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Please Lord, hear my confession. My heart is on parole
I been stuck for days where the devil plays
And the music ain’t got no soul
Well I bled to earn.
And I could return.
Back to the sound so blue.
Now my soul’s on trial before 12 good bars and true.
Now I`m just a poor minstrel.
I got to make ends meet.
But they put me down some hole in the ground
With an unrelenting beat.
Well the ladies looked fine.
Drank fancy moonshine.
I played the best I could do.
But I couldn’t wait to get back again to those 12 good bars and true.
Well my friend got fancy axes.
They make some pretty tones.
They got horns and strings - mighty strange things.
Make your blood chill to your bones.
Well he takes out his toys when we play with the boys.
But I say “No, No. Here’s what you do.
"Just gimme three trusty chords, man. Play those 12 good bars and true". |