| He said he discovered America with nothin' but a paper sack
|
| The first sight he remembered was the Statue of Liberty’s back
|
| He lost his mama on the Brooklyn street when he was just thirteen
|
| He made his way out west; |
| he’d seen some pictures in a magazine
|
| He worked a while as a roughneck in the Floydada Black Oil fields
|
| And the Fat Oilmen of Texas would watch him a-tap his heels
|
| As the oil poured in and the cotton grew and the Cadillacs fell like rain
|
| He did the work of a dozen men and never did complain
|
| If you added up his troubles they’d fill the prairie sky
|
| But he lived more in an hour than most men in their lives
|
| He never preached a sermon and an angel he ain’t
|
| But anyone can tell you he’s a Hard Luck Saint
|
| He worked his way to a cotton town down Highway 84
|
| And that is where i met him in a used clothing store
|
| With my mama and my papa, little Mark and Muleshoe Bill
|
| I still remember tearstains on a dusty window sill
|
| If you added up his troubles they’d fill the prairie sky
|
| But he lived more in an hour than most men in their lives
|
| He never preached a sermon and an angel he ain’t
|
| But anyone can tell you he’s a Hard Luck Saint
|
| He never stayed around long but he never said 'goodbye'
|
| No tellin' where he went to, he walked a rugged mile
|
| He might just pass through your town one of these a-hard luck days
|
| And pass right through to the other side goin' his hard luck ways
|
| If you added up his troubles they’d fill the prairie sky
|
| He lived more in an hour than most men in their lives
|
| He never preached a sermon and an angel he ain’t
|
| But anyone can tell you he’s a Hard Luck Saint |