| Now the seats are all empty
|
| Let the roadies take the stage
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| Pack it up and tear it down
|
| They’re the first to come and last to leave
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| Working for that minimum wage
|
| They’ll set it up in another town
|
| Tonight the people were so fine
|
| They waited there in line
|
| And when they got up on their feet they made the show
|
| And that was sweet--
|
| But I can hear the sound
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| Of slamming doors and folding chairs
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| And that’s a sound they’ll never know
|
| Now roll them cases out and lift them amps
|
| Haul them trusses down and get’em up them ramps
|
| 'Cause when it comes to moving me You guys are the champs
|
| But when that last guitar’s been packed away
|
| You know that I still want to play
|
| So just make sure you got it all set to go Before you come for my piano
|
| But the band’s on the bus
|
| And they’re waiting to go We’ve got to drive all night and do a show in Chicago
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| or Detroit, I don’t know
|
| We do so many shows in a row
|
| And these towns all look the same
|
| We just pass the time in our hotel rooms
|
| And wander 'round backstage
|
| Till those lights come up and we hear that crowd
|
| And we remember why we came
|
| Now we got country and western on the bus
|
| R and B, we got disco in eight tracks and cassettes in stereo
|
| We’ve got rural scenes & magazines
|
| We’ve got truckers on the CB
|
| We’ve got Richard Pryor on the video
|
| We got time to think of the ones we love
|
| While the miles roll away
|
| But the only time that seems too short
|
| Is the time that we get to play
|
| People you’ve got the power over what we do You can sit there and wait
|
| Or you can pull us through
|
| Come along, sing the song
|
| You know you can’t go wrong
|
| 'Cause when that morning sun comes beating down
|
| You’re going to wake up in your town
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| But we’ll be scheduled to appear
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| A thousand miles away from here |