I really regard Robert Randolph’s rotten riffs right up there with the most dissatisfying jingles in the game. Suffocate me to the end, my god. The boot-stomping, cowguys and gals, doomp-clomp of it all! If you want me dead, just don your best neckerchief and terrify my rotting arteries with your wailing slide guitar. The sheriff of Friday Town is riding to the square. He eases his elbow down to the saddle horn and doffs his 400-gallon hat. Gotta get there, partner.
As I just vomit all over myself and you walk around me, disgusted, not especially fazed.