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Bắt đầu làm bài nào

Boiled anytime, painted on a plywood sign
to the shoulder and buy a sack
An old man with a dirty face swears they're the best taste
'em fresh in that red dirt field out back, yeah, that's a fact
Grace is a mechanic's and their toe-head boys are her whole life
Sews patches on blue night and day
Never does much for herself, doesn't dream of fame or
Just a bleacher and a place to pray
Some are called to preach the gospel, fence in Colorado
Some are born to a family
a hammer at a nail, haul bricks or carry mail
Go to college, or Yale, but me
I got songs for
There's not a lot of tread on my tires, In spots you can see the wires
Just hope they it to the next town so I can sing
I'm learning lots of lessons, I'm still calling it a profession
Travelin' 'round strummin' these guitar
Some are good at bones, fixing drinks and telephones
Some are born to wear pin on their sleeves
Swing a hammer at a nail, haul or carry mail
Go to college, or Yale, but me
I got songs for
I see it in a lot of
I it in a lot of faces
Some are to preach the gospel, string fence in Colorado
Some are born to a family
a hammer at a nail, haul bricks or carry mail
Go to college, or Yale, and me
Yeah me, I got songs for
Yeah, I got songs for