on our deck, soaked in some sunshine and listened to the birds sing a springtime song.

As I write this, some of the things that have been closed are slowly returning to everyday life. It is still too early though to know when we can truly claim a win over this virus. That just means, tomorrow, God willing, we get up, we take a deep breath then we go about this new routine again as we pray for better days.

Stay well, I want us all to enjoy those better days.

Sugar, Spice, Vinegar, Spit

She is a little girl. You know, sugar, spice, everything nice. There is that but there also is vinegar, spit and full of grit. I am okay with that. I just thought some things might be different. I had watched it unfold before in varying scenarios and but in those early days I imagined it all in a certain way. I have found it to be different than I led myself to believe, at least up until now.

You see I am the last one to leave. I am the one who drives the trail car. I am the last one in from the outside as I feel I need to make sure all who are with me are in safely where they need to be. I am the finisher of the last detail. I am the closer. I am the one who locks the doors at night then turns out the lights. Then I lay in bed until I hear everyone sleeping before I close my own eyes.

And, so, I expected some tiny, trivial thing to be added to that list of things I feel compelled to make my own. I thought for sure I would be the one who cleaned up on the leftover detail. Yes, leftovers, as in from lunch or supper. I had pretty much full reign on this for years. Jennifer does leftovers but won’t tolerate them as long as I do. Now though, I am in a struggle somedays with the eight-year-old over what is left in the refrigerator.

Often when we get home from work and school I hear that mournful lament of how the smallest one of us is hungry. Most of the time I think there is some truth in that. Sometimes I think she may be bored and replacing something to do with eating. I always though try to take her claim seriously.

When this happens, I can list a series of food items good for snacking prior to our supper an hour or so ahead of us. Grapes, tomatoes, apples, crackers, chips. Often though, she ups the ante aiming for more serious food possibilities such as oatmeal, cereal, or, what I wish to keep secret, leftovers. I know I am in trouble when she opens the refrigerator door. Although she isn’t tall enough to see every shelf, she has laser sharp eyes. I see her line of vision hone in on last night’s meatloaf or soup. Maybe she spots leftovers from the last time we ate at a restaurant. When I see her focusing on these things, I see my next day’s lunch disappearing before my very eyes.

Recently, she and I made a trip to the park. She climbed all over the cube of monkey bars. She dangled upside down. She swung to and fro. She flipped through and jumped to the ground. She took a few rides on some swings and rode down a couple of slides. She took a picture of her own shadow and proclaimed it the coolest thing she had ever seen. Meantime, it was lunchtime and I asked if she was ready to leave. I promised her lunch out somewhere when we left on our excursion.

We decided on a place that serves chicken. She knew exactly what she wanted, two small chicken sliders, French fries and a drink. I placed her order and mine. When we brought it all to our table, I began to prepare us for our meal. Before I could even get a small dish of coleslaw off my tray, she had taken it and opened it for herself, tasting it as if she had ordered it for herself. By the end of the meal, I probably had three bites of the slaw. She consumed the rest.

As we ate, she deconstructed her chicken sandwich eating it a layer at a time, bread, chicken, bread. In between, she would eat my slaw. She started on the second sandwich. Suddenly, she saw a piece of Texas toast that had come with my order. I had probably taken two bites of it at this time. She picked it up from my plate then ate everything around the crust, which she left for me. Soon enough we finished. She had about half a sandwich left, so we packed it in a box then we left for our next stop.

As part of a recent homework assignment, Hannah had to convince me and her mom of something with her writing. She chose to convince us she had behaved well enough recently to earn a trip to have ice cream. She made her case and we agreed to her terms. On this day, I was following through on her skills of persuasion and our promise to her.

We went to a local ice cream shop. She had already nixed the idea of soft-serve ice cream or ice cream in a cup. And, y'all, don't even get her started on fro-yo. She wanted ice cream and a cone. She peered into the freezers looking over the buffet of choices. She then saw the one she wanted. She did not hesitate or waver from her choice. She even insisted on two scoops. At this point, I just knew she could not eat two scoops of ice cream and a cone. After her monster lunch, I suspected I would be batting clean-up on the ice cream cone.

And, so, it began. Up front, I told the talkative little girl she needed to be steady about eating the ice cream as it would melt much faster than she thought it would. She kept talking but she also kept eating. I watched with interest as it seemed the scoops just didn’t seem to get much smaller. I wondered how the ice cream, a multi-colored swirl of blue, pink, yellow and green, tasted, confident I would soon enough discover my answer. Despite my skepticism, I never once told her she would not be able to finish the cone.

We spent the next few minutes talking about her world, her friends, what she wanted for her birthday. It wasn’t long though before I noticed the two scoops had nearly disappeared. After that huge lunch, which included a big part of my own lunch, this tiny dynamo had consumed two large scoops of ice cream.

She slowed down. The cone and a small bit of ice cream that had slid into the cone remained. I just knew I was about to get my call. And, then, there it was. She asked if I could eat some of the cone. I obliged. I took the cone thinking she might be full. She halted that line of thinking when she noted how, at her age, she has missing teeth, and some things, such as a sorta-crunchy, sorta-soggy ice cream cone are difficult for her to eat. I took the cone and took two small bites before she commandeered the cone and finished it off. Our little girl wears determination well.

And, so, this is how it is. My dreams of leftover macaroni and cheese, half-eaten cheeseburgers and drippy ice cream cones remain figments of my imagination. I am probably the better for it. My diet likely doesn’t need those things.

Sugar and spice and everything nice. Yeah, right. Vinegar and spit and full of grit. And, how.

30513 Memories: Home For The Holidays

Ready or not the holidays are here. As this post appears, we are wedged in between Thanksgiving and Christmas. At my age, I find myself trying to find ways to make a seven-year-old enjoy these holidays in unique and memorable ways. It often makes me revisit my own memories of this time of year when I was nearer the age she is now. Doing that takes me back to that time and that zip code, 30513.

I recall looking through the Sears catalog in the time before Christmas. While I have often written things down I am not too sure I ever transcribed a list of Christmas gifts I wanted. Still, there were trips to the Western Auto and the dime store where I eyed many things I desired. I also remember visits to see Santa Claus so I could tell him what I wanted. I also recall the tortuous feeling inside when he would ask me if I had been good the whole year realizing there were times when I struggled and failed.

I remember Dad getting out his aluminum extension ladder to hang the Christmas lights on the house. These lights were an older set of varied colors with huge bulbs. Mom usually put up the Christmas tree, off in the corner of the living room, although it also set at times in front of the picture window. My memory also stretches back to a time when we had a silver Christmas tree with a color wheel. I was fascinated by the color wheel more than the odd color of the tree. I wonder if Mom and Dad still have that tree somewhere.

Honestly, I don’t always recall the gifts. I mean I know there was an electronic football game, a Rock ‘Em Sock ‘Em boxing game and Hot Wheels. I was also just geeky enough to recall a book about our country’s presidents and a collection of fifty pennies, each one made in a different state. Then there were the clothes: sweaters and pants and shirts. I was less than thrilled with these gifts as this meant I would have to set aside time to try each item on only to face a close examination from Mom on whether or not the item needed to be a different size or altered before wearing. I guess I was short on patience since I had a book to read and had just gotten to the section on Chester A. Arthur.

Spoiled? Yes. Mom and Dad would mention from time to time how their holidays were when they were young. They might get a pencil or an orange. They didn’t drum these facts into my head to make me feel bad but I heard it enough to come to appreciate now how fortunate I had it when I came along. I also know it wasn’t just luck that enabled my parents to provide what they did to us. They both worked hard at jobs and at home to provide and save and spend wisely the money they earned. Such things were not then and are not now pure happenstance.

Looking back, what I remember most from the holidays when I was young were the meals. Insert your own fat, middle-aged guy joke here. It’s the truth though. Yes, there was sweet potato casserole, masked potatoes and gravy, cranberries, green beans, creamed corn, cornbread, slaw, turkey and dressing, glazed ham and pumpkin pie, lime salad, strawberry delight, peanut butter cake and black walnut cake with sugary coconut icing. Those things were there but so was family and sometimes friends. When we gathered together to pray then to eat, that’s really what made the holidays mean something.

Even with a pretty big table and space at a nearby bar just inside the dining room, there was not enough space for everyone in one room. This meant that being one of the younger members of the family, I could eat in the living room. Mom and Dad’s four grandchildren at that time would all get their plates and we would all pile on to the couch or lounge chair or floor and eat away. A football game emanating from the television set would provide the entertainment. Later, gifts would be opened but the real gift had already been opened. We were all together.

I have lived away from there well over half my life now. Even though I can’t really recall the gifts I received from specific holidays, it is those memories from those holidays that form how I expect the holidays to be in some way even to this day. There have been times when I had to work on those holidays and couldn’t be there making me miss what was happening more than I really knew at the time. There were times when I had to make a trip to get there knowing it would be worth the effort. During some of these trips I often wondered about some of my friends from my early years. By then I knew how some of us scattered away from this place and others remained there. I wondered if they were returning to their old home places as well and if they were did they have similar memories hanging around.

For now, Hannah will have her long list of things she will want Santa to bring. She’ll have to sit in Santa’s lap and answer that question he has asked so many kids before about their behavior over the past twelve months. At some point, we will make that drive to where I grew up. We will gather as family as we have for as long as my memory can recall. There will be new toys. There will be food. There may be tears. There will be laughter. There will be love. There will be family. Of all the things I will soak up and drink in at that time it will be the feeling I get knowing this group of people gathered together belongs together. I can only hope that will be a gift Jennifer and I can provide to Hannah to remember when one day she looks back at the holidays she knew as a child.

May God keep you and your loved ones safe and happy through this holiday season.

Bonus holiday playlist:
Bob Dylan "Must Be Santa" 
Kenny Loggins "Celebrate Me Home" 
Patty Loveless "Santa Train" 
The Eagles "Please Come Home For Christmas"
Roger Miller "Old Toy Trains" 
Bill Monroe "Christmas Time's A-Comin'" 
The Band "Christmas Must Be Tonight"
The Soul Saints Orchestra "Santa's Got A Bag of Soul" 
Robert Earl Keen "Merry Christmas From The Family" 
Dan Fogelberg "Same Auld Lang Syne" 

Boneless Wings

With apologies to chicken wings, Mr. Mister, and probably 1985 when this song was originally released.

Baby, don't understand

How all this food confusion got out of hand

Surely we can find common ground
Give me a minute to expound
We need this so, ohhh

 
Take these boneless wings

Enjoy eating again
Zaxbys or Chic-Fil-A
When we taste that zesty zing

We’ll find honey glazed and ranch can be our friends
Take these boneless wings

 
Baby, I think tonight

Only deep fried poultry can make things right
Baby, I need to know
Which one do you like best

Blue cheese or buffalo
We need them so

 
So take these boneless wings

Enjoy eating again
Zaxbys or Chic-Fil-A
When we taste that zesty zing

We’ll find sriracha and jerk can be our friends
Take these boneless wings

Take these boneless wings

Find a dip and let it be
Popeye’s or Bojangles

On our plates we won’t leave a thing
We might even eat the leftover celery, yeah, yeah

 
Cel-e-ry

Cel-e-ry

 
Baby, I need to know
Which one do you like best

Blue cheese or buffalo
We need them so

Take these boneless wings

Enjoy eating again
Zaxbys or K-F-C
When we taste that zesty zing

We’ll find honey glazed and ranch can be our friends

 
Take these boneless wings

Find a dip and let it be
Popeye’s or Bojangles

On our plates we won’t leave a thing
We might even eat the leftover celery, yeah, yeah
Ooh 

Mr. Mister's Broken Wings on YouTube