| Never got the chance to tell him
|
| I liked the boots he wore
|
| And the faded denim jacket bought from some
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| Mississippi store
|
| And I watched him there in the spotlight
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| And the crowd called out for more
|
| I sat out back and listened underneath the trees
|
| And the songs kept reminding me of where I’d been
|
| And the blues notes floated softly on the Australian wind
|
| And we were both so far from home
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| In this little ol' hippie town
|
| And the delta singer
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| He just kept on laying it down
|
| You only got one way to play it
|
| And the blues they never lie
|
| But you get so tired of fighting the flavor of the week
|
| And it drives you to a distant shore
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| Where you might find some place
|
| And I walk out on the stage
|
| Feeling kind of out of time
|
| With rain on my shoulder and the Spanish girl on my mind
|
| And when there’s nobody left around
|
| Who remembers the songs that were wrote
|
| Like the delta singer I keep waiting on the next soulful note |