Lyric Sheets

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The Independent Culture
Forty years ago this week, during a gruelling tour of the American mid-west, Buddy Holly was killed when the plane which he'd chartered crashed in bad weather

Buddy's Laundry

He wanted to get his laundry done

Ran out of shirts and things like that.

Wanted to sleep in a bed that night

The reason that he took the flight.

The real reason that Buddy died

Is most discussed in touring vans

By tired musicians on the run:

He wanted to get his laundry done.

You don't wanna wake up grubby, cold

Crick-in-your-neck on a fuggy bus

Missing the missus/daughter/son

No. What you need is your laundry done.

And they never tell you in the mags

What any working heart-throb knows;

The ratio of gigs to pants,

It sort of kills the whole romance.

So half-way through the average tour,

The interviews, the jokes, the drink,

They're very nice and all of that

But what you crave is a laundromat.

The brilliant songs and banging set

Hide dirty, pissed-off, homesick boys.

An extra date on the "final" leg

For the goose that laid the golden egg.

And in the end you'll hijack time

Take a plane on a dicey night

With bucket loo and a plywood seat

Just to escape the whiff of feet.

And so the reason Buddy died.

Among those theories going on

Musicians often point to one:

He wanted to get his laundry done.

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