| There we were on the road again
|
| I think about it every now and then
|
| Doesn’t matter who wrote this one
|
| Cause it’s on tape and the song is sung
|
| Every time I pick up a pen
|
| The same stories start flowing again
|
| At the touch she’s still in my mind
|
| What can you do?
|
| Will the road, it ever get to you
|
| I guess a home is only where you lie
|
| So take what you get
|
| And what comes later we’ll just forget and
|
| The face is the same
|
| When he’s scrounging for pocket change
|
| I can’t help but laugh out loud
|
| To see your stupid face in the crowd
|
| And it takes me away
|
| Every trick is the slight of the hand
|
| And you can’t pull one over on this man
|
| Cause he’s seen it all before
|
| Don’t matter what you done cause he’s done it before
|
| Supposed to think you’re not for me
|
| And all I need is to be free
|
| And the music will take them away
|
| What can you do
|
| Will the road, it ever get to you
|
| I guess a home is only where you lie
|
| So take what you get
|
| And what comes later we’ll just forget it
|
| The face is the same
|
| When he’s scrounging for pocket change
|
| I can’t help but laugh out loud
|
| To see your stupid face in the crowd
|
| And it takes me away
|
| Oh… takes me away |