Stoney

I first ran into Stoney. . . it was a bar downtown;
Was Richmond, Virginia. . . we were bumming around
Suitcase to suitcase. . . we started him talking
Finding out about the things we've shared in the miles we've been

He had a gray pillowcase full of books by Durrell
And he had this old concertina, all beat up and she played like hell
Until you got him started singing those Gospel songs
Well, he drank all night for nothing, he told his stories till dawn

And he said, "Come on, get your bag, boy! Sun's up now and it's time to roll!
Hell, you know there ain't no better time than early in the morning
To be out walking down that road!
Just feeling another day beginning while some fools just rushing on by
We'll be like some Mr. Independence: we're taking our own sweet time!"

We walked on out that highway under a clear blue sky
I's listening to the tales he told, drinking warm red wine
'Bout the night he rolled seven; bout some girl he'd done wrong;
'Bout everything he could think of while we walked along

Yeah, ol' Stoney had a magic; made him hard to forget
Like the night we flew down the highway (his old pickup, it nearly wrecked!)
Was a crazy woman driving, all drunked up and carrying on;
Till Stoney finally calmed her singing those Gospel songs

Well, we split the road at Norwood, and he just shook my hand
He said, "I'll see you some place, friend," but you know he never has
But we were that free then, just walking down the road
Never really caring where that highway goes

Yeah, Stoney was a liar (a bullshitter!) ain't no doubt about it
It was just the way he told things, and you never want to doubt him
'Cause he kept you going when the road got rough
And brought you through the lean times by making it up

"Hey, did I ever tell you the time I married my cousin up in Las Vegas?"
Yeah, Stoney. Tell it again, will you?