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 your doin' but it ain’t where it’s at
I see this road will leave you cold and alone
Old and broke and just a bag of bones
So 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
Guitars 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
So 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
Guitars 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
Now 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 an amplifier
Guitars pickin' with a bottle of wine
I’ll be an old, a broke guitar picker