Guitar Picker

I remember back when I was sixteen

I was sittin' around pickin', just my pops and me

When his friend walked up in a cowboy hat

Said, "I like what you're doin', but it ain't where it's at"

A-see this road and leave the corn alone

Old and broke and just a bag of bones

See you better take heed to the words I say

And stay quite clear of that lost highway

Oh, southern wind, won't you take me high?

I got seven ladies dancin' naked 'round an old camp fire

Guitar pickin' with a bottle of wine

I'll be an old broke guitar picker, Lord, when I die

Holes in my clothes, I got holes in my shoes

I got a hole in my heart, that's why I'm singin' the blues

I put some change in my pocket, but it's all gone

And everything that I do, it seems to be wrong

So now I'm broke, I'm back on the street

With a guitar case in front of Tate and me

And you better listen up 'cause it ain't no lie

Please throw a nickel in when you walk by

Oh, southern wind, won't you take me high?

It's hard to keep rollin' when all you got is flat tires

Guitar pickin' with a bottle of wine

I'll be an old broke guitar picker, Lord, when I die

I came in this world with nothin' on my back

And I'll leave the same way and that's a fact

Ain't in it for the money, ain't in it for the fame

I don't really care if you remember my name

So now I got to go, I got to hit the road

I got to do the only thing that I know

I got this feelin' deep down, and I got to be true

And I sure as hell ain't gonna change for you

Oh, southern wind, won't you take me high?

When I hear the sounds comin' from one amplifier

Guitar pickin' with a bottle of wine

And I'll be an old broke guitar picker, Lord