Guitar Picker Songtext
von Whiskey Myers

I remember back when I was sixteen
I was sittin′ around pickin', just my pops and me
When his friend walked up in a cowboy hat
Said, "I like what you′re doin', but it ain't where it′s at"
A-see this road and leave the corn alone
Old and broke and just a bag of bones
See you better take heed to the words I say
And stay quite clear of that lost highway

Oh, southern wind, won′t you take me high?
I got seven ladies dancin' naked ′round an old camp fire
Guitar pickin' with a bottle of wine
I′ll be an old broke guitar picker, Lord, when I die


Holes in my clothes, I got holes in my shoes
I got a hole in my heart, that's why I′m singin' the blues
I put some change in my pocket, but it's all gone
And everything that I do, it seems to be wrong
So now I′m broke, I′m back on the street
With a guitar case in front of Tate and me
And you better listen up 'cause it ain′t no lie
Please throw a nickel in when you walk by

Oh, southern wind, won't you take me high?
It′s hard to keep rollin' when all you got is flat tires
Guitar pickin′ with a bottle of wine
I'll be an old broke guitar picker, Lord, when I die

I came in this world with nothin' on my back
And I′ll leave the same way and that′s a fact
Ain't in it for the money, ain′t in it for the fame
I don't really care if you remember my name
So now I got to go, I got to hit the road
I got to do the only thing that I know
I got this feelin′ deep down, and I got to be true
And I sure as hell ain't gonna change for you

Oh, southern wind, won′t you take me high?
When I hear the sounds comin' from one amplifier
Guitar pickin' with a bottle of wine
And I′ll be an old broke guitar picker, Lord