I became Swamp Dogg in 1970 in order to have an alter-ego and someone to occupy the body while the search party was out looking for Jerry Williams, who was mentally missing in action due to certain pressures, mal-treatments and failure to get paid royalties on over fifty single records…. Most all of the tracks included were recorded in Muscle Shoals, Alabama, and Macon, Georgia, which brings me to how the name Swamp Dogg came about. Jerry Wexler, Atlantic Records v.p. and producer/innovator second to none, was recording in the newly discovered mecca of funk Muscle Shoals, Alabama. He coined the term “Swamp Music” for this awesome funk predominately played by all white musicians accompanying the R’n’B institutions e.g., Wilson Pickett, Aretha Franklin, King Curtis… I was also using the same “swamp” players. I was tired of being a jukebox, singing all of the hits by Chuck Jackson, Ben E. King, etc., and being an R’n’B second banana. I couldn’t dance as good as Joe Tex, wasn’t pretty like Tommy Hunt, couldn’t compare vocally to Jackie Wilson and I didn’t have the sex appeal of Daffy Duck. I wanted to sing about everything and anything and not be pigeonholed by the industry. So I came up with the name Dogg because a dog can do anything, and anything a dog does never comes as a real surprise; if he sleeps on the sofa, shits on the rug, pisses on the drapes, chews up your slippers, humps your mother-in-law’s leg, jumps on your new clothes and licks your face, he’s never gotten out of character. You understand what he did, you curse while making allowances for him but your love for him never diminishes. Commencing in 1970, I sung about sex, niggers, love, rednecks, war, peace, dead flies, home wreckers, Sly Stone, my daughters, politics, revolution and blood transfusions (just to name a few), and never got out of character. Recording in Alabama and sincerely singing/writing about items that interested me, gave birth to the name Swamp Dogg.
Jerry Williams a.k.a. Swamp Dogg, courtesy of archive.org
“Redneck”, off the amazing LP Total Destruction of Your Mind
Hey, redneck
Man ain’t you cool head?
Man about town
Hair slicked down
Little grease on your forehead.
Hey, the things you say and do
Gonna make papa real proud of you.
Play football.
Hang around the pool hall.
Cheat on exams.
Hey, redneck
Pullin’ in at the drive-in
Spend a little mon’
Poke a lotta fun
At people tryin’ to make a livin’.
But you never had much use
For all them niggers, dagos and jews.
Talk real loud
‘Bout being proud
Baby, you what’s happenin’.
Hey, redneck
Goin’ down to the ghettos.
Dollar’s worth of gas
Heckle and harass
All the hippies and the weirdos.
Hey, talk about havin’ fun
You’re a good time son of a gun.
Four years of college
A little bit of knowledge.
Outsmart the draft board.
Hey, redneck
All American lover
God said “Brain”
You thought He said “Rain”
And you ran for cover.
Don’t you know I’ve done all I can do
To try to get along with you?
You’re too much
Everything you touch
Turns to something else (Yes, it does now).
Hey, redneck
Bye, redneck.