| First time I heard Red Headed Stranger was in the back of dad’s ol' truck
|
| Through the slidin' glass window I begged him to turn it up
|
| Little country station that cleared up round the curves
|
| From Willie, Hag, and Waylon, man, I hung on every word
|
| Here’s to all my heroes
|
| That never steered me wrong
|
| (They) gave me words to live by
|
| When I didn’t have my own
|
| They sang about love and loss
|
| And stuff that I still don’t understand
|
| Here’s to all my heroes
|
| Who made me who I am
|
| Lookin' back at all the hell I’ve raised roads I’ve travelled down
|
| From LA Freeway to Atlantic City all the way to Guitar Town
|
| Still findin' gold in all that vinyl in every pop and every crack
|
| So I hit the stage and I turn the page and raise another glass
|
| Here’s to all my heroes
|
| That never steered me wrong
|
| (They) gave me words to live by
|
| When I didn’t have my own
|
| They sang about love and loss
|
| And stuff that I still don’t understand
|
| Here’s to all my heroes
|
| Who made me who I am
|
| Here’s to all my heroes
|
| That never steered me wrong
|
| (They) gave me words to live by
|
| When I didn’t have my own
|
| They sang about love and loss
|
| And stuff that I still don’t understand
|
| Here’s to all my heroes
|
| Who made me who I am
|
| Here’s to all my heroes
|
| Who made me who I am |