This Lyric is: #063

Pocket Full Of Blues
Lyric (c) 2001 by Greg C. Brown

I was feeling sorry for myself again,
Wanderin’ around without a prayer or a friend.
Decided I needed a cold, tall drink
To clear my head and maybe help me think.

In a cloud of smoke on a dim lit stage
I saw an old relic from another age.
He was puffin’ away on a stale cigar,
Draggin’ his fingers cross an old guitar.

CHORUS
When bad luck's had you pinned against the wall,
All you've got left when you've lost it all
Is a permanent cough, some worn out shoes,
A head full of mem'ries and a pocket full of blues.

The years on his face said he’d seen many miles,
I sat myself down, thought I’d listen for awhile.
He was croakin’ the blues with a nicotine throat,
I swear he told my life with every note.

Alone in the darkness of that corner booth
I heard his own version of the cold, hard truth.
With every sorry tune someone seemed to lose;
I wondered why there wasn’t any happy news.

REPEAT CHORUS
When bad luck's had you pinned against the wall,
All you've got left when you've lost it all
Is a permanent cough, some worn out shoes,
A head full of mem'ries and a pocket full of blues.

He took a short break and so I asked him why
He had to sing songs that made you wanna cry.
It seemed to take forever as he searched his head,
Finally, with a sigh, this is what he said:

I’ve been singin’ these songs since I don’t know when,
I like to think of them as my next of kin.
‘Cause if it wasn’t for these blues I sing,
Son, I wouldn’t have much of anything.

REPEAT CHORUS
When bad luck's had you pinned against the wall,
All you've got left when you've lost it all
Is a permanent cough, some worn out shoes,
A head full of mem'ries and a pocket full of blues.

A head full of mem'ires and a pocket full of blues.


[This message has been edited by Greg C. Brown (edited 08-11-2002).]

[This message has been edited by Brian Austin Whitney (edited 08-31-2002).]

If you don't eat your meat, you can't have any pudding.