The bad week for rock music continued with the death of Glen Frey of the Eagles. Some might recognise the parts of this story that are semi-true.
On a corner in Winslow, Arizona, two singers argued over a song.
“Look, I wrote it,” said one. “I should sing it first.”
“Wrote WHAT?” said the other. “It’s only a half a song – you need more.”
“I know, smart-ass. Any ideas?”
Just then, a passing flatbed Ford slowed down to look at the two squabbling singers. The girl inside leaned out of the window, calling out “Take it easy, boys!"
“My Lord, that’s it!” said the first. “I’ll have the flatbed Ford and the girl, you sing the song first.”
“Deal,” said the second. And it came to pass.
“Look, I wrote it,” said one. “I should sing it first.”
“Wrote WHAT?” said the other. “It’s only a half a song – you need more.”
“I know, smart-ass. Any ideas?”
Just then, a passing flatbed Ford slowed down to look at the two squabbling singers. The girl inside leaned out of the window, calling out “Take it easy, boys!"
“My Lord, that’s it!” said the first. “I’ll have the flatbed Ford and the girl, you sing the song first.”
“Deal,” said the second. And it came to pass.