Fred Wedlock RIP

THE FOLKER

(Fred Wedlock)
I am just a folker and my story's seldom told
I have massacred folk music with a yard of German plywood and a capo
I do requests--just the ones that have two chords in them and I disregard the rest
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .

In the Seabeen Pub I clean forgot the 42nd verse,
So I sang the 27th twice as loud and in reverse and no one notice.
I laughed for hours the tears ran down me trouser leg
I thought I'd wet me drawers

Well, I stand on stage the hero a martyr to me trade
And carry the reminders of all the gigs I've played in like the Irish Club
Where I fled in mortal fear—with the imprint of a Guinness bottle stamped across my ear
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .

Seeking twenty with expenses I went looking for a gig
But I got no offers--just a come on from a groupie up in Boulder
I do declare--I was feeling rather randy and I had her then and there
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .

Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya
Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya
Na na na-ya Na na na na na na na-ya

Well, I've sung the folk tradition with my finger in my ear
Cause half the stuff I'm singin'—I just can't bear to hear—it's a load of cobblers
Bar after bar--to the rhythm of an out of tune Japanese guitar
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .

Well, I met this great guitarist and I asked him for advice
But the message that he gave me--wasn't very nice or even civil
Stick it where--and if I did how could I tune it with it shoved way up there
Na na nya na na na na na na nya etc . . .

Now I've got my thing together, man, I'm really freaking out
Reading “Melody Maker,” mainlining on draught stout and having hang ups
And like the rest, I'm having trouble with my sex life since I fell and broke my wrist
And my other songs are twice as bad as this