No form of music can murder someone like Country. Not tattoo'ed stunt bike riding Columbine rock, not killer tape rap, and not windowlicking phreak electric. If you want to murder someone and watch the way their eyes roll back in their head and smell their last breath, you'd better bring a guitar, a cowboy hat, and a .45.

Carson's name is on the sinister roll call tomorrow, and i hope the doc (who could easily be a wise county judge in a John Grisham movie) rolls up his sleeves and puts an old school bullet in Carson's head. terminate with extreme prejudice.

This cold vengeful Chris Knight ballad is one of my favorites:

so one night i floated down
right above wilson's shack
i hid in the woods
till i saw him walk out back
i put a bullet in his head
and dropped him in his tracks
and we went down the river

down below the trestle
where the water runs slow
i chained him to an anvil
and then i let him go
and five years later
i ain't told a soul