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Johnny falls, he throws his hands Into the air, into these walls He's freakin' out, he's got a gun He'll get his way, he'll have his fun You make a mess

He comes from the streets, he grew up in the bars He cut his teeth on his daddy?s guitar He lived every line that he?s ever sung He made believers to

I drive a big old truck with the tires pumped up I?ve got my hands around a motor all day I?ve got my name on my shirt, a little grease, little dirt But

It?s Friday night, the bar is starting to thump Some sexy senorita is fillin? up my mug Big John Brandt, he?s watchin? the floor He?ll buy you a drink

Sister, hey ain't you something I can tell you fell and skinned your knees Why do you lay there Content to stay there in misery? I know it's rough on

by Forrest Richard Betts (c) 1975 Uichappell Music Inc. and F. R. Betts Music (BMI) Instrumental

Baby, so you think you can start again? You got somebody new But the same thing keeps happening At the moment of truth Whoever you're loving You will

BEFORE THE NEXT TEARDROPS FALLS Writers Ben Peters, Vivian Keith If he brings you happiness, Then I wish you all the best. It's your happiness, that

Winter hands, cold clasps, the memory filters into something lucid, a salty drop on my brow, a once brilliant residue now over rich, segments collide,