Frank And Jesse James
Warren Zevon
© 1973 Warner-Tamerlane/Darkroom Music (BMI)

    Waddy Wachtel: Guitar
    David Lindley: Banjo & Fiddle
    Warren Zevon: Piano
    Bob Glaub: Bass
    Larry Zack: Drums
    Phil Everly: Harmonies

On a small Missouri farm
Back when the west was young
Two boys learned to rope and ride
Be handy with a gun

War broke out between the states
And they joined up with Quantrill
And it was over in Clay County
Frank and Jesse finally learned to kill

Keep on riding, riding, riding 
Frank and Jesse James 
Keep on riding, riding, riding
'Til you clear your names

Keep on riding, riding, riding
Across the rivers and the range 
Keep on riding, riding, riding
Frank and Jesse James

After Appomattox
They was on the losing side
So no amnesty was granted
And as outlaws they did ride

They rode against the railroads,
And they rode against the banks 
And they rode against the governor
Never did they ask for a word of thanks

Keep on riding, riding, riding 
Frank and Jesse James 
Keep on riding, riding, riding 
'Til you clear your names 

Keep on riding, riding, riding
‘Cross the prairies and the plains
Keep on riding, riding, riding 
Frank and Jesse James

Robert Ford, a gunman 
In exchange for his parole 
Took the life of James the outlaw 
Which he snuck up on and stole 

No one knows just where
They came to be misunderstood 
But the poor Missouri farmers knew 
That Frank and Jesse do the best they could

Keep on riding, riding, riding 
Frank and Jesse James        
Keep on riding, riding, riding 
'Til you clear your names 

Keep on riding, riding, riding
Across the rivers and the range
Keep on riding, riding, riding 
Frank and Jesse James 

Well, Frank and Jesse James        
Keep on riding, riding, riding 
'Til you clear your names 

Keep on riding, riding, riding
‘Cross the prairies and the plains
Keep on riding, riding, riding 
Frank and Jesse James

Mama Couldn't Be Persuaded
Warren Zevon 
© 1976 Zevon Music (BMI)

    Waddy Wachtel: Guitar
    David Lindley: Fiddle
    Warren Zevon: Piano
    Bob Glaub: Bass
    Larry Zack: Drums
    John David Souther and Jackson Browne: Harmonies

Gambler rambled down a country lane 
Looking for a game of chance
She was twenty-one or two 
And she knew what she wanted
And she wanted that gamblin' man

Her parents warned her
Tried to reason with her 
She was determined that she wanted Bill 
They'd all be offended at the mention still
If they heard this song, which I doubt they will

And my mama couldn't be persuaded 
When they pleaded with her,
“Daughter, don't marry that gamblin' man” 

Mama couldn't be persuaded
When they pleaded with her,
“Daughter, don't marry that gamblin' man”

Mama couldn't be persuaded 
When they pleaded with her,
“Daughter, don't marry that gamblin' man”

(No, no nevertheless)

I said my mama couldn't be persuaded
When they pleaded with her,
"Daughter, don't marry that gamblin' man."

Gambler tried to be a family man
Though it didn't suit his style
He thought he had him a winning combination 
So he took us where the stakes were high 

Her parents warned her
Tried to reason with her 
Never kept their disappointment hid 
They all went to pieces when the bad luck hit
Stuck in the middle, I was the kid

And my mama couldn't be persuaded
When they pleaded with her,
“Daughter, don't marry that gamblin' man”
 
Mama couldn't be persuaded
When they pleaded with her,
“Daughter, don't marry that gamblin' man” 

Mama couldn't be persuaded
When they pleaded with her,
No, no, nevertheless

My Mama Mama Mama couldn't be persuaded
When my Granny pleaded with her
Not to marry that gamblin' man.

I said my mama couldn't be persuaded 
When they pleaded with her,
“Daughter, don't marry that gamblin' man”

Mama couldn't be persuaded 
When they pleaded with her,
“Daughter, don't marry that gamblin' man”
 
Mama couldn't be persuaded
When they pleaded with her,
“Daughter, don't marry that gamblin' man”

Mama couldn't be persuaded
When they pleaded with her,
“Daughter, don't you marry that gamblin' man”


Backs Turned, Looking Down The Path
Warren Zevon
© 1976 Zevon Music (BMI)

    Lindsey Buckingham: Guitar
    Warren Zevon: Piano
    Jackson Browne: Slide Guitar and Harmony
    Marty David: Bass
    Gary Mallaber: Drums

I was caught between the years 
Cost me nearly all my tears 
With my back turned, looking down the path 

Hit me like a ton of bricks 
Had to get my outlook fixed
With my back turned, looking down the path

People always ask me why 
What's the matter with me?
Nothing matters when I'm with my baby
With my back turned, looking down the path

We'll go walkin' hand in hand
Laughin' fit to beat the band 
With our backs turned, looking down the path

People always ask me why 
What's the matter with me? 
Nothing matters when I'm with my baby
With my back turned, looking down the path

Some may have, and some may not 
God, I'm thankful for what I got 
With my back turned, looking down the path

With my back turned, looking down the path
With my back turned, looking down the path


Hasten Down The Wind
Warren Zevon
© 1973 Warner-Tamerlane./Darkroom Music (BMI)

    Waddy Wachtel: Guitar
    David Lindley: Slide Guitar
    Warren Zevon: Piano
    Bob Glaub: Bass
    Larry Zack: Drums
    The Sid Sharp Strings
    Phil Everly: Harmony

She tells him she thinks she needs to be free 
He tells her he doesn't understand 
She takes his hand 
She tells him nothing's working out the way they planned

She's so many women 
He can't find the one who was his friend 
So he's hanging on to half her heart 
He can't have the restless part
So he tells her to hasten down the wind

Then he agrees he thinks she needs to be free 
Then she says she'd rather be with him 
But it's just a whim 
By which she hopes to keep him on the limb

She's so many women 
He can't find the one who was his friend 
So he's hanging on to half her heart
He can't have the restless part
So he tells her to hasten down the wind

She's so many women 
He can't find the one who was his friend 
So he's hanging on to half her heart
He can't have the restless part
So he tells her to hasten down the wind


Poor Poor Pitiful Me
Warren Zevon
© 1973 Warner-Tamerlane/Darkroom Music (BMI)

    Waddy Wachtel: Guitar
    David Lindley: Fiddle
    Bobby Keys: Saxophone
    Jai Winding: Piano
    Bob Glaub: Bass
    Larry Zack: Drums
    Lindsey Buckingham: Harmony

I'd lay my head on the railroad tracks
And wait for the Double "E"
But the railroad don't run no more 
Poor, poor pitiful me

Poor, poor pitiful me 
Poor, poor pitiful me
These young girls won't let me be 
Lord have mercy on me 
Woe is me

Well, I met a girl in West Hollywood
I ain't naming names 
She really worked me over good 
She was just like Jesse James 
She really worked me over good 
She was a credit to her gender 
She put me through some changes, Lord
Sort of like a Waring blender

Poor, poor pitiful me 
Poor, poor pitiful me 
These young girls won't let me be 
Lord have mercy on me
Woe is me

Poor, poor pitiful me 
Poor, poor pitiful me 
These young girls won't let me be 
Lord have mercy on me
Woe is me

I met a girl at the Rainbow bar 
She asked me if I'd beat her 
She took me back to the Hyatt House 
I don't want to talk about it

(Hut!...)

Poor, poor pitiful me Whooooooo
Poor, poor pitiful me 

Hut! Never mind.  (Yeah)

Poor, poor pitiful me
Whooo-hooaaa, Yeah 
Poor, poor pitiful me
Poor, poor pitiful me


The French Inhaler
Warren Zevon
© 1973 Warner-Tamerlane./Darkroom Music (BMI)           

    Waddy Wachtel: Guitar
    Warren Zevon: Piano
    Bob Glaub: Bass
    Larry Zack: Drums
    The Sid Sharp Strings
    Glenn Frey and Don Henley: Harmonies

How're you going to make your way in the world, woman
When you weren't cut out for working,
When your fingers are slender and frail? 
How're you going to get around
In this sleazy bedroom town 
If you don't put yourself up for sale?

Where will you go with your scarves and your miracles? 
Who's gonna know who you are? 
Drugs and wine and flattering light 
You must try it again ‘til you get it right 
Maybe you'll end up with someone different every night

All these people with no home to go home to
They'd all like to spend the night with you
Maybe I would, too

But tell me 
How're you going to make your way in the world, woman
When you weren't cut out for working 
And you just can't concentrate
And you always show up late?

You said you were an actress 
Yes, I believe you are 
I thought you'd be a star 
So I drank up all the money,
Yes, I drank up all the money,
With these phonies in this Hollywood bar,
These friends of mine in this Hollywood bar

Loneliness and frustration 
We both came down with an acute case
And when the lights came up at two
I caught a glimpse of you
And your face looked like something 
Death brought with him in his suitcase

Your pretty face
It looked so wasted 
Another pretty face 
Devastated 
The French Inhaler
He stamped and mailed her
 "So long, Norman"
She said, "So long, Norman"

Mohammed's Radio 
Warren Zevon
© 1976 Zevon Music (BMI)

    Waddy Wachtel: Guitar
    David Lindley: Slide Guitar
    Bobby Keys: Saxophone
    Warren Zevon: Piano
    Bob Glaub: Bass
    Larry Zack: Drums
    Lindsey Buckingham and Stephanie Nicks: Harmonies

Everybody's restless and they've got no place to go 
Someone's always trying to tell them 
Something they already know 
So their anger and resentment flow

But don't it make you want to rock and roll 
All night long, Mohammed's Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful 
On the radio, Mohammed's Radio

You know, the Sheriff's got his problems too 
He will surely take them out on you
In walks the village idiot and his face was all aglow 
He's been up all night, listening to Mohammed's Radio

Don't it make you want to rock and roll 
All night long, Mohammed's Radio 
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful 
On the radio, Mohammed's Radio

Everybody's desperate trying to make ends meet 
Work all day, still can't pay
The price of gasoline and meat 
Alas, their lives are incomplete

Don't it make you want to rock and roll 
All night long, Mohammed's Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful
On the radio, Mohammed's Radio

You've been up all night listening for his drum 
    (Up all night)
Hoping that the righteous might just might just might just come
    (Just be right)
I heard the General whispering to his aide-de-camp
"Be watchful for Mohammed's lamp"

Don't it make you want to rock and roll 
All night long Mohammed's Radio
I heard somebody singing sweet and soulful
On the radio, Mohammed's Radio
Mohammed's Radio


I'll Sleep When I'm Dead 
Warren Zevon
© 1976 Zevon Music (BMI)

    Waddy Wachtel: Guitar
    Fritz Richmond: Jug
    Warren Zevon: Piano and Harmonica
    Roy Marinell: Bass
    Gary Mallaber: Drums
    Jorge Calderón: Harmony

So much to do, there's plenty on the farm
I'll sleep when I'm dead 
Saturday night I like to raise a little harm
I'll sleep when I'm dead

I'm drinking heartbreak motor oil and Bombay gin 
I'll sleep when I'm dead 
Straight from the bottle, twisted again 
I'll sleep when I'm dead

Alright!

Well, I take this medicine as prescribed
I'll sleep when I'm dead 
It don't matter if I get a little tired 
I'll sleep when I'm dead

I've got a .38 special up on the shelf 
I'll sleep when I'm dead
If I start acting stupid, I'll shoot myself
I'll sleep when I'm dead

So much to do, there's plenty on the farm
I'll sleep when I'm dead 
Saturday night I like to raise a little harm 
I'll sleep when I'm dead

Alright!


Carmelita 
Warren Zevon
© 1972 Warner-Tamerlane/Darkroom Music (BMI)

    Waddy Wachtel: Guitar
    David Lindley: Guitar
    Glenn Frey: Rhythm Guitar and Harmony
    Warren Zevon: Electric Piano
    Bob Glaub: Bass
    Larry Zack: Drums

I hear Mariachi static on my radio
And the tubes they glow in the dark 
And I'm there with her in Ensenada 
And I'm here in Echo Park

Carmelita, hold me tighter                
I think I'm sinking down 
And I'm all strung out on heroin
On the outskirts of town

Well, I'm sittin' here playing solitaire
With my pearl-handled deck
The county won't give me no more methadone
And they cut off your welfare check

Carmelita, hold me tighter 
I think I'm sinking down
And I'm all strung out on heroin 
On the outskirts of town

Well, I pawned my Smith-Corona 
And I went to meet my man
He hangs out down on Alvarado Street 
By the Pioneer Chicken stand

Carmelita, hold me tighter 
I think I'm sinking down 
And I'm all strung out on heroin 
On the outskirts of town  

Carmelita, hold me tighter 
I think I'm sinking down 
And I'm all strung out on heroin
On the outskirts of town


Join Me in L. A.
Warren Zevon
© 1973 Warner Tamerlane/Darkroom Music. (BMI)

    Ned Doheny: Guitar
    Warren Zevon: Rhythm Guitar
    Bobby Keys: Saxophone
    Jai Winding: Organ and Synthesizer
    Jackson Browne: Piano
    Bob Glaub: Bass
    Larry Zack: Drums
    Bonnie Raitt and Rosemary Butler: Harmonies

Well, they say this place is evil 
That ain't why I stay
'Cause I found something 
That will never be nothing 
And I found it in L. A.

It was midnight in Topanga
    (In Topanga)
I heard the DJ say 
There's a full moon rising 
Join me in L. A.
Join me in L. A.
(wake up . . . wake up)

I was at the Tropicana 
On a dark and sultry day 
Had to call somebody long distance 
I said "Join me in L. A." 
Join me in L. A.

Desperados Under The Eaves
Warren Zevon
© 1976 Warner-Tamerlane/Darkroom Music (BMI)

    Waddy Wachtel: Guitar
    Warren Zevon: Piano
    Bob Glaub: Bass
    Larry Zack: Drums
    The Sid Sharp Strings
    Carl Wilson, Billy Hinsche, Jai Winding, Jackson Browne and Warren Zevon: Harmonies
        (arranged by Carl Wilson)
    The Gentlemen Boys: Closing Harmonies

I was sitting in the Hollywood Hawaiian Hotel 
I was staring in my empty coffee cup 
I was thinking that the gypsy wasn't lyin'
All the salty margaritas in Los Angeles 
I'm gonna drink 'em up

And if California slides into the ocean 
Like the mystics and statistics say it will                        
I predict this motel will be standing
Until I pay my bill

(Hut...)

Don't the sun look angry through the trees?
Don't the trees look like crucified thieves? 
Don't you feel like Desperados under the eaves?
Heaven help the one who leaves

Still waking up in the mornings with shaking hands 
And I'm trying to find a girl who understands me 
But except in dreams you're never really free 
Don't the sun look angry at me?

I was sitting in the Hollywood Hawaiian Hotel
I was listening to the air conditioner hum 
It went mmmmmm.. ...........................
Look away
(Look away down Gower Avenue, Look away....)