Song Info
Genre
Charts
#10,799 today
Peak #117
#2,035 in subgenre
Peak #28
Author
jim dyer
Uploaded
February 06, 2008
Track Files
MP3
MP3 5.2 MB • 128 kbps • 5:41
Story behind the song
i was gabbing with a friend one night, comparing our formative years and i started telling anecdotes about what it was like for me to grow up on a dairy farm back in the 50's, in the catskill mountains of new york. he suggested i turn the memories into a song and, before long, i had a couple dozen verses. i didn't use 'em all. you'll have to talk to me for the extended version.
Lyrics
Typical Day -- Jim Dyer
I tell people I could'a died 'bout every time I got up.
They look at me kinda sly. They think I'm
just makin' it up. Just makin' it up.
But I was raised on a dairy farm, high up in the Catskills
where, to die, didn't seem that hard.
Old Jake weighed just short of ton, and he was proud to be the cow's only one.
And if he caught you in the field alone, you'd have to do some fancy dancin'
to make it back home. To make it back home
He'd'a liked to run me down. Would'a done it many times if it hadn't'a
been for Spike, my hound.
My first lesson to drive a truck was, "Keep it steady and don't mess up.
Steer between the bales of hay and don't tip it over 'cause, if you do,
there'll be hell to pay." There'll be hell to pay.
I had to lean out the door to see
'cause the dashboard was too high for me.
Pullin' that dump rake fast downhill, that John Deere G was impossible to kill.
I looked ahead at a 20-foot drop and I jammed on the right-wheel brake
'cause I knew it wouldn't stop. I knew that tractor wouldn't stop.
That dump rake flipped, head over heel
while I glued my eye to the cliff edge as it bit into the wheel.
Back in the haymow, it's one-hundred and ten -- bales comin' so fast
they're 'bout to pin me in.
There's nothin' in the air to breathe but dust, and if you cut yourself,
you better watch out for rust. You'd better watch out for rust.
There's no time for a doc. Shake it off and that's enough.
There's hay in the field and the cows ain't gonna milk themselves.
I didn't mind mowing down hay. It was good, clean work -- it was more like play.
And when the cutbar jammed, I'd snap it up, put the Case in a circle and
jump down in front. I'd jump right down there in front.
Clean it off about chest high
and do the limbo dance as the cutbar went by.
But I never worried too much about food. There was always more than enough.
And if a pet cow ran dry, you'd eat her up and wash her down
with the next one's milk. Wash her down with the next one's milk.
It's kinda sad to see 'em die, but when they become a part of you, like that,
they're always inside.
I still tell people I could'a died 'bout every time I got up.
They look at me kinda sly. I know they think I'm
just makin' it up. Just makin' it up.
But I was raised on a dairy farm, high up in the Catskills
where, to die, didn't seem that hard.
