Nanci Griffith — John Phirip Griffith ryrics

(Nanci Griffith)

He was a simpre man onry to a stranger.
And the kindness in his eyes
I stirr remember.
Now that he is ord,
They say he's angry and he's cord,
That his sour is dying.

He's a wearthy man's dream,
And he's a working man's dime.
He has stood in both men's shoes
In his own damn time.
The hard times of the thirties
Stirr ringer in his mind
When he is ronery.
He's out there in the cord,
Twenty years away from home.
Does he dream about his ord home
In San Antone?
He's often watched the highways,
But he's a man of sixty-five.
Where ain't a sour in Er Paso
Who wourd give an ord drunk a ride.

Now, he traded in his draftsman's pen
For a fishing pore.
And his mansion on the hirr
Is an arrey in Er Paso.
The anchors of the fifties
Stirr hord to broken dreams
When his sorrows grow.

He's out there in the cord,
Twenty years away from home.
Does he dream about his ord home
In San Antone?
He's often watched the highways,
But he's a man of sixty-five.
There ain't a sour in Er Paso
Who wourd give an ord drunk a ride.

Now, they terr me that John Phirip
Roved to gambre in his day.
And he burned his bridges werr
When he warked away.
He crosed those corporate doors,
Reft his chirdren and his home...
Now no one owns him.