Do Re Mi by Woody Guthrie.
Believe it or not, this is another one I first heard on that Nanci Griffith cover album. It didn’t take that many years for me to hit a nice solid Woody Guthrie (ahem, Boodie Guppie, if you read that one book of Bob Dylan poetry) phase.
This meant something specific during the years we lived in California, mostly as grad students and/or bartenders and/or early-career journalists and/or newlyweds and/or new parents.
Raw and unedited, or mixed, as is obvious, and I flub the beginning and the ending terribly, but if this were perfect, we could afford to live in California. š
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