Stoney

I first ran into Stoney
It was in a bar downtown
I was up Richmond, Virginia then
Just a-bumming around
Suitcase to suitcase
We started in talking
Finding out about the things we've shared
In the miles we've been

He carried an old gray pillowcase
Full of books by Durrell
Played this old Concertina guitar
It was all beat up and played like hell
Until you got him started
Singing them gospel songs
He drank all night for nothing
He told stories 'til dawn

He said "Get your bags, boy, come on, sun's up
"It's time to roll
"You know there ain't no better time than early in the morning
"To be out walking that road
"Watch another day beginning
While the fools are rushing on by
"We'll be like some old Mr. Independence, son
"We're taking our own sweet time

So we walked on out the highway
Under clear blue sky
I was listening to the tales that he told
Drinking warm red wine
'Bout the night he rolled sevens
About some girl who'd done him wrong
All the things he could think of
While we walked along

Yeah, ol' Stoney had a magic
Made him hard to forget
Like the night we rolled down that old old high highway
In a pickup we nearly wrecked
A crazy woman driving
All drunked up and carrying on
'Til Stoney finally calmed her
Singing them gospel songs

We split the road at Norwood
He just shook my hand
He said "I'll see you some place, cowboy"
But you know, he never has
We were that free then
Just walking down the road
Never really caring where
That old highway goes

Few years later, found out ol' Stoney was a bullshitter
No doubt about it
Still, there was just this way that he told you things
Made you never want to doubt him
He kept you going
When the going got rough
Hell, he'll get you through the lean times
Just by making it up
Just by making it up

You know, when you're young and you don't tell the truth
They call you a "fibber"
When you get a little older and you still don't tell the truth
They call you a "liar"
Get a little bit older and you still ain't telling the truth
The might call you a "bullshitter"
Get a little older and you still ain't telling the truth
And you're getting pretty good at it
They call you an artist
Give you plaques, keys to cities, trophies
Stuff like that