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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Brandi Carlile
Vocals
Phil Hanseroth
Bass
Tim Hanseroth
Background Vocals
Dave Cobb
Percussion
John Mark Painter
French Horn
Anderson East
Background Vocals
Gena Johnson
Background Vocals
Pete Souza
Background Vocals
Shooter Jennings
Synthesizer
Chris Powell
Drums
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Brandi Carlile
Songwriter
Phil Hanseroth
Songwriter
Tim Hanseroth
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Dave Cobb
Producer
Eddie Spear
Mixing Engineer
Gena Johnson
Assistant Recording Engineer
Pete Lyman
Mastering Engineer
Shooter Jennings
Producer
Lyrics
I run a lot of miles of life and crime
And mountain climbs and quittin' times
Packing that load of lyin' rhymes
And tired jokes and wooden dimes
I've been everybody's friend, everybody's friend
I could lose my house, I could steal a car
I could serve two masters, living hard
Living like a dog in a cage in a yard
With a fist full of cold hard cash and I can't let go
The devil can't have my soul, the devil can't get your soul
The devil can't get your soul
Hold out your hand
Take hold of mine and then
'Round and 'round we go
Don't you wanna dance?
I'm a dying man
From the moment we began
Hold out your hand
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
When the man comes around and the trumpet sounds
And his number calls and the moment he falls
And the haunted halls of man he will understand
He will comprehend, he will not pretend
He will not pretend
When the rain don't fall and the river don't run
And the wind takes orders from the blazing sun
The devil don't break for the fiery snake
And you've had about as goddamn much as you can take
The devil don't take a break, the devil don't take a break
The devil don't take no break
Hold out your hand
Take hold of mine and then
'Round and 'round we go
Don't you wanna dance?
I'm a dying man
From the moment we began
Hold out your hand
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
Well, he came to my door to sell me the fear
With some cameras and bullets and tension and
Here is a license for killing your own native son
For a careless mistake and a fake plastic gun?
(Come on!)
Deliver your brother from violence and greed
For the mountains, lay down for your faith like a seed
A morning is coming of silver and light
There will be color and language and nobody wanting to fight
What a glorious sight!
What a glorious sight!
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
Hold out your hand (ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da)
Take hold of mine and then (ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da)
'Round and round we go (ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da)
Don't you wanna dance? (Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da)
I'm a dying man (ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da)
From the moment we began (ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da)
Hold out your hand (ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da)
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
Ba-da-da, ba-da-da, ba-da-da
Writer(s): Brandi Marie Carlile, Timothy Jay Hanseroth, Phillip John Hanseroth
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