|
In a little cabaret in a South Texas border 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' jewelery in hock. |
|
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: |
|
[Instrumental] |
|
Well, he couldn't ride or wrangle, and he never cared to make a dime. |
|
But give him his guitar, and he'd be happy all the time. |
|
And all the girls from nine to ninety, |
|
Were snapping fingers, tapping toes, and begging 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: |
|
[Instrumental] |
|
Then one day he was gone, and no one ever saw him 'round, |
|
He'd 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 a little dark-haired boy who played the Tennessee flat top box. |
|
And he would play: |
