Roots Music Report

Credits:

Lyrics

Verse:   

Barroom talkin’. Streetlight walkin’.

Chasin’ down the alleyway a little taste he’s stalkin’.                                             

Big man in the doorway. You want to pass, you gotta pay.                                 

Take another on the chin.  Another loser turned away.                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Chorus: 

Sittin’ in a corner booth a pensive mind ponders the truth.                                                                

Through tempered glass, the perverts viewed. At every corner…vice pursued.

I call upon a bourbon drink. The liquid brown colors the view.

Verse:   

Just outside the crimson glow. A little cash, a little blow.

I think they both be puttin’ out a little breath; a little mo’.

Guitar man plays for loose coins. His shepherd guardian always joins.

A darkened doorway slipped inside. His bag of stash will keep him going.

Chorus: 

Sittin’ in a corner booth, a drunken mind wanders the truth.

Through tempered glass, the perverts viewed. At every corner… vice pursued.

I call another bourbon drink. The liquid brown darkens the mood.

Verse:   

The sun streaks up the waterway. Reflections chase the night away.

The night people they scatter wide, like roaches from the light of day...

Guitar man packs his battered case. Then slips off to another place.

In morning traffic fades from sight. Gone ‘til dark without a trace.

Chorus:

Sittin’ in that corner booth, a damaged mind has lost its youth.

Through tempered glass the perverts viewed. At every corner vice pursued.

I call upon a coffee drink. In liquid black returns the truth.