Well Orville Davis is dressed in an old west gunslinger black outfit with the requisite black hat, with a bit of a pony tail and looking off into the distance arms folded on his chest in front of a barn, but that's about it. Instead of a barn burner this is more the lighting of a paper match, not even a wood match. It gets to the heat of liquid left in the sun at times tepid, but not much more than that. Generally in the barn at home we kept feed and tack, the horses we kept inside, a couple of cats, and, upon occasion when we had a cow that look ready to drop a calf, we kept her in there too, and it would have been a big loss if it had caught fire. The thing is, this disc sure won't cause the spark. It kind of shuffles along at barely more than a fast trot, his sandpaper voice giving out the lyrics without much emotion.
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