An Outlaw's Blues
By Chris Wall

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It was November the first, back in Nineteen Eighty Nine
  E                                    B
I opened a show for a bonafide hero of mine
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Ever since I was a kid, I bought everything he did
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I learned every lick and every line
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And that honky tonky hero became a friend of mine


He said you can't sing the blues if you never seen a cloudy day
If you ain't made the trip, then you sure can’t show the way
You pay your fines and your dues and learn you learn a thing or two
You get bruised along the way
And life's too short to hang with the cats that just can't play

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Old Hoss, the night I heard you were gone
                                                       E
I stayed up and drank, I played your records all night long


He said you can't write a song of love in a committee of three
And great tunes ain't made by the guys in the t-i-e
Oh man, he threw away control when he sang down in his soul
His words and his music set me free
Great tunes ain't made by the guys in the t-i-e

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There's precious few left singing those outlaw blues
And we never had a choice, if we did well, we mighta refused
Ah, for better or for worse, it's a blessing or a curse
You pick up that old guitar
The music ain't what ya do son, it becomes what you are


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