The Unspoken
“Outhouse Blues” treats humour as social glue, allowing an awkward or ridiculous situation to become easier once everyone can laugh at it. The thought beneath the melody sharpens around “But all I found was a skunk and a wasp galore”: comic exaggeration as a mirror for familiar human behaviour. The repeated presence of home gives the lyric a symbolic layer of belonging and emotional safety. Because the lyric speaks from inside the feeling, its idea arrives as confession and discovery rather than instruction. “They say life's about timing” works as the final turn in the thought; what survives is the permission to enjoy personality, mess, and comic exaggeration.
Outhouse Blues - Lyrics
Some songs come from the heart...
This one?
Came from... somewhere lower.
It was chili night down at Miss Patty Sue’s,
I had three full bowls and two barbecued stews.
I felt a rumble, a tremor, a quake
The kind o’ storm even prayer can't fake.
Ran for the outhouse, boots full of fear,
Tripped on a rake, lost a toenail and beer.
That door was closed, padlocked tight...
I hollered, “Who’s in there?” — heard a raccoon fight.
I got the outhouse blues, can’t find relief,
My stomach’s in knots, my soul’s in grief.
I knocked on fate’s porcelain door…
But all I found was a skunk and a wasp galore.
Tried the neighbor’s shed but their Doberman barked,
Tried the woods, but I’m tick-prone and bark-scarred.
So I dug a quick hole with a spoon and a shoe,
Till I hit Aunt Bonnie’s sprinkler — oh, Lordy, that flew.
By the time I got home, all proud and spent,
My dog had peed on my only tent.
And wouldn’t you know, just my rotten luck…
The outhouse door swung open — unlocked by a duck.
I got the outhouse blues, no throne in sight,
Spent forty-five minutes in a real dumb fight.
With a squirrel, a frog, and one wild bee…
That claimed squatters’ rights on the seat from me.
They say life’s about timing.
Mine came... five minutes too late.
But the memory?
That’s permanent.
I got the outhouse blues, and I sing ‘em loud,
From the seatless bench to the thundercloud.
If life gives ya beans, just say your goodbyes…
And bring spare shorts — real country guys.
Still can’t eat chili without cryin’...
