Lyrics

He writes waltzes
He writes ballads
He sings for the dancers
On Saturday nights
He ain’t into hip-hop,
He ain’t into trances
He sings songs for young lovers
Clung close in the night

He wrote his first waltz
In nineteen fifty seven
He never was famous
He still don’t own a car
But the poets all fear him
And the dancers all love him
And they’ll spin ‘cross the dancehall
While he strums that old Fender guitar

Yeah he’ll sing one like George Jones
Maybe sing one like Lefty
When he sings like Merle Haggard
All the ladies get weak
Yeah he’ll sing one like Conway
Maybe one like Hank Williams
Then he’ll sing one like ol’ Waylon
And knock ‘em all flat off their feet

Well he’ll show me a few chords
If I pay for his whiskey
And give him a ride home
At the end of the night
He ain’t much to some folks
But to me he’s a hero
On a run-down old stage with worn carpet
And blue Christmas lights

Well he’ll sing one like George Jones
Maybe sing one like Lefty
Then he’ll sing one like Waylon
And he’ll knock ‘em all flat off their feet
He still sings for the young girls
Like he sang for their mothers
While they court in three-quarter
As the boys turn ‘em round to the beat

Last Saturday evening
I pulled up to the dancehall
And I sat there in silence
In the glow of the parking lot lights
For the first time in my life
Since nineteen fifty seven
A sign taped to the front door
Said no music tonight

I stepped up on that bandstand
I picked up that old Fender
Jack’s boys saw me coming
And they snapped to their feet
A dancehall with no music
The old man wouldn’t have it
I cranked up that Twin Reverb
And Jack’s boys dropped a beat

Then we did one by George Jones
And a couple by Lefty
When they yelled out for Haggard
We gave ‘em “Sing Me Back Home”
Then we stuck with the waltzes
And we played ‘em real gentle
A three-quarter send-off's
A sight better than dying alone
Yeah a three-quarter send off's
A sight better than dying alone

He writes waltzes
He writes ballads
He sings for the dancers
On Saturday nights