| He's a wino, tried and true. | |
| Done about everything there is to do. | |
| He worked on freighters, he worked in bars. | |
| He worked on farms, 'n he worked on cars. | |
| It was white port, that put that look in his eye | |
| That grown men get when they need to cry | |
| And he sat down on the curb to rest | |
| And his head just fell down on his chest | |
| He said "Every single day it gets A little bit harder to handle and yet. . ." | |
| And he lost the thread and his mind got cluttered | |
| And the words just rolled off down in the gutter | |
| Well he was elevator man in a cheap hotel | |
| In exchange for the rent on a one room cell | |
| He's old in years beyond his time | |
| Thanks to the world, and the white | |
| Port wine | |
| So he says "Son," he always called me son | |
| He said, "Life for you has just begun" | |
| And he told me a story that | |
| I heard before | |
| How he fell in love with a | |
| Dallas whore | |
| Well he could cut through the years to the very night | |
| When it ended, in a whore house fight | |
| And she turned his last proposal down | |
| In favor of being a girl about town | |
| Now it's been seventeen years right in line | |
| And he ain't been straight none of the time | |
| Too many days of fightin' the weather | |
| And too many nights of not being together | |
| So he died. . . | |
| Well when they went through his personal affects | |
| In among the stubs from the welfare checks | |
| Was a crumblin' picture of a girl in a door | |
| An address in | |
| Dallas, and nothin' more | |
| The welfare people provided the priest | |
| A couple from the mission down the street | |
| Sang Amazing | |
| Grace, and no one cried ' | |
| Cept some woman in black, way off to the side | |
| We all left and she was standing there | |
| Black veil covering her silver hair | |
| And 'ol One- | |
| Eyed John said her name was | |
| Alice And she used to be a whore in | |
| Dallas Let him roar, | |
| Lord let him roll | |
| Bet he's gone to | |
| Dallas Rest his soul | |
| Lord, let him roll, | |
| Lord let him roar | |
| He always said that heaven | |
| Was just a | |
| Dallas whore. |
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