| Song | The Flat Baritone |
| Artist | The Gourds |
| Album | Ghosts of Hallelujah |
| 作曲 : Russell | |
| Form a ring and wind and twine | |
| Round the ol' grape vine | |
| Heavy on the wire from the house | |
| Salt the cow and kill the calf | |
| Meet yer lonesome with a once and a half | |
| Gent¹s on the east and ladies on the south | |
| The solemn boy carries his silver damage | |
| Sold but for, the number and the image | |
| His eyes have saddened making wine from the stems | |
| Empty ears longing for the wood and the skins | |
| Paper yellowed from the salt and the failure | |
| When he sings he slurs | |
| & uses the meat of his thigh | |
| T¹hold the book he wrote when he was lame | |
| So wrapped up in his flat baritone | |
| No castrato could woo him in from the rain | |
| For he never raised his voice when his britches | |
| Was spillin¹ over with that honey truck richness | |
| His eyes have saddened making wine from the stems | |
| Empty ears longing for the wood and the skins | |
| Paper yellowed from the salt and the failure | |
| Well the stylus hit the patches | |
| As he spit on the splashes | |
| & sought out the scratches in the vinyl | |
| 'neath a needle topped with nickels | |
| To keep the tunes a-goin' | |
| Cracklin', croonin' & crowin' | |
| Multi-colored, hard-boiled & hidden | |
| In the corners, with the dogs rusty remnants | |
| His eyes have saddened making wine from the stems | |
| Empty ears longing for the wood and the skins | |
| Paper yellowed from the salt and the failure |
| zuò qǔ : Russell | |
| Form a ring and wind and twine | |
| Round the ol' grape vine | |
| Heavy on the wire from the house | |
| Salt the cow and kill the calf | |
| Meet yer lonesome with a once and a half | |
| Gent s on the east and ladies on the south | |
| The solemn boy carries his silver damage | |
| Sold but for, the number and the image | |
| His eyes have saddened making wine from the stems | |
| Empty ears longing for the wood and the skins | |
| Paper yellowed from the salt and the failure | |
| When he sings he slurs | |
| uses the meat of his thigh | |
| T hold the book he wrote when he was lame | |
| So wrapped up in his flat baritone | |
| No castrato could woo him in from the rain | |
| For he never raised his voice when his britches | |
| Was spillin over with that honey truck richness | |
| His eyes have saddened making wine from the stems | |
| Empty ears longing for the wood and the skins | |
| Paper yellowed from the salt and the failure | |
| Well the stylus hit the patches | |
| As he spit on the splashes | |
| sought out the scratches in the vinyl | |
| ' neath a needle topped with nickels | |
| To keep the tunes agoin' | |
| Cracklin', croonin' crowin' | |
| Multicolored, hardboiled hidden | |
| In the corners, with the dogs rusty remnants | |
| His eyes have saddened making wine from the stems | |
| Empty ears longing for the wood and the skins | |
| Paper yellowed from the salt and the failure |