Posted by: nancykenny | February 10, 2010

I Make The Dough, You Get The Glory

By Kathleen Edwards

Blazing a trail to the southern cities from the streets of our hometown.
Basement bars, we played from the heart in the company of our friends.
If I write down these memories that I have saved away,
Photographs of the years that have passed inside my little brain.

You’re cool and cred like Fogerty, I’m Elvis Presley in the 70s.
You’re Chateauneuf, I’m Yellow Label.
You’re the buffet, I’m just the table.
I’m a Ford Tempo, you’re a Maserati.
You’re The Great One, I’m Marty McSorley.
You’re the Concorde, I’m Economy.
I make the dough, but you get the glory.

Big fish, small pond and some cover songs that we sang along the way.
We used to midnight run to The Vesta Lounge – cheese burgers and chocolate shakes.
And once I got drunk with Jeff, I told him I was in love with you.
But I love you like a brother so I guess that half of it was true.

And you’re cool and cred like Fogerty, I’m Elvis Presley in the 70s.
You’re Chateauneuf, I’m Yellow Label.
You’re the buffet, I’m just the table.
I’m a Dodge Fargo, you’re a Lamborghini.
You’re The Great One, I’m Marty McSorley.
You’re the Concorde, I’m Economy.
I make the dough, but you get the glory.

If I write down these memories that I have saved away,
Photographs of the years that have passed inside my little brain.

I’m sure it’s been said in the finer print you make me look legitimate.
Heavy rotation on the CBC, whatever in hell that really means.
You’re cool and cred like Fogerty, I’m Elvis Presley in the 70s.
You’re the Concorde, I’m Economy.
I make the dough, but you get the glory.


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