Woke up last night half past four, fifty women knocking on my door.
That rockabilly sound wasn't as simple as I thought it was.
You can knock me down, step on my face, slander my name all over the place. Do anything that you want to do, but uh-oh, honey, lay off of my shoes.
If it weren't for the rocks in its bed, the stream would have no song.
My dad gave $3 and a chicken for the first guitar I had.
After all those days in the cotton fields, the dreams came true on a gold record on a piece of wood. It's in my den where I can look at it every day. I wear it out lookin' at it.