Fried Bread
Album: Couldn't See It
By: BluesAngels
By: BluesAngels
Duration
1:57
Genres
Description
Skiffle, shuffle, jug, whatever. One take live on banjo, guitar, bull fiddle, kazoo. Born into the 1950s depression in the squats of Redfern and moving to a paid house in Rockdale, this is my very early childhood in Sydney. We were kids! We thought life was great. Read the last chapters of my author mum's bestselling autobiography, 'Wildcard', if you wanna know more.
Lyrics
Fried bread, fried bread If the drippin' don't getcha it'll kill you dead Fried bread, fried bread Dwee, dweedup-n-jimmy-die-ay Squat in Redfern '56 Mumma's makin' dough cos the money is nix Weren't too much but 'taters 'n' flour The old man's been blackballed on sixpence an hour We're eatin' fried bread, fried bread If the drippin' don't getcha it'll kill you dead Mmm. fried bread, fried bread dweedup-n-jimmy-die-ay Rockdale life it ain't much better We got Granma slavin' on the Metters Cookin' fried bread, fried bread If the drippin' don't getcha it'll kill you dead Mmm. fried bread, fried bread Dweedup-n-jimmy-die-ay Back in Redfern '56 Mumma's poundin' dough, ain't no Mastermix Take a loaf from the oven, slap a slice in the pan Pot roast got nothin' fried bread don't give a man We got fried bread, fried bread If the drippin' don't getcha it'll kill you dead Mmm. fried bread, fried bread Dweedup-n-jimmy-die-ay Well, that was another century Now we got Kaintuck Chicken, microwave coffee We got five second noodles fill y' pencil full a' lead But there ain't nothin' better than a slice a fried bread Try that fried bread, fried bread If the drippin' don't getcha it'll kill you dead Dweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Dweedup-n-jimmy-die-ay
