I first ran into Stoney. . . it was a bar downtown;
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Was Richmond, Virginia. . . we were bumming around,
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Suitcase to suitcase. . . we started him talking,
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Finding out about the things we've shared in the miles we've been.
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He had a gray pillowcase full of books by Durrell,
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And he had this old concertina, all beat up and she played like hell,
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Until you got him started singing those Gospel songs,
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Well, he drank all night for nothing, he told his stories till dawn.
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And he said, "Come on, get your bag, boy! Sun's up now and it's time to roll!
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Hell, you know there ain't no better time than early in the morning
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To be out walking down that road!
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Just feeling another day beginning while some fools just rushing on by,
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We'll be like some Mr. Independence: we're taking our own sweet time!"
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We walked on out that highway under a clear blue sky,
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I's listening to the tales he told, drinking warm red wine.
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'Bout the night he rolled seven; bout some girl he'd done wrong;
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'Bout everything he could think of while we walked along.
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Yeah, ol' Stoney had a magic; made him hard to forget.
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Like the night we flew down the highway (his old pickup, it nearly wrecked!)
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Was a crazy woman driving, all drunked up and carrying on;
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Till Stoney finally calmed her singing those Gospel songs.
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Well, we split the road at Norwood, and he just shook my hand.
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He said, "I'll see you some place, friend," but you know he never has.
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But we were that free then, just walking down the road,
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Never really caring where that highway goes.
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Yeah, Stoney was a liar (a bullshitter!) ain't no doubt about it.
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It was just the way he told things, and you never want to doubt him.
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'Cause he kept you going when the road got rough,
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And brought you through the lean times by making it up.
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"Hey, did I ever tell you the time I married my cousin up in Las Vegas?"
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Yeah, Stoney. Tell it again, will you?
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Stoney
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Jerry Jeff Walker |