No sympathy for a blue collar boy

Here I am, going on and on

yet the seat next to me remains cold and new, no hand to calm mine, no lips to ease my mind. A bottle never seemed so right. So, I threw up my hands, tired of trying something new. Grabbing my boots and

On and on l’ll go.

Wondering , what I would have had, if I tried something different back then. Does it really matter I’m already on the edge, Does it hold any weight against friends? So I threw up my hand grabbing for a whiskey with a cheers to our lifestyle.

The next day, I threw on my boots and I headed out the door

An only way to calm this blue collar boy other than some chores, but even at 38, I still keep up. Heh, thanks George strait, I’ll still be this old troubadour until I join my brothers in the dirt. You know how we do it, always chasing that dollar, but still feeling that struggle. Though you know it’s worth it, when that Friday check comes, we throw up our hands with a whisky. And carry on.

Here I am again, going on and on.

Now it shouldn’t matter, she’s gone with another man. Heh, oh well, again I threw my arm to the bar, rolling the dice, grabbing for the next round, With a peace knowing this good ol’ boy just made it through the week, bills paid, work done, and tank full.

There I am, going on an on

With luck she’s sitting somewhere, just waiting for you to find the right place. Ready to calm your hand, to easing your mind, and ready to warm up that seat near by. Stoping those demons we drown out every night. By Gods’ good grace, you’ll find her sitting there just smiling without fear.

And again there I go, on and on