| I first ran into Stoney.. . |
| it was a bar downtown;
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| Was Richmond, Virginia.. . |
| we were bumming around
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| Suitcase to suitcase.. . |
| we started him talking
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| Finding out about the things we’ve shared in the miles we’ve been
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| He had a gray pillowcase full of books by Durrell
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| And he had this old concertina, all beat up and she played like hell
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| Until you got him started singing those Gospel songs
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| Well, he drank all night for nothing, he told his stories till dawn
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| And he said, «Come on, get your bag, boy! |
| Sun’s up now and it’s time to roll!
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| Hell, you know there ain’t no better time than early in the morning
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| To be out walking down that road!
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| Just feeling another day beginning while some fools just rushing on by
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| We’ll be like some Mr. Independence: we’re taking our own sweet time!»
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| We walked on out that highway under a clear blue sky
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| I’s listening to the tales he told, drinking warm red wine
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| 'Bout the night he rolled seven; |
| bout some girl he’d done wrong;
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| 'Bout everything he could think of while we walked along |
| Yeah, ol' Stoney had a magic; |
| made him hard to forget
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| Like the night we flew down the highway (his old pickup, it nearly wrecked!)
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| Was a crazy woman driving, all drunked up and carrying on;
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| Till Stoney finally calmed her singing those Gospel songs
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| Well, we split the road at Norwood, and he just shook my hand
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| He said, «I'll see you some place, friend,» but you know he never has
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| But we were that free then, just walking down the road
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| Never really caring where that highway goes
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| Yeah, Stoney was a liar (a bullshitter!) ain’t no doubt about it
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| It was just the way he told things, and you never want to doubt him
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| 'Cause he kept you going when the road got rough
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| And brought you through the lean times by making it up
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| «Hey, did I ever tell you the time I married my cousin up in Las Vegas?»
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| Yeah, Stoney. |
| Tell it again, will you? |