Better as a Memory | Americana with a Body Count — Sasperela Rue

A darkly comic mountain tale of greed, cruelty, and a reckoning long overdue. Sung in the voice of Sasperela Rue. Songs by Elizabeth Ola Belle Fontaine. Every word written by hand — the grief is real. Listen on Spotify. ============================== BETTER AS A MEMORY Now, Earl was a smooth talkin’ son. “I taught the angels mountain songs. And learned the devil how to run Born where the ridgeline splits the dawn.” Better he’s remembered Than comin’ back round here. Better as a memory— I ain’t sheddin’ any tears. Earl, Earl, what do we care? (Oh-oh, oh!) You can’t take your gold down there. (Uh-oh, oh!) Earl, Earl, you say your prayers! (Oh-oh, oh!) You can’t take your gold down there. (Uh-oh, oh!) The devil’s gonna get his share— (Uh-oh, oh!) Earl’s uncle died, left him black gold. “I'm richer'n old King Solomon,” Earl bragged to the drunks, young and old. “Got China jade for all of ’im. “I own the coal beneath these hills, My house is big as two whole towns, I own the shine from every still. Gold so cheap, it fills all my crowns.” Better he’s remembered Than comin’ back round here. Better as a memory— I ain’t sheddin’ any tears. Earl, Earl, what do we care? (Oh-oh, oh!) You can’t take your gold down there. (Uh-oh, oh!) Earl, Earl, you say your prayers! (Oh-oh, oh!) You can’t take your gold down there. (Uh-oh, oh!) The devil’s gonna get his share— (Uh-oh, oh!) Tom, the town’s blind soldier beggar, Held out his hand for scraps to eat. Said Earl, “Get them paws off, leper, “This here is finest silk from Crete.” Earl owed his butler, the man Hap, The month’s wages, and one lost cap. Though Earl never recalled his name, He fired him, still owin' the same. Better he’s remembered Than comin’ back round here. Better as a memory— I ain’t sheddin’ any tears. Earl, Earl, what do we care? (Oh-oh, oh!) You can’t take your gold down there. (Uh-oh, oh!) "Now look here, sir," ole Hap, he said. "You done me wrong. Though I be lame," I worked, and to the Lord I pled. Big Man don't like your dirty game. Soon I'll die, and I'll be laid low. What ails me only coin can cure. But you hear ole Hap: you’ll soon go. And join me, Earl. That much is sure.” Better he’s remembered Than comin’ back round here. Better as a memory— I ain’t sheddin’ any tears. Earl, Earl, what do we care? (Oh-oh, oh!) You can’t take your gold down there. (Uh-oh, oh!) Earl went to every fine soiree, Not carin' that ole Hap was dead. He'd sniff and puff his pipe away Till clouds hung thick inside his head. One night, a-drivin' home alone, His motorcar tore down the road. He swerved off in the muddy loam, And by an oak, for good, was slowed. Tom heard no steps upon the ground, He danced a jig, a merry step, Earl’s pipe lay dark where he was found. And not a single tear was wept. Better he’s remembered Than comin’ back round here. Now he’s just a memory— I ain’t sheddin’ any tears. Earl, Earl, what do we care? (Oh-oh, oh!) You can’t take your gold down there. (Uh-oh, oh!) Earl, Earl, shoulda said your prayers! (Oh-oh, oh!) You can’t take your gold down there. (Uh-oh, oh!) Now the devil gets his share— (Uh-oh, oh!) We ain’t sheddin’ any tears! (Oh-oh, oh!) Earl, Earl, what do we care? (Oh-oh, oh!) You can’t take your gold down there. (Uh-oh, oh!) — These recordings involve generative AI. #folksong #ballad #americana #singersongwriter