She's cool in bed, as she ought to be, cuz Ethyl's dead.

Chained in a cell, got my own private hell. Preacher crucifies me, warden wants to fry me.

When we get together and rehearse, which is always living with each other, we always talk about what would make it better, what would mean more, what would say more. So we're always improving and growing.

Is everybody that depressed? It's a depressing feeling to me. You know: "I lost my baby." I don't care if you lost your baby, I care if you're feeling OK. Don't tell me your problem - tell me what good's been happening to you.

When you touch me there, honey, makes my blood perspire, you got my body flaming like a California fire. Pulsing, pounding, pushing no longer in control, heatwave in my brain, smolder in my soul.

I'm not crazy about country-western music. But the lyrics are good. "I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy" is pretty clever.

He lies right at you, you know you hate this game. He slaps you once in a while and you live and love in pain.