Down the drain pipe cross the yard and through the fence
|
I risked a whoopin' every time I went
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'Cause white boys weren't allowed
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On the colored side of town
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But I was proud to call
|
That old black man my friend
|
He had a pillow by the bed he used to pray on
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And a beat up old guitar he let me play on
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I knew where my fingers went
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From his greasy fingerprints
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Yeah, he was passin' on
|
What was handed down to him
|
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[Chorus]
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And it soaked up all the blood and sweat and teardrops
|
And the beers he missed in smokey little bars
|
And sometimes that old man he comes alive in my hands
|
I feel the beating of his sad old broken heart
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Just like there's a ghost in this guitar
|
A ghost in this guitar
|
|
Well, the night before he died he made me take it
|
He said, "You play it now, 'cause I gotta go"
|
And I can feel him in my fingers when I play it
|
'Cause sometimes I'm in control
|
And sometimes I just sit back
|
And let him go
|
Sit back and let him go
|
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[Repeat Chorus]
|
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Take a listen to the ghost in this guitar
|
|
-----------------
|
Ghost In His Guitar
|
Keith Urban |