An old hand at singing inside

Morning blogsters:

The other day the neighbor guy asked me what I’m yelling about over here early mornings.  Something with the cats, or just letting off steam.

I had to think about it before I realized I was singing too loud these predawn mornings.

Reminded me of another Jerry Sires song:

I’m an old hand at singing inside

Held back by a mixture of comfort and pride

Nobody knows, when it comes right down to it

I’m an old hand at singing inside.

Like all of the children who grew up on Hank Williams

I’m richer by measures untold.

But people might think it was downright unnatural

How Otis (Redding) took root in my soul.

But I’m an old hand at singing inside, etc.

Just take my old daddy now

Spent most of his life raising cotton and cows

But if you heard him sing the songs of his youth

You’d just wish that he’d take a bow.

Cause he’s an old hand at singing inside.

Held back by a mixture of comfort and pride

Nobody knows when it comes right down to it

He’s an old hand at singing inside.

Anyway, in my particular case it can be mistaken for yelling at the cats.

Jack