If you're not an alcoholic, drug addict, genetic miscreant, broke-dick motherfucker with Dixie in your veins and Eartha Kitt on your lips carrying a loaded revolver in your boot and a dentist's diploma from Vanderbilt on your wall, but wonder what it may be akin to; well, Egg gives you a glimpse with his Sony PortaPack on Infa-Red settings as he sucks up blues' blood and chicken heads from the negro streets at dawn.









