Stoney

I first ran into Stoney

It was in a bar downtown

I was up Richmond, Virginia then

Just a-bumming around

Suitcase to suitcase

We started in talking

Finding out about the things we've shared

In the miles we've been

He carried an old gray pillowcase

Full of books by Durrell

Played this old Concertina guitar

It was all beat up and played like hell

Until you got him started

Singing them gospel songs

He drank all night for nothing

He told stories 'til dawn

He said "Get your bags, boy, come on, sun's up

"It's time to roll

"You know there ain't no better time than early in the morning

"To be out walking that road

"Watch another day beginning

While the fools are rushing on by

"We'll be like some old Mr. Independence, son

"We're taking our own sweet time

So we walked on out the highway

Under clear blue sky

I was listening to the tales that he told

Drinking warm red wine

'Bout the night he rolled sevens

About some girl who'd done him wrong

All the things he could think of

While we walked along

Yeah, ol' Stoney had a magic

Made him hard to forget

Like the night we rolled down that old old high highway

In a pickup we nearly wrecked

A crazy woman driving

All drunked up and carrying on

'Til Stoney finally calmed her

Singing them gospel songs

We split the road at Norwood

He just shook my hand

He said "I'll see you some place, cowboy"

But you know, he never has

We were that free then

Just walking down the road

Never really caring where

That old highway goes

Few years later, found out ol' Stoney was a bullshitter

No doubt about it

Still, there was just this way that he told you things

Made you never want to doubt him

He kept you going

When the going got rough

Hell, he'll get you through the lean times

Just by making it up

Just by making it up

You know, when you're young and you don't tell the truth

They call you a "fibber"

When you get a little older and you still don't tell the truth

They call you a "liar"

Get a little bit older and you still ain't telling the truth

The might call you a "bullshitter"

Get a little older and you still ain't telling the truth

And you're getting pretty good at it

They call you an artist

Give you plaques, keys to cities, trophies

Stuff like that