Guy Clark windt er geen doekjes om: Los Angeles is een in beton gegoten nachtmerrie en des te eerder hij er weg is, des te beter. Clark werd geboren in Monahans, een dorp in Texas dat destijds zo’n 6000 inwoners telde. Eind jaren ’60 verhuisden Guy en zijn vrouw Susanna naar LA, waar Guy werkte voor de uitvinders van de dobro, de gebroeders Dopyera. In 1971 pakten hij en Susanna hun spullen en vertrokken naar Nashville, waar Clark een positie als stafschrijver bij Sunberry Music Publishing kreeg aangeboden. Toen Lone Star Music hem vroeg waar hij graag zou willen wonen maakte Clark van zijn hart geen moordkuil: “Anywhere but L.A.!…I came to Nashville, because L.A. just didn’t suit me. It still doesn’t … We packed up the old Volkswagen bus and took off; we moved to Nashville, and I started doing what I do.”
Make note of all good wishes
Say goodbye to the landlord for me
That son of a bitch has always bored me
Throw out them LA papers
And that moldy box of vanilla wafers
Adios to all this concrete
Gonna get me some dirt road back streetIf I can just get off of this LA freeway
Without getting killed or caught
I’d be down that road in a cloud of smoke
To some land that I ain’t bought bought boughtHere’s to you old skinny Dennis
Only one I think I will miss
I can hear that old bass singing
Sweet and low like a gift you’re bringing
Play it for me just one more time now
Got to give it all we can now
I believe everything your saying
Just keep on, keep on playing
If I can just get off of this LA freeway
Without getting killed or caught
I’d be down that road in a cloud of smoke
To some land that I ain’t bought bought bought
And you put the pink card in the mailbox
Leave the key in the old front door lock
They will find it likely as not
I’m sure there’s something we have forgot
Oh Susanna, don’t you cry, babe
Love’s a gift that’s surely handmade
We’ve got something to believe in
Don’t you think it’s time we’re leaving
If I can just get off of this LA freeway
Without getting killed or caught
I’d be down that road in a cloud of smoke
To some land that I ain’t bought bought bought
Pack up all your dishes
Make note of all good wishes
Say goodbye to the landlord for me
That son of a bitch has always bored me
