(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
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