He is out on the road again. Which is a long road, and a lonely and hard one. Rarely is it a short, friendly road.
There are various things either burning in or running around inside his brain.
Whoa yeah baby, all night long.
Nothing (time; alcohol; other women) can ease the pain.
He gots to be movin’ on.
No place is his home. But sometimes sorrow is his only home.
He has never felt like this before, no noahhhhhh!
He ain’t nobody’s fool. (But he won’t be fooled again, which implies that he was at some point somebody’s fool.)
During the event being discussed, it was around about midnight.
He has a gui-tar in his hand. This is the only instrument he mispronounces.
He is in many ways like a bird that has to soar. It also has to fly away.
He has tried, girl, o! how he has tried, yet he is not satisfied. (Rarely, for reasons not explained, has he attempted but not been exempted)
He has got ta got ta got ta.
It is next to impossible to make it on his own.
That thing that he’s doing, he will do until the day he dies.
He doesn’t know, he just doesn’t know. Mama mama mama!
It is currently hotter than heat.
He feels as though he could die. Also, break down and cry.
She is one crazy crazy wo-man.
He cannot stop. Yeaaaaaaaaaghghghthgh!
Sometimes the Devil is on his tail, sometimes the Devil is right beside him. The devil is frequently a woman.
He is goin’ down. Down, down, down, down, down.
There ain’t nothin’ like it.
He will meet you near the river, the train tracks, the crossroads or possibly the Bayou. Never at Gelson’s.
He’s done said all that he can say.
His Daddy told him a number of things about women like you, largely by way of warning.
His black female friends’ advice amounts to: “What you say!”
When he’s going, it will either be “out West” or “down South.” North or East appear to be out of the question.
Flames are rising.
Gabba gabba hey.
