Well my daddy left home when I was three, and he didn’t leave much to Ma and me, just this old guitar and an empty bottle of booze.
Now I don’t blame him ’cause he run and hid, but the meanest thing that he ever did, was before he left, he went and named me Sue.
He must’ve thought that it was quite a joke and it got a lotta laughs from a lot of folks, seemed I had to fight my whole life though. Some gal would giggle and I’d get red, and some guy’d laugh and I’d bust his head, I tell you; life ain’t easy for a boy named Sue.
Well I grew up fast and grew up mean, my fists got hard and my wits got keen, roamed from town to town to hide my shame. But I made me a vow to the moon and stars that I’d search the honky tonks and bars and kill that man that give me that awful name.
Well it was Gaitlinburg in mid-July and I’d just hit town and my throat was dry, thought I’d stop and have my self a brew. At an old saloon on a street of mud, there at a table, dealing stud, sat the dirty, mangy dog who named me Sue.
Now I knew that snake was my old sweet dad from the worn out picture that my mother’d had, and I knew that scar on his cheek and his evil eye. He was big and bent and gray and old, and I looked at him and my blood went cold and I said, “My name is Sue! How do you do? Now you gonna die!” Yeah, that’s what I told him.
Well I hit him hard right between the eyes, and he went down, but to my surprise, he come up with a knife and cut off a piece of my ear. Well I busted a chair right across his teeth and we crashed through the wall and into the street, kicking and a gouging in the mud and the blood and the beer.
Well I’d tell you I fought tougher men, but I really can’t remember when- he kicked like a mule and he bit like a crocodile. I heard him laugh and then I heard him cuss, he went for his gun, but I pulled my first, then he looked at me and I saw him smile.
He said, “This world is rough, and if a man’s gonna make he’s gotta be tough, and I knew I wouldn’t be there to help you along. So I gave you that name and I said “goodbye”, I knew you’d have to get tough or die and it’s that named that helped to make you strong. I know you hate and you got the right to kill me now, and I wouldn’t blame you if you do. But you oughta thank me, before I die, for the gravel in your gut and the spit in your eye, ’cause I’m the son of a bitch who named you Sue.
Well what did I do, what could I do? I got all choked up and I through down my gun and called him my Pa and he called me a Son and I come away with a different point of view. And I think about, now and then, every time I try and every time I win, and if I ever have a son I think I’m gonna name him… Bill or George, and damn thing but Sue! I still hate that name.