They are funny, they are deep, they penetrate and to the right music, they can get your blood pumping and your ass off the couch!


I don't have a story, why does everyone need a damn story?


I'm Your Luvva Bubba

Written By: Edward A. Fowler

We met one warm Southern night,
It was a cool Georgia affair,
You captivated me,
With your long brunette hair.

Don’t you remember me,
Why can’t you see,
I was only guy
Who was wild and free.

We sat and talked and drank,
I told myself “Now don’t get tanked.
“This is a cute Southern Belle,
Oh you never can tell!”

Hey there Baby won’t you look at me,
There’s a lot more here,
Than what you can see.

I may look real tough,
Sometimes act real gruff,
But when you get to know me,
You’ll find you can’t get enough.

I’ll be your luvva bubba,
We’ll do nothin’ but snugga,
I’ll kiss your lava luvva,
And make you heart thump and thudda,

Hey there Baby won’t you look at me,
There’s a lot more here,
Than what you can see.

Why don’t you leave here with me,
Or you can take me home,
I’ll be your total gentleman,
My eyes will never roam.

Will you take a chance,
With this burly guy,
You can call me Bubba,
Even make me you Hubba.

All night long,
We’ll do nothin’ but hugga,
Down on the farm,
I’ll roll ya and love ya.

Bus Ride

Written By: Edward A Fowler

I get on a bus, full of angry people.
Got a' sit in the back,
Beside the guy with the needle.

Guy looks at me,
He's filling his vein,
Got them eyes of death,
All full a' pain.

Aint no smiles,
Aint no one polite.
Just another punk,
Lookin' to fight.

Get off the bus at a outdoor platform,
Light up a smoke, people start choking.
Someone calls the cops, the smokin' police,
They say "You can't smoke here - your disturbing the peace".

Got a citation,
Leavin' the bus station.
Nothin' going my way,
'cept more aggrevation.

Got get some work,
I need a little cash,
Gotta pay the rent,
To keep from gettin' trashed.

My kids in school,
Gotta keep 'em there,
Don't want 'em growin' up,
Being on wellfare.

Went down for a job but they didn't like my face.
Sent down the road to another wrong place.
Won't take me to heaven and won't take me to hell.
Got me swimming 'round in the bottom of a well.

Catfish Hots

Written By: Edward A Fowler

I like your fried chicken,
And your catfish too,
Gimme another spot,
Of that Brunswick Stew.

I like your grits,
And I like your eggs,
I like your hog jowles,
On a big round plate.

I like your biscuits,
And I like your pancakes,
I like your butter,
Put some more on my plate.

I like your squash,
And asparagas too,
Here's my plate,
Give me a few more (whew).

I like your dawg,
But I hate your cat,
Gimme a hush puppy,
Nice and fat.

When I see you cook,
I get a hunger on,
It's not your food I want,
It's in your loving arms.

I want your hush puppies,
Your nice firm yams,
Let me get in your oven,
And grease up the pan.


None to date. Who wants to gamble?

Set List

The only set I have is a set of dishes, does that count?