Clay Pigeons — Blaze Foley vs. John Prine

Welcome back to Chillers – Cover Up, where we pit two versions of the same song against each other to see which one reigns supreme. The originals are cold, the covers are warm — so make sure you Cover Up and get ready to dive in.

The Song: Clay Pigeons is a tale of wandering and wondering, a man traveling through life without knowing where it will take him. He buys his ticket at the Greyhound Station, takes his seat at the back, and lets the road decide. Maybe Texas, maybe somewhere he’s never been before — the point is, he keeps moving. A tragic song wrapped in deceptively simple lines, with two fascinatingly different interpretations.

The Original: Though it wasn’t released in his lifetime, Clay Pigeons became Blaze Foley’s most enduring song. His deep, ragged voice pairs perfectly with his minimalist lyricism, the whole piece landing squarely in the Outlaw Country tradition. The song moves at the steady pace of an old Greyhound bus — consistent, unhurried, carrying both Foley and the listener along for the ride. It’s haunting, and it lingers.

The Cover: Standing tall on the Mount Rushmore of folk music, John Prine gave Clay Pigeons new life on his 2005 album Fair and Square. Where Foley drove straight down the highway, Prine takes the scenic route — slowing the tempo, adding guitar flourishes, and softening the lyrics just enough to feel less tragic and more reflective. It’s still heavy, but with a touch of wry acceptance that’s signature Prine.

The Verdict: This one’s tough because they almost feel like two different songs. Foley sounds weary, resigned, carrying the weight of every mile. Prine sounds lighter, as if he’s accepted the journey and is willing to see where it goes. Both versions are beautiful, but if pressed, it’s hard to argue against Prine’s mastery.

So give them both a listen. Then another. And maybe a third. Each time you’ll find new details hiding in the lyrics and guitar — little jewels scattered along the highway of a truly remarkable song.