Boiled peanuts anytime, painted on a plywood sign
|
Pull to the shoulder and buy a sack
|
An old man with a dirty face swears they're the best you'll taste
|
Grows 'em fresh in that red dirt field outback, yeah, that's a fact
|
|
Grace is a mechanic's wife and their toe-head boys are her whole life
|
Sews patches on blue jeans night and day
|
Never does much for herself, doesn't dream of fame or wealth
|
Just a ballpark bleacher and a place to pray
|
|
Some are called to preach the gospel
|
String fence in Colorado
|
Some are born to raise a family
|
Swing a hammer at a nail
|
Haul bricks or carry mail
|
Go to college, Duke or Yale, but me,
|
I got songs for sale
|
|
There's not a lot of tread on my tires, in some spots you can see the wires
|
Just hope they make it to the next town so I can sing
|
I'm still earning lots of lessons, I'm still calling it a profession
|
Travelin' 'round strummin' these guitar strings
|
|
Some are good at mending houses
|
Fixing drink and telephones
|
Some are born to wear pinstripes on their sleeves
|
Swing a hammer at a nail
|
Haul bricks or carry mail
|
Go to college, Duke or Yale, but me,
|
I got songs for sale
|
|
I see it in a lot of places
|
I read it on a lot of faces
|
|
Some are called to preach the gospel
|
String fence in Colorado
|
Some are born to raise a family
|
Swing a hammer at a nail
|
Haul bricks or carry mail
|
Go to college, Duke or Yale, and me,
|
Yeah me, I got songs for sale
|
Yeah, I got songs for sale
|
|
-----------------
|
Songs For Sale
|
| David Nail |
