From the burnt brown plains of Bastard County, Kansas, where you can’t drink the water, but the whiskey flows like wine, I bring to you Tinhorn Molly, pastoral purveyors of fine Americana, offerin' up songs plucked raw from the fields of the American midwest, tuned to a train whistle and played in the key of a hound, these are songs of highway and home, sorrow and joy. Songs to love, laugh, cry and kill to, all in the rusted scrap iron sound of a three piece junkyard orchestra.
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