Ghost In His Guitar

Down the drain pipe 'cross the yard and through the fence
I risked a whoopin' every time I went
'Cause white boys weren't allowed on the colored side of town
But I was proud to call that old black man my friend

He had a pillow by the bed he used to pray on
And a beat up old guitar he let me play on
And I knew where my fingers went from his greasy fingerprints
Yeah, he was passin' on what was handed down to him

And it soaked up all the blood and sweat and teardrops
And the beers he missed in smoky little bars
And sometimes that old man he comes alive in my hands
I feel the beating of his sad old broken heart
Just like there's a ghost in this guitar, a ghost in this guitar

Well, the night before he died he made me take it
Well he said, "You play it now, 'cause I gotta go"
And I can feel him in my fingers when I play it
'Cause sometimes I'm in control and sometimes I just sit back
And let him go, I sit back and let him go

And it soaked up all the blood and sweat and teardrops
And the beers he missed in smoky little bars
And sometimes that old man he comes alive in my hands
I feel the beating of his sad old broken heart
Just like there's a ghost in this guitar, a ghost in this guitar
Take a listen to the ghost in this guitar