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I played the Red River Valley |
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He'd sit in the kitchen and cry |
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Run his fingers through seventy years of livin' |
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"I wonder, Lord, has every well I've drilled gone dry?" |
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We were friends, me and this old man |
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Like desperados waitin' for a train |
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Desperados waitin' for a train |
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Well, he's a drifter an' a driller of oil wells |
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And an old school man of the world |
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He taught me how to drive his car when he w's too drunk to |
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Oh, and he'd wink and give me money for the girls |
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An' our lives were like, some old Western movie |
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Like desperados waitin' for a train |
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Like desperados waitin' for a train |
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An' from the time that I could walk, he'd take me with him |
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To a bar called the Green Frog Cafe |
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An' there was old men with beer guts and dominos |
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Oh, an they're lying 'bout their lives while they played |
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An' I was just a kid, that they all called his sidekick |
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Like desperados waitin' for a train |
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Like desperados waitin' for a train |
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One day I looked up and he's pushin' eighty |
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An' he's brown tobacco stains all down his chin |
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Well, to me he's one of the heroes of this country |
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So why's he all dressed up like them old men? |
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He's drinkin' beer and playin' Moon and Forty-two |
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Like a desperado waitin' for a train |
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Like a desperado waitin' for a train |
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An' then the day before he died, I went to see him |
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I was grown and he was almost gone |
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So we just closed our eyes and dreamed us up a kitchen |
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And sang another verse to that old song |
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Come on, Jack, that son-of-a-bitch is comin' |
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We're like desperados waitin' for a train |
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Like desperados waitin' for a train |
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Like desperados waitin' for a train |
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Like desperados waitin' for a train |
