(Kinky Friedman)
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Faded jaded falling cowboy star,
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Pawnshops itching for your old guitar.
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Where you¡¯re going, God only knows,
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The sequins have fallen from your clothes.
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Once you heard the Opry crowd applaud,
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Now you¡¯re hanging out at Fourth and Broad
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On the rain wet sidewalk remembering the time
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When coffee with a friend was still a dime.
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And everything¡¯s been sold American,
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The early Times is finished and the want ads all are read.
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Everyone¡¯s been sold American
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In dreaming dreams in a rollaway bed.
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Writing down your memoirs on some window in the frost,
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Roulette eyes reflecting another morning lost.
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Hauled in by the metro for killing time and pain
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With a singing brakeman screaming through your veins.
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And everything¡¯s been sold American,
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The lonely night is mourning for the death it never dies.
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Everyone¡¯s been sold American
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Don¡¯t let me catch you laughing when the jukebox cries.
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You told me you were born so much higher than life,
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But I¡¯ve seen the faded pictures of your children and your wife.
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Now they¡¯re fumbling through your wallet and they¡¯re trying to find your name,
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It¡¯s almost like they raise the price of fame.
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And everything¡¯s been sold American,
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No place to go and brother, no place to stay.
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Everyone¡¯s been sold American
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Just let that golden Greyhound roll your soul away.
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Sold American
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| Kinky Friedman |
