(Verse)
|
Like so many spent shell cases
|
What was a fresh 12 pack of beer
|
Well I end up neatly facing me like a jury of my peers
|
Screaming guilty, guilty, guilty boy
|
Your time has come and come
|
We¡¯re not sure that you wasted it like the squander did all wrong
|
|
(Chorus)
|
That¡¯s what they say
|
A hell, I slept right through the news
|
But I¡¯ve been willing to wager all I have
|
That the world still got the blues
|
So I¡¯ll sit here in this farmhouse
|
And re-write dusty trails
|
And knock one back
|
From that bottle of Jack
|
And watch the outlaw Jonesy Wade
|
|
(Verse)
|
¡®Cause there¡¯s wisdom in those old movies
|
Beauty in them old songs
|
And there¡¯s a rhythm in the wind my friend
|
That I should be moving along
|
|
(Verse)
|
But I got a little gal down dead rock way
|
Stops by from time to time
|
No clue what she¡¯s thinkin
|
But I know what¡¯s on her mind
|
|
(Chorus)
|
That¡¯s what they say
|
A hell, I slept right through the news
|
But I¡¯ve been willing to wager all I have
|
That the world still got the blues
|
So I¡¯ll sit here in this barroom
|
And re-tell dusty tales
|
And knock one back
|
From that bottle of Jack
|
And quote the outlaw Jonesy Wade
|
Endeavored a persevere
|
|
(Verse)
|
Well it might have been the rain
|
And it might¡¯ve been the wind
|
It might¡¯ve been neon signs that drew me in
|
And it might have been the jukebox
|
Got me thinking of you
|
Ain¡¯t it amazing what a song can do?
|
|
(Verse)
|
Now I sit in this barroom and stare at these bottles
|
About at the end of my rope
|
Just when I thought I had drowned all my sorrows
|
Old memories when we learn how to float
|
|
(Verse)
|
Closure is a word best left for the stars
|
If you ever really cared about something
|
It ain¡¯t ever gonna leave me alone
|
If you hit it down the lost highway
|
You¡¯re up that glory trail
|
Keep on in that direction and you¡¯ll get there without fair
|
|
(Chorus)
|
That¡¯s what they say
|
A hell, I slept right through the news
|
But I¡¯ve been willing to wager all I have
|
That the world still got the blues
|
So I¡¯ll sit here in this barroom
|
And re-tell dusty tales
|
And knock one back
|
From that bottle of Jack
|
And quote the outlaw Jonesy Wade
|
|
(Verse)
|
That ain¡¯t much of a living, boy
|
No a hard man to track
|
Leaves dead men wherever he goes
|
You gonna pull them pistols or whistle Dixie?
|
And my own personal favorite
|
Get ready grandma, hell is coming to breakfast
|
|
-----------------
|
That's What They Say
|
Chris Wall |