Yep. HATE this song.
In the summer of 1996 my mom and her boyfriend went away for two weeks and I stayed home because I couldn't take time off of work. Within hours of my parents leaving, the people who lived across the street pulled their stereo speakers out onto the second story balcony along with a 24 pack of beer and proceeded to blast Sweet Home Alabama. The first time it happened, I danced around the living room and celebrated a beautiful sunny summer's day beginning to my two weeks of parent-less freedom. Then it happened -- the song played again... and again... and again.
Big wheels keep on turning
It's got to stop sometime, right? Wrong. I could hear it in the shower, I could hear it in the basement, it played on and on into the night. I prayed that the next day would bring rain and quash their hillbilly beer-drinkin' Skynyrd party. No. Such. Luck.
Nine days. Nine days it carried on. Night and day, day and night. *brain melting guitar riff*
I called the police (and they definitely showed up every time I did), asked the neighbours to turn the music down, then left. And they did turn it down to a reasonable volume... until the song looped around again and BOOM!
In Birmingham they love the governor
BOO BOO BOO!
I went through phases -- singing along, stomping around furiously, plugging my ears, dancing in my seat, wondering where my other neighbours were and why they weren't complaining too -- was everyone on vacation? It felt like it would never end and by the time it did I had learned to HATE this song.
It will forever remind me of jerky, inconsiderate drunken hillbillies singing loudly and laughing obnoxiously.
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