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