I studied this—these were literally the lyrics to a Bond Brothers song: [reciting in a deadpan] “Good ol’ boys cuttin’ loose in your town / Bring all the booze, bring all the gals / Rev me up, baby, rev me up / Hop yourself on in my truck / Enough could never be enough.” But oh yes, it could be enough, couldn’t it? Certainly enough for me to want to stick my head in the oven, right, and toss in my own tortured notebooks while I was at it. The hilarious part is that neither Opal nor I, nor any of the other artists we knew on the label, had even met them yet to know the full extent of their
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