(Baby sounds) (Man Insane sounds) (dobro) This is a story about the Good'Ole Hillbilly Zatan Boys, born and hell raised in South Arkansas. (dobro slides sounds) They were wild and they had guns. Them old boys were itching to have one them thar Branch Davidian Freakouts. There wasn't much to do around the house but sit around, killing time, eating snake meat (rattlesnake sounds) while squatting around the fire...either that or sip straight White Jesus shine from a dirty cup, with your leg (car horn sound) propped up on a deadcar (sniffing dust sounds), so's your balls could spill out one side of the tattered cut-offs you ain't washed in 6 weeks (sound of man, saying "Right"). Yes, them were long nights...followed by days so mountain-pounding long you'd swear the sun had wires in it (background: Oh, man, you got to help me!)...what with the buzz and scrape of the insects hissing round the creeps, rotting on Buzzard's Bluff (cackling buzzards sounds).

(Junkyard sounds) The family survived by selling stolen scrap metal back to the junkyard where Elron "Zixox" Zatan, patriarch of the Hillbilly Zatan Clan, crushed cars and collected a check every two weeks. (dobro sounds) He also made a little cash on the side, hocking a rotgut concoction sifted from out the still that (steam and sniffing sounds) Grand Pappy Mutton had made back in 1936 old musket guts and junk he found laying around the yard. (out of tune harmonica sounds)

But they were hard. Times was hard...but not harder that the smelly-greasy heads of the Good'Ole Hillbilly Zatan Boys (punch wall sounds). They stitched a wicked strangeness and rode the ghost of it out of the backwoods (sounds of man insane and babbling), mulching humping rotten stumps, pornfornicating on the darkness of the moist hills (sounds of man fucking tree stump), calibrating the bizzarre circus of dementia (sounds of lunatic man babbling in unknown langauge), lodged far back along the twisted