Holding on to his 24 ounce can of Blue Ribbon, a fan doused in a ripped up tee and scruffy beard stands steadfast at the edge of the stage waiting for the band to play.  He pals around with the guitarist who strips off his shirt and dons on a cowboy hat like a ranchhand at work.  The lead takes a couple of beer swigs and snaps a jab at the other two bands playing that night.  “It’s red versus brown tonight!” referring to their redneck stature during a mainly Mexican theme event.  He smiles and raises his bottle in jest.  Suddenly the band burst into a cowpunk explosion.  Like a sheep to an electric fence, our awaiting friend begins to flay around spilling more beer on people than he’s consuming.  They play fast and furiously only stopping briefly for a quick swig of firewater.  As if their show was unrehearsed, the band shouts out to the audience for requests.  “We’re playing our greatest hits tonight.  Exitos!”  Our scruffy friend shouts back, “You have no hits!”  Between the funloving banter of this San Diego band and their fans, that statement is far from the truth.  Songs like “Black Top Highway” and “Dixie” had the listeners shitkicking each other like a hoedown gone horribly wrong. . .and yet, it felt oh so right.  Complete with barefeet, trucker hats, and a cowbell, the band resembled hellbound rednecks and their music was just as mean.  I loved it!  The Screamin’ Yeehaws know how to spit out a punk fury that would make Hank III a little jealous and Mike Ness a little scared.  Soon to be released is a new CD, which makes this reviewer happy.  New release equals more shows and more of a good time.  So at the next gig when the lead asks everyone what they want to hear, let him know, “I’ve got a fever and the only cure is more cowbell!”