"My Pappy's Bible"

by Joe Cat

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about

This independently produced music is for all of us. For everyone who works hard at what they love or hate. For all of the people who will never see the silver lining. To all of the ones who are too scared to be themselves and too selfish to help others. But most of all, it is for all of the friends who support me and other artists. It’s for the ones who inspire creation & help the artists with their craft. To the believers & dreamers of the world.

credits

released September 1, 2013

All music & lyrics written and performed
by Joseph Catanese

Recorded by Newt Carter
at Studio 1093 in Athens, GA

© 2013 Joe Cat Music

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Joe Cat Athens, Georgia

Joe Cat is an Americana Singer/Songwriter living in Athens Georgia. His Americana style gained many of it’s roots from that sound. Joe Cat is a veteran troubadour, traveling the country and playing his music for everyone.
Prior to a life as a musician Joe Cat worked as a factory worker, a U.S. Marine, and many other low wage, blue collar jobs. His sound is Americana.
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Track Name: High Life
Made it through the war we fought,
the one back in Vietnam.
Couldn't afford to hide out in a school.

Fixing cars to make it through,
couldn't fix the holes in my shoes.
But the kids were happy, with the little that they had.

80 hours a week was not enough,
to give my wife everything she wants.
Always threatening me to hit the road.

Stay at home beats on the kids,
takes her ignorance out on them.
They tell me at night lord, all that she's done.

Every day with the rising sun,
say I love you but she breaks my heart.
Better off going back, to punch a clock.

One day soon I'll stay in bed,
that'll be the morning when she wakes up dead.
Or the day her tracks head on out of town.

Chorus:
So I guess I'll have to work a little more.
Guess Ill have to die out in the sun.
Welcome back to the High-Life everyone.
Welcome back to the High-Life my son.
Track Name: Broken Compass
Out on the road.
Cold cold rain , cold cold snow.
Reference’s a metaphor, for all that is wrong.
As the sidelines go rolling on.

Out on my own.
Stealin' my face , selling my soul.
No means of getting, myself back home.
And the sidelines go rollin on.

Out of my town.
Riding my horse , Shaking em' down.
Selling my shoes just to stay warm.
And the sidelines go rolling on.

Out on the road.
Cold cold rain , cold cold snow.
Reference’s a metaphor, for all that is wrong.
As the sidelines go rolling on.

Chorus:
Be back by next Friday at least.
Bringing you home, something to feed.
but the arms getting tired,
and Im' so wired. 
Living it out, 100 miles at a time.
Living my life, 100 miles at a time.
Track Name: My Resignation
Wrote this down
with a worn out & weary mind.
Back is broken, Dont want to go back out this time.

Maybe I'm not Elvis,
but the sequins make me high.
Love Me Tender, behind a medicated smile.

Life in my grace-land,
Is a better place to be.
You got your juke box in there, you don't need me.

Place seems empty,
But my soul is on fire.
Back at the home old Elvis, has just been retired.

Chorus:
If your reading this note,
just remember that it's just a song.
If your'e reading this note, chances are, Im already gone.
Track Name: Factory Lines
How many hours do we have in a week.
just to make sure that my kids will eat.
Had a new beginning bout a dozen times.
Always working on the factory lines.

Minimum wage or less you see.
Is what I bring to my family.
We have nothing, but we have it all.
Cause I work the line on the factory floor.

No gold watch , no ticket home.
just a message on my telephone.
Dont bother coming back they say.
Factory's gone overseas away.

Now Ill probably die in pain
Health care costs to much these days
Dont matter that Im red, white, and blue
USMC and some other tattoos

Chorus:
Bell rings and I walk the line,
making that stuff till closing time.
I gave up on getting ahead,
and the government won't care when I’m dead.
government won't care when were dead.
Track Name: Miles of Pain
Two lanes of blacktop and a fresh cigar.
Blinded by the sun, still drunk from the bar.
Voice still hurting from the night before.
No need to bitch, cause Iv’e got three more.

Made a deal with these folks, about a month ago.
Now they forgot to pay me, after my show.
Theres something about numbers,
I don’t understand.
The 38 in my boot might start talking again.

Playing my songs now, every night.
For people like me, who struggle, through life.
Don’t think retirement’s in sight.
So I’ll roll down the road in the middle of night.

Chorus:
Now I can’t tell the van from a cheap motel.
So many more miles, between here and hell.
Playing for a dollar, you don’t know my name.
Rolling through the years,
and the miles of pain.

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