Three Chord Trick

Fell in love at sixteen with a folk-singing lady
Who sang so sweetly "My Johnny is a shoemaker"
She taught me C and G and the songs of Woody Guthrie
I was prouder than punch, hoping that her young man would forsake her

'Twas in a dingy little folk club, down the high street
First had a taste of that bitter sweet refrain, on my brain
Pick a bale of cotton in the key of G
A folksinger's life is the life for me

Now, old man Johnny was a basket weaver
With a bottle in his hand, a bundle of canes on his back
Now, when he was blind drunk, all he could weave
Was a tiny babie's rattle, with beer-bottle tops from his sack

'Twas in a dingy little folk club, down the high street
First had a taste of that bitter sweet refrain, on my brain
Pick a bale of cotton in the key of G
A folksinger's life is the life for me

I remember the night a nymphomaniac lady
With lust in her eyes, she grabbed me and pushed me through the door
Now, she played with poor willy and I sure felt silly
Playing my guitar, I was flat on my back on the floor

'Twas in a dingy little folk club, down the high street
First had a taste of that bitter sweet refrain, on my brain
Pick a bale of cotton in the key of G
A folksinger's life is the life for me