Three friends, two beers, one gun
Jeff Taylor
This song is based on a true story. A couple years ago I spent a week in Wrocław interpreting for a group of Americans from JPAC. Joint Powers American is a branch of the US military which recovers the remains of American soldiers killed overseas. The three people, two men and one woman, represented different branches of the US military and were down there to determine if there were the remains of two WWII American soldiers in separate cementaries.
In the end the the soldiers were not found and maybe the JPAC people felt that they had wasted their time but I really enjoyed myself. To be down in a beautiful town far away from home, real work and responsibilities is an ideal condition for me. I understand missing home but if I’m happy in a particular place, I’ll be in no particualr hurry to go back. Your hometown has your family but after years of seeing them evey day, don’t you feel like seeing something else?
Olsztyn people often tell me that they love travelling. Well, duh. Because you’ve lived here your entire life. If you want to travel to a new place, then just go there and don’t come back. Send post-cards but don’t waste the money bringing presents I don’t really need. People think they want you to return with presents („knock with your foot!”) but once the novelty wears off, they realize they have some new shit which resembles the old shit. So, in a nutshell, don’t travel, just go and live. I won’t cry when you leave but will be happy to see you again.
The JPAC people had flown in from Hawaii covering overat least eleven time zones and as a result suffered majorly from jet-lag. They were sleeping during the day trying to recover which left me with lots of free time to explore Wrocław on one of their city bikes. Technically I was working since I earnt some money, but it was hard to define it as that while swimming in the local pool, visiting the art museum, admiring Wrocław’s beautiful churches and writing songs.
I now reach the subject of today’s blog entry. One of the JPACers had worked a the city morgue somewhere down in the American South a would have to recover bodies (dead) from a crime scene. He started one story with the lie, „There were these three guys, two guns and one beer.”
I said to myself, „There has to be a song for this story.”
A thin line between love and hate, when alcohol was involved.
Who care if it’s your friend, when you’re drunk and empty-handed.
Three friends, two beers, one gun
One too few and one two much of the other.
They went for their beer, so you went for your gun.
You aimed at the first thing in sight and shot him right between the eyes.
Three friends, two beers, one gun
One two few and two much of the other.
You shot him once just for fun, the next time to finish off the job.
In court claim the insae clause and tell the judge that beer was involved.
Three friends, two beers, one gun
One two few and two much of the other.
Hey judge, what’s the big deal, C’mon judge he took my beer.
I assure you, I’ll never do it again, and I’m sure that neither will he.
Three friends, two beers, one gun
One two few and two much of the other.
Three friends, two beers, one gun
One two few and two much of the other.
