Chorus: One glance and you know my name’s “mud.”
It’s not gym sweat, yard dirt, or fake blood.
Each new day adds a layer of grime.
We wash the West off one day at a time. (x2)

1. (The Mispronouncer): I packed three shirts for 10 days in the wild,
Wore one, put it back, now they’re all defiled.
Like rot smell flowing out the mouth of a grave,
The odor rolls from my pack in palpable wave.
A stench and a cloud of fine filth precede us.
Red desert filth made a wreck of my red Adidas.
Nose burns, eyes water, stuck in the same van
With Baby and his inadvertent bear-mace sprayed hand.
Bug repellant, dirt, dried sweat, sunblock.
I’ll never get these poor pores unclogged.
There are days when I may display some bad taste,
But I swear this is filth, I would never wear black face.
Motel shower: scrubbing filth-caked skin.
You almost need sandpaper when the filth’s baked in.
Watching all that filth swirl down the drain
Makes me wonder if there’s anymore ground to gain.

Chorus: It’s the filth, dirt, dust, mud
That puts that lovely rush in my blood.
It’s the silt, sleaze, muck, grime
That lets me know I didn’t waste my time. (x2)

Chorus: One glance and you know my name’s “mud.”
It’s not gym sweat, yard dirt, or fake blood.
Each new day adds a layer of grime.
We wash the West off one day at a time. (x2)

2. (Dutch): We get filthy in the realest way possible.
Sweat filth outta every filthy follicle.
Filth from the inside, filth on the out.
Two paths diverge? I’ll take the filthier route.
Through Buckskin, tucked in the canyon, cleanly.
Quicksand sinks toes, feet, ankles gently.
Next thing we know we’re waist-deep in muck.
Getting going in the moment that we’re knowing that we’re stuck.
Day one: we smell like promise and hope.
Day two begins, any soap left? Nope!
Day three comes; we’re more stink than men.
Day four: wake up, start stinking again.
I’m primordial, Vine Man, troglodyte.
Still covered in glop, my smile shines bright
Like a swamp thing, a cesspool walking.
Emerge from the mire, filth as my attire.

Chorus: It’s the filth, dirt, dust, mud
That puts that lovely rush in my blood
It’s the silt, sleaze, muck, grime
That lets me know I didn’t waste my time. (x2)

Chorus: One glance and you know my name’s “mud.”
It’s not gym sweat, yard dirt, or fake blood.
Each new day adds a layer of grime.
We wash the West off one day at a time. (x2)

3. (Dutch): I’ll come clean: I love leaving dirty, a mess.
Undress, take a sink shower, redress
Rise up from the sludge as unwashed masses
Deformed lumps, the sludge can’t harass us.
Raise a glass to the past but don’t catch a whiff.
Good think memories ain’t scratch and sniff.
Living life to the filthiest, no regrets.
There is no blessing without the mess.

(The Mispronouncer): All around the campfire, dust and ash
Cling to my sparse beard and my pathetic mustache.
In the van: food wrappers, shoes propped up
On loose refuse and used huge pop cups.
Even when I feel clean and look clean in the mirror,
The filth’s still with me, my only souvenir.
Covered in filth I feel nearer the Divine.
The blessing and the mess are inextricably intertwined.

Chorus:
It’s the filth, dirt, dust, mud
That puts that lovely rush in my blood
It’s the silt, sleaze, muck, grime
That lets me know I didn’t waste my time. (x2)

One glance and you know my name’s “mud.”
It’s not gym sweat, yard dirt, or fake blood.
Each new day adds a layer of grime.
We wash the West off one day at a time. (x2)