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lyrics

I cut the boards down at the public works building.
I run the saw through the plywood till it fits in the door
Or in the window. I’m sure you’ve seen my craftsmanship
If you’ve ever been down to Baltimore.

You’ve seen them covered up by concert posters,
Or maybe a spray-painted “R.I.P.”
With broken windows staring down from above them.
You hurry by, pretending not to see.

This board will go up on the Robinson’s house.
They finally made it out to Owings Mills.
This one’s for Shanda’s house, she’s back on Section 8.
Her mortgage was a scam, now she can’t pay her bills.

Here’s a whole pile of them, they’ll cover up a whole block
Where some speculator bought some property.
He’s too busy counting all his filthy cash
To send a little to the gas company.

I curse each board I make,
I curse the saw, I curse my boss.
Each board’s a curse upon the neighborhood it casts its blighted gaze across.
I curse my tiny house,
And the last thing I see before I sleep.
A picture of my wife and a bottle of old whiskey.

My job’s secure because each board I make
Tempts the neighbors to leave their houses behind and skip this town,
And old Darrell Brooks just brought me a bonanza when he
Burned Angela Dawson and her children down.

Yeah, he kicked their door in and poured that gasoline.
He lit a match, I’m sure it took no time.
The father jumped out the second story window
Just to land in pain and hear his wife and children die.

Bridge:
They say that Angela would call the cops on Darrell
For selling drugs in front of her front door.
He’d had enough so he burned her first floor down.
Probably too thick to think he’d burn anymore.

I curse each board I make,
I curse the saw, I curse my boss.
Each board’s a curse upon the neighborhood it casts its blighted gaze across.
I curse my tiny house,
And the last thing I see before I sleep.
A picture of my wife and a bottle of old whiskey.

My buddy Bill, he nails the boards up, and he nails them up again
Each time the junkies peel them off to get inside
So they can sit together in the dark among the rats and piss
Again to stick that needle through their hides.

You know they robbed my son over at Collington and Orleans?
He volunteers at Johns Hopkins in the children’s ward.
But that don’t matter much to them as long as he’s got money.
It’s only junk that they are living for.

I don’t know why he stays, he’s got the means to leave here.
I don’t want to worry about my child now that he is grown.
He says, “Dad, you used to say, ‘Son, you must grow where you’ve been planted.’”
Why did I plant him at home?

I curse each board I make,
I curse the saw, I curse my boss.
Each board’s a curse upon the neighborhood it casts its blighted gaze across.
I curse my tiny house,
And the last thing I see before I sleep.
A picture of my wife and a bottle of old whiskey.

credits

from Lawrence Lanahan, released May 20, 2004

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Lawrence Lanahan image

Lawrence Lanahan Baltimore, Maryland

Lawrence Lanahan is a songwriter in Baltimore, MD.

He also plays with Disappearing Ink.

A freelance journalist, Lanahan is the author of The Lines Between Us: Two Families and a Quest to Cross Baltimore's Racial Divide (2019, The New Press). ... more

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