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Willie Nelson
Willie Nelson


Background information
Birth name Willie Hugh Nelson
Born April 30, 1933
Origin Abbott, Texas, U.S.
Genre(s) Country
Country Rock
Outlaw country
Alternative Country
Years active 1956—present
Label(s) RCA Records
Island Records
Columbia Records
Atlantic Records
Lost Highway Records
Associated acts Waylon Jennings
The Highwaymen
Johnny Cash
Kris Kristofferson
Roger Miller
Ray Price
Snoop Dogg
Merle Haggard
Kurt Nilsen
Faron Young
Emmylou Harris
Dolly Parton
Juice Newton
Toby Keith
Sheryl Crow
Norah Jones
Website Website



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  W  →  Willie Nelson  →  Albums  →  Clean Shirt

Willie Nelson Album


Clean Shirt (2000)
2000
1.
2.
I Could Write a Book About You
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
The Makin's of a Song
9.
10.
. . .


Come on now, Willie,
Don't look at me that way.
I know you like a paperback book,
'Cos I've read every page.
I know what you're thinkin',
And I don't think you're thinkin' at all.
This is old Hoss that you're talkin' to:
The one with the perfect recall.

No I ain't goin' down on the border with you tonight.
Drinkin' tequila, taking chances on our lives.
All the women are crazy, they like to party 'til daylight.
On second thought, if I can find a clean shirt, I might.

Wait a minute, Waylon,
I ain't said a thing about that.
Sometimes I just like to wear my spurs,
And my old Mexican hat.
But we sure had fun the last time,
That we were down there.
And when we woke up, you had that weird tattoo,
And somebody had curled my hair.

No I ain't goin' down on the border with you tonight.
Drinkin' tequila, taking chances on our lives.
All the women are crazy, they like to party 'til daylight.
On second thought, if I can find a clean shirt, I might.

All the women are crazy, and they like to party 'til daylight.

On second thought, if I can find a clean shirt, I might.


. . .

I Could Write a Book About You

[No lyrics]

. . .


Old age and treachery,
Always overcomes youth and skill.
Ain't too much that we won't do;
What Waylon won't, Willie will.

Even though we've spent our lives,
Chargin' up the wrong side of the hill.
Old age and treachery,
Always overcomes youth and skill.

Some people say that our,
Get up and go's got up and gone.
(I don't know 'bout you Willie but,)
I can still jump as high.
I just can't stay that high that long.

Even though we've spent our lives,
Chargin' up the wrong side of the hill.
Old age and treachery,
Always overcomes youth and skill.

Young bull says: "Old bull,
"Let's run that heiffer down and have a ball."
("Let's make her squawl")
Old bull says: "Young Bull,
"Let's just ease on adown and love 'em all."

Old age and treachery,
Always overcomes youth and skill.
Ain't too much that we won't do;
What Waylon won't, Willie will.

Even though we have spent our lives,
Chargin' up the wrong side of the hill.
Old age and treachery,
Always overcomes youth and skill.

Rosie loves the raquet ball,
She won't do it but her sister will.
Damn, what'd you say that for?
Ain't got a thing to do with this....
I know what you're tryin' to do.
Your tryin' to get half a song.
Ok, we'll put your name on it.

Rosie loves the raquet ball,

She won't do it but her sister will.


. . .


You load the horses, I'll pack the rigger.
Let's tell 'em goodbye and walk out the door.
One kiss and one drink can lead to too many.
We ought to know 'cos we been there before.

Eight hours of ridin' will put us in Houston.
Two hours of sleep to make it or bust.
Eight seconds of glory, you stay in the money,
And five year old whiskey to wash down the dust.

That ain't no hill for a couple of climbers:
That's all we ever intended to be.
That ain't no hill for a couple of climbers:
Two old sidewinders like you and me.

Let's find us a place and a couple of ladies.
Someone to lie to, someone to trust.
Someone who's impressed by a couple of outlaws.
Who's gold plated trophies have turned into rust.

Now we're damned near broke, and we keep buyin' whiskey.
Do you think they might settle for a bottle of wine?
Well those two over there, right there by the jukebox.
Yours don't look back, Hoss, but just look at mine.

That ain't no hill for a couple of climbers:
That's all we ever intended to be.
That ain't no hill for a couple of climbers:

Two old sidewinders like you and me.


. . .


He's a sad song singer, he plays a gut-stringer,
With vagabond fingers,that follow his mind.
To far away places, he reaches for traces,
And touches the faces, he's long left behind.

He'll keep you from knowing, where he's been, or going,
But you'll see the distance, right there in his eyes.
An, just short of stealing, he'll take your feelings,
Pull at your heart strings, 'til they come untied.

There once was a woman who made him turn lonesome,
Her memory turns over and over again.
He's like an old stallion who's longing for freedom,
Tryin' to outrun the wind.

Well, I've laughed with the sunshine, an' cried with the rains.
I've had some bad nights, with the best of the blues.
An' I go on pretending, with long-haired women,
But I still get crazy when I think of you.

There once was a woman who made him turn lonesome,
Her memory turns over and over again.
He's like an old stallion who's longing for freedom,
Tryin' to outrun the wind.

He's like an old stallion who's longing for freedom,
Tryin' to outrun the wind.


. . .


People sit around and they talk and talk,
How their dreams all ended too soon.
Guess they never hung out under the stars,
Howlin' at the moon.
I guess we're as different and nine and eight,
I see it in a different light.
I don't think much about the good ol' days,
Just about the good ol' nights.

Talk about the good times,
Talk about the times when the times were right.
You can keep the good ol' days,
I'll take the good ol' nights.

They wanna go back to when a Cadillac,
Didn't look like a Chevrolet.
It mean't a lot to them but not a thing to me,
I never owned one anyway.
But a good lookin' woman and an old guitar,
With both of them tuned just right.
Well I don't think much about the good ol' days,
Just about the good ol' nights.

Talk about the good times,
Talk about the times when the times were right.
You can keep the good ol' days,
I'll take the good ol' nights.

You can keep the good ol' days,
I'll take the good ol' nights.


. . .


Well I grew up lean and hungry,
I worked hard for my money,
Said I'm gonna live my life the way I please.
Spent some time on the road of life,
Saw an angel once and the devil twice,
I came across some things that I don't need.

Like a cold-hearted woman,
Whiskey in my water,
And only one way out of a motel room.
Payments on the Cadillac,
And too many questions.
And old guitars that just won't stay in tune.

You know there's good and bad breaks,
You learn from your mistakes.
It's all in how you handle them do's and don'ts.
A hillbilly boy is hard to convince,
Wild and stubborn and not much sense.
But I've got enough to know what I don't want.

Like a cold-hearted woman,
Whiskey in my water,
And only one way out of a motel room.
Payments on the Cadillac,
And too many questions.
And old guitars that just won't stay in tune.
And old guitars that just won't stay in tune.


. . .

The Makin's of a Song

[No lyrics]

. . .


I've been on the road most all of my life,
Traveled from coast to coast.
In search of some pleasures and treasures and things.
Whatever pleased me the most.
Like bandanas and blue jeans and old cowboy clothes,
That bring back an old country song,
About rough rides and red-eyes and old broken bones,
And railroad tracks running back home.

Put me on a train back to Texas.
I've been where the highwaymen roam.
Put me on a train back to Texas.
Wake me up when we reach San Antone:
Wake me up when we reach San Antone.

Mamma says home's where the heart is,
Like Bob Wills said in a poem.
Well, my heart is there, in the middle of Texas,
Beside the old Alamo.
Like my broken-in saddle and old leather boots,
I'm worn but I'm still going strong.
Cowboys can tell when the seasons are changing,
And I think it's time to move on.

Put me on a train back to Texas.
I've been where the highwaymen roam.
Put me on a train back to Texas.
Wake me up when we reach San Antone
Wake me up when we reach San Antone.


. . .


There's a road runs clear to the sky,
That calls to my spirit, calls to my heart.
She's been a harbour, a port in a storm:
She's got one more sundown, and one more dawn.

Fiddles don't make violins.
Motel rooms don't make homes.
You can't turn water into wine.
You can't make a rock from a rolling stone.

You'd be a liar if you said you'd changed.
There's a river of freedom runnin' through your veins.
But she'll be there in your heart and your mind,
'Til the last song fades, and the music dies.

Fiddles don't make violins.
Motel rooms don't make homes.
You can't turn water into wine.
You can't make a rock from a rolling stone.

You can't make a rock from a rolling stone.


. . .


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