So it was that around two-thirty, John Thomas and Alice (the pretty girl, braless with cut offs) and Sweet William (bearded with sunglasses) and Charlotte (the drooling girl) and Betty (the fat girl) took their instruments and began to set up on stage. Toby (the blond-haired boy) was their sound man, which means that he tinkered with the microphones and some knobs on a soundboard and said, "Check, check," about a thousand times. Not to be tedious, but John Thomas played acoustic guitar and sang lead, pretty Alice was on mandolin, Sweet William manned the upright bass, Charlotte played fiddle, and Betty was the percussionist, rapping and tapping on everything from bongos to jawbones, spoons to washboard. I stood by Toby and acted like I was with the band, which made me feel important.
Anyhow, the first thing John Thomas did before they started playing was to thank Mr. Randolph and Mr. Hunter and the Eureka Springs Chamber of Commerce for organizing the Folk Festival. He joked about how some years ago, he and Mr. Randolph had been drinking Scotch at Edie's Tavern, and Mr. Randolph had fetched his reel-to-reel tape recorder from the trunk of his car and played some of the songs they'd be performing today. John Thomas said they were both grayer now—older Budweiser, as the old joke goes.
The first song the Reivers performed was a very old song called "The Bonny Black Hare"; John Thomas sang the fellow's lines and Alice sang the lady's responses. There are few things more erotic than a pretty girl singing bawdy lyrics, but you'll just have to use your imagination. Here's The Bonny Black Hare:
(John Thomas—)
ON THE SIXTEENTH OF MAY, AT THE DAWN OF THE DAY,
WITH MY GUN ON MY SHOULDER TO THE GAME FIELD DID STRAY,
IN SEARCH OF SOME GAME IF THE WEATHER PROVED FAIR,
TO SEE IF I COULD GET A SHOT AT THE BONNY BLACK HARE.
I MET A FAIR MAIDEN, AS FAIR AS A ROSE,
HER CHEEKS WERE AS FAIR AS THE LILIES THAT GROWS,
SAY I, MY FAIR MAIDEN, WHY RAMBLE YOU SO?
CAN YOU TELL ME WHERE THE BONNY BLACK HAIR DOTH GROW?
THE ANSWER SHE GAVE ME, THE ANSWER WAS,
(Here Alice stepped in—)
"NO!
BUT UNDER MY APRON THEY SAY IT DOTH GROW,
AN' IF YOU'LL NOT DECEIVE ME, I VOW AN' DECLARE,
WE'LL GO TO YON GREEN WOOD TO HUNT THE BLACK HARE."
(John Thomas—)
I WALKED ON BESIDE HER AN' VOWED THAT I WOULD,
I LAYED HER IN THE GREEN GRASS TO SEE IF I COULD,
I PULLED OUT MY RAMROD, MY BALLS THEY PLAYED FAIR,
SAYS I, MY PRETTY MAIDEN, DO YOU FEEL THE BLACK HARE?
THE ANSWER SHE GAVE ME, THE ANSWER WAS,
(Alice again—)
"NAY!
HOW OFTEN, YOUNG SPORTSMAN, DO YOU RAMBLE THIS WAY?
IF GOOD BE YOUR POWDER, AND YOUR BALLS THEY PLAY FAIR,
WHY DON'T YOU KEEP FIRING AT THE BONNY BLACK HARE?"
(John Thomas—)
MY POWDER'S ALL WASTED, MY BALLS ARE ALL GONE,
MY RAMROD IS LIMBER AN' I CANNOT FIRE ON,
BUT COME BACK IN THE MORNING IF THE WEATHER PROVES FAIR,
AN I'LL TAKE ANOTHER SHOT AT THE BONNY BLACK HARE.
When John Thomas and Alice ended the song, the crowd applauded like crazy, and everyone was laughing and having a good time. I thought, Well, this ain't a potluck dinner at the Stella Fairgrounds, that's for sure. They'd have run all of 'em off if they had sung that song. That made me glad that a place like Eureka Springs exists, where you can dress how you want and sing what you want and be who you want. Seems to me that's more American than trying to make everyone else act and believe how you think they should act and believe.
Anyhow, the Reivers sang some more naughty songs about massive peckers and ample twitchets and manes of pubic hair and deceitful lovers, when John Thomas said it was time to wrap up their set. He said, "You may recognize the first two stanzas of our last song," but "the chorus and the following stanzas are our own. Now, I know," he continued, "that a lot of you are purists and don't like to have your folk songs tampered with. But I hope you'll forgive this reference to our own troubled times." And with that he started singing I Went to the Drugstore, which goes to the tune of Turkey in the Straw. The first two stanzas are traditional:
I WENT TO THE DRUG STORE TO GET A LITTLE GIN,
BUT THE SON-OF-A-BITCH, WELL, HE WOULDN'T LET ME IN,
SO I PICKED UP A ROCK AND AN' I BUSTED IN THE GLASS,
AN' OUT COME THE DEVIL JUST A-SLIDING ON HIS ASS.
WELL, THE DEVIL SHIT A MONKEY AN' THE MONKEY SHIT A FLEA,
THE FLEA SHIT A SAILOR, AN' THE SAILOR WENT TO SEA.
AND THE WIND BEGAN TO BLOW, AND THE WAVES BEGAN TO ROAR,
AND THE SAILOR SHIT HIS PANTS AND HE HAD TO GO ASHORE.
Then while he was strumming his guitar, John Thomas says to the audience, "Here's a new chorus to introduce our version of the song!"
OUT OF THE JUNGLE INTO A DITCH,
THEY'LL SEND US TO DIE SO THE BASTARDS GET RICH!
BUT WE AIN'T GONNA SERVE NO ARMY S.O.B.,
I'M GOIN' TO ONTARIO, A BANJO ON MY KNEE.
When they heard the words of honest defiance, the crowd started cheering and laughing, and after they calmed down, John Thomas started singing double time to make the lyrics click. He opened with a couple of pick-up notes—
DON'T FOR—
—GET THE GULF OF TONKIN, WHERE WE GOTTA RIGHT A WRONG,
WE'LL PRESERVE THE CONSTITUTION, AND WE'LL KILL THE VIET CONG!
AND THE MAKERS OF MUNITIONS, BOEING, RAYTHEON AND BELL,
WE GOTTA MAKE 'EM RICHER 'FORE THEY BLOW US ALL TO HELL!
Another chorus followed with the whole group singing—
OUT OF THE JUNGLE INTO A DITCH,
THEY'LL SEND US TO DIE SO THE BASTARDS GET RICH!
BUT WE AIN'T GONNA SERVE NO ARMY S.O.B.,
I'M GOIN' TO ONTARIO, A BANJO ON MY KNEE.
Well, the crowd went crazy again when he sang that, so Alice played a mandolin lead, while John Thomas took a sip of water and gathered himself for the final run. Now, remember the tune is Turkey in the Straw.
WELL, THEIR—
HATS ARE MADE OF GRASS, AND THEIR MEALS ARE MADE OF RICE,
AND THEIR HUTS ARE MADE OF MUD, AND THEY GOTTA LOTTA LICE,
AND THEY SPEAK A DIFF'RENT LANGUAGE; THEY IGNORE US WHEN WE CALL,
BUT WE'RE GONNA MAKE 'EM LOVE US IF WE HAVE TO KILL 'EM ALL!
Another chorus with the band—
SUPER BAZOOKAS, NAPALM, GRENADES,
M-16 RIFLES, GOLDEN BRIGADES,
B-52'S ALL A-DROPPIN' CLUSTER BOMBS:
WE'RE GONNA KILL 'EM ALL WHEN WE GET TO VIETNAM!
OUT OF THE JUNGLE INTO A DITCH,
THEY'LL SEND US TO DIE SO THE BASTARDS GET RICH!
BUT WE AIN'T GONNA SERVE NO ARMY S.O.B.,
I'M GOIN' TO ONTARIO, A BANJO ON MY KNEE.
When the chorus was over, the crowd was on their feet and calling, "More! More!" Pretty girls in halter tops and cut offs, and young men—long haired and short haired, in tee shirts and button downs—were shouting, "More, more," by which they meant more defiance of the oligarchs and plutocrats and their toadies in Washington. But even as John Thomas was taking a modest bow, and the band behind him was nodding and waving at the crowd, a tall man, massive from his mop of gray hair to his size 15 wingtips, a black-suited locomotive of a man spewing fire and embers and smoking rage, a force unwavering in rectitude, unyielding in confidence, and bearing before him the Word of God, a living iteration of the Gospel Train whose momentous mouth was already gaping to speak rushed up the stairs and stormed the stage, and Toby said, "Oh, shit, here we go."
And sure enough, away we went.