My memory bank has overflowed out of control forever. I'm surprised my smile hasn't killed me yet. I have lived an indescribable joyful, adventurous, musical dream life and it just gets better every year.

At 62, I remain clean and sober and my ponytail remains erect.

I contribute to the dead of winter and the moans of silence, blood trails are music to my ears … I'm a gut pile addict … The pig didn't know I was there … it's my kick … I love shafting animals … it's rock 'n' roll power.

While I now own more guns than the 82nd Airborne, my first gun is still the most important gun I've ever owned.

Freedom is not free, and we all have a lot of work ahead of us. And I perform the ultimate soundtrack to get the job done every day. We're not having any fun at all.

I have undeniable evidence that many have awakened as a result of my raising hell. Raising hell is SO American rock-and-roll. And of course even soulless wimps love killer music and my incredible guitar tone.

Look what venison does to a goofy guitar player from Detroit? I'm going to be 54 this year and if I had any more energy I'd scare you.