Testo Ballad Of Conley And Billy (The Proof's In The Picken')

Screamn' whitewall tires and a guitar by his sideBilly's got the fever as he rolls on thru the nightSome were born to listen, some were born to playHe was lightning on the highstrings and thunder on the bassChorusHe could play it high, he could play it lowHe could make it cry, he could make it moanHe knows when push comes to shovethe proof's in the pickin'In a smoky little tavern just off of Bourbon StreetTobacco stained fingers waited on the down beatConley was the master, the undisputed kingHe'd ruled the town for thirty yearswith an army of six stringsChorusSometimes after midnight Billy drives through New OrleansStraight to the French Quarter there's a man he has to seeThe music is a raging like a city that's on fireBilly felt just like an altar boy at the feet of a higher powerConley watched as Billy walked across the roomOpened his case and started a tuneThe whole club was silent and the lights were turned down lowBilly stepped up on the stage and Conley whispered ¡°Go son, go ¡­¡±ChorusConley held his hand up, no one made a soundAnd he handed Bill his old archtop and stepped into the crowdBilly played it soft, Billy played it sadThen he made it talk and in came the bandSoon the room was shaking before Billy's wall of soundAnd just a block off Bourbon Street, a new king's been crowned.Chorus