Well, hello there,
little lady. I'm just a lonesome guitar picker.
You'd never know from the way I
look that I'm an educated man.
I got the music in my blood, little lady,
makes me ramble across the land.
The troubles on my mind,
this old guitar in my hand.
I left my home and family,
I wasn't much more than a child.
I don't count the towns no more,
sure don't count the miles.
I guess I'll never have a home,
at least the way it's not your kind.
I just stopped here in this bar to try to drink
some peace of mind.
Well, I usually play for my drinks and tips,
except when I play for free.
This old guitar and a bank of songs,
that's about all there is to me.
Little lady, if you don't mind,
I think I'll make a song for you.
I'll sing it down the road
somewhere.
It's the most that I can do.
Lord, the music just won't turn me loose.
It's a curse to be this kind.
Little lady, you'll never know
the comfort that I find
And just talking to someone like you,
in this bar along the way,
sure ain't the usual kind I find to
brighten up my day.
And the night when I lay down along
some road to try to sleep,
Just a memory in your treasure chest,
this is all that you may keep.
No wait now,
I got more than that to give you.
It's this locket made of gold.
My mother gave it to me ma 'am,
now it's yours to hold.
Now don't try the thing,
do I need a place to stay?
Well, thank you, little lady.
Why don't we pick up a bottle on the way?
You