They say by mistake Here nobody takes me for a fool Just for a fake Later at the hotel bar The journalists are waiting I hurry back to my guitar While
, I'm at the bottom, lookin' up Been there before but once ain't enough I tried to quit but there ain't no way I can't live by the light of day I'm goin
a name in a heavy downpour Thought he passed his own shadow by the backstage door. Like a trip through the past to that day in the rain And that one guitar
On the Brooklyn Bridge tonight Well it really has been a blue blue day and the water is cold in East River Bay Water is cold in East River Bay [ guitar ] Standing by
home [ guitar ] Now the homefolks think I'm big in Detroit City From the letters that I write they think I'm just fine By day I make the cars and by
Edgar Allan Poe But since I'm a ne-gro, I flows like Maya Ange-lou No banja-lo was played, I means banjo betrayed so the guitar, had to take the bitch
not understand Turn, turn, to the rain and the wind And I played my guitar through the night to the day Turn, turn, turn again And the only tune my guitar
He sat down with his guitar in a distant place When a man walks up and tells him "Buddy there are some things you cannot say" I'll be damned if you'll
I can't remember when I've ever been so blue If I ever needed love I need it now I feel so all alone I don't know what to do No day or night goes by
one cold and cloudy day When I saw the hearse come rolling for to carry my mother away Can the circle be unbroken by and by Lord by and by There's a
for the Master's bouquet beautiful flowers that will never decay Gathered by angels and carried away forever to bloom in the Master's bouquet [ ac.guitar ] Loved ones are passing each day
If you see your brother standing by the road With a heavy load from the seeds he sowed If you see your sister falling by the way Just stop and say you
More than once I've cried because impatience let me down I could see the gold before the gold was found Everytime I've trusted love to lead me by the
work day And get the cows in and start the milking chores It's nice to think about it can't even visit well I wonder could I live there anymore [ guitar
you just can't sing it no more Your emerald ring with the solid gold band Reflects back the face of a whore. Freddie would play on his guitar all day
half tight And so the nights rolled by like headlights Shining on a lonesome strip of tar I kept his word of kindness close to me Like a pick on my guitar
toes, and begging him,"Don't stop" And hypnotized and fascinated By the little dark-haired boy that played the Tennessee flat top box And he would play Then one day
a story that?s all about This job I had one time as a talent scout I had a hard day at the office and the boss wasn?t in town The day this hired legged guitar