|
In a little cabaret |
|
In a south Texas boarder town |
|
Sat a boy and his guitar |
|
And the people came from all around |
|
And all the girls |
|
From there to Austin |
|
Were slippin' away from home |
|
And puttin' jewelry and hopped to take the trip |
|
To go and listen |
|
To the little dark-haired boy who played the |
|
Tennessee flat top box |
|
And he would play |
|
Well he couldn't ride or wrangle |
|
And he never cared to make it down |
|
But give him his guitar |
|
And he'd be happy all the time |
|
And all the girls |
|
From nine to ninety |
|
Were snappin' fingers |
|
Tappin' toes |
|
And beggin' him don't stop |
|
And hypnotized |
|
And fascinated |
|
By the little dark-haired boy who played the |
|
Tennessee flat top box |
|
And he would play |
|
Then one day he was gone |
|
And no one ever saw him 'round |
|
He vanished like the breeze |
|
They forgot him in the little town |
|
But all the girls |
|
Still dreamed about him |
|
And hung around |
|
The cabaret until the doors were locked |
|
And then one day |
|
On the hit parade |
|
Was the little dark-haired boy who played the |
|
Tennessee flat top box |
|
And he would play |
