Woes of the Road Songtext
von Barefoot Jerry
Woes of the Road Songtext
The record company said if we′d be good and practice every day
They could get us a gig in a coffee house circuit
Where the up-and-coming songwriters play
You'll be warming up for a one-man band who impersonates a tree
But the press′ll be there, so what the hell do we care
If you're going to be working for free?
Well, we all piled into a 1955 Packard with torsion air
Looking like a Fender showroom window full of paraphernalia and hair
We pulled into a self-service station for a moon pie and a Coke
The fill-up cost us ninety cents a
Gallon and the Coke machine was broke
Three Big Macs later we pulled into L.A., ready to knock 'em all dead
Started us a bar tab for the band just like the club owner said
When eight o′clock rolled ′round we
Found ourselves playing for a measly few
Big band freak from the Times came by
To get drunk and throw up in his shoe
And there was three old boys from the narco squad
Who came by to watch the pretty girls dance
They had flat-top hair and long underwear
Sticking out below their high-water pants
And there was one DJ overheard to say
He thought we ought to play some pantyhose rock
But when we played the blues he took off his shoes
And we left a little present in his sock
When we got through with our songs
That night, the barmaid gave us a hand
In it was a bill for the drinks of all
The press who were guests of the band
We had to hock our best old twin amp to pay for the damage we'd done
When we redecorated that place inside with a chainsaw and a gun
Well, needless to say, by noon the next
Day, we were heading back to Tennessee
Where the air is fantastic and they don′t
Grow plastic hippies on a tinsel tree
Where they take off their shoes and understand the blues
'Cause that′s where it all began
And the C.D.B. and you and me and the South are going to do it again
They could get us a gig in a coffee house circuit
Where the up-and-coming songwriters play
You'll be warming up for a one-man band who impersonates a tree
But the press′ll be there, so what the hell do we care
If you're going to be working for free?
Well, we all piled into a 1955 Packard with torsion air
Looking like a Fender showroom window full of paraphernalia and hair
We pulled into a self-service station for a moon pie and a Coke
The fill-up cost us ninety cents a
Gallon and the Coke machine was broke
Three Big Macs later we pulled into L.A., ready to knock 'em all dead
Started us a bar tab for the band just like the club owner said
When eight o′clock rolled ′round we
Found ourselves playing for a measly few
Big band freak from the Times came by
To get drunk and throw up in his shoe
And there was three old boys from the narco squad
Who came by to watch the pretty girls dance
They had flat-top hair and long underwear
Sticking out below their high-water pants
And there was one DJ overheard to say
He thought we ought to play some pantyhose rock
But when we played the blues he took off his shoes
And we left a little present in his sock
When we got through with our songs
That night, the barmaid gave us a hand
In it was a bill for the drinks of all
The press who were guests of the band
We had to hock our best old twin amp to pay for the damage we'd done
When we redecorated that place inside with a chainsaw and a gun
Well, needless to say, by noon the next
Day, we were heading back to Tennessee
Where the air is fantastic and they don′t
Grow plastic hippies on a tinsel tree
Where they take off their shoes and understand the blues
'Cause that′s where it all began
And the C.D.B. and you and me and the South are going to do it again
Writer(s): Wayne Moss Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
