text: The old man was sitting on the tailgate of a 62 Ford flatbed
  Picking on an old guitar, he looked at me and said The engine’s dead
  It was a good run son, as he strummed a melancholy chord
  Now Ive got nothing but time to kill until the coming of the Lord
  He played me a few songs, one about a Randall knife
  One about a train, one about the pain of losing the love of his life
  He took a puff of that cigarette, he blew a breath of smoke that could smother
  He said They always said these would kill me and they did then he laughed and he lit another
  He said I hear that you write songs boy, play me one that I might know
  So I sang him my latest greatest hit, a number one on music row
  He stopped me before I could finish the verse, said I think Ive heard enough of that
  When you’ve heard one youve heard em all, with a grimace of a grin he took his old guitar back
  He said I guess thats alright if thats all youve got to give
  If thats all youve got to say in this one life youve got to live
  There’s no meaning in your melody so predictable and weak
  Wasted words and shallow rhymes I’d rather hear a woman cuss me a blue streak
  You see, the pencil to the pad is like the bullet to the gun
  The pen is mightier than the sword if the words are forged from fire from the sun
  Yet some do it for the fame, the fun, the money and all the glory
  Yet some do it for their weary soul, wont rest until they tell their story
  You gotta make ’em feel what you feel, help em dream a dream and make em wonder
  Its like catch lightning in a bottle, make ’em smell the rain and hear the thunder
  Let em taste the tears of joy or the bittersweet taste of sin
  Find the passion in a four letter word or a Sunday morning Amen
  And then he flicked his ashes and he pointed at my heart
  Said if youre searching for solid gold, thatd be a real good place to start
  Let the words speak for themselves, tell the truth, right or wrong
  And bare your soul for all to see all for the sake of the song