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Well, I quit my job down at the car wash |
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I left my mama a goodbye note |
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By sundown I'd left Kingston |
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With my guitar under my coat |
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I hitchhiked all the way down to Memphis |
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Got a room at the YMCA |
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And for the next three weeks , I went huntin' them nights |
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Just lookin' for a place to play |
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Well, I thought my pickin' would set 'em on fire |
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But nobody wanted to hire a guitar man |
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Well, I nearly 'bout starved to death down in Memphis |
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I run outta money and luck |
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So, I bought me a ride down to Macon, Georgia |
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On a overloaded poultry truck |
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I thumbed on down to Panama City |
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Started pickin' out some o' them all night bars |
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Hopin' I could make myself a dollar |
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Makin' music on my guitar |
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I got the same old story at them all night piers |
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There ain't no room around here for a guitar man |
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We don't need a guitar man, son |
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So, I slept in the hobo jungles |
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I roamed a thousand miles of track |
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Till I found myself in Mobile Alabama |
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At a club they call Big Jack's |
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A little four-piece band was jammin' |
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So, I took my guitar and I sat in |
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I showed 'em what a band would sound like |
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With a swingin' little guitar man, show 'em, son |
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If you ever take a trip down to the ocean |
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Find yourself down around Mobile |
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Make it on out to a club called Jack's |
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If you got a little time to kill |
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Just follow that crowd of people |
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You'll wind up out on his dance floor |
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Diggin' the finest little five-piece group |
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Up and down the Gulf of Mexico |
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Guess who's leadin' that five-piece band? |
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Wouldn't ya know |
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It's that swingin' little guitar man |
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Yeah, yeah |
