an old mule down a hollow
But these hands don't know the hurt
I'm the son of a mountain man,
what he was is what I am,
In my mirror he looks back at me,
a branch don't fall far from a tree.
These ears are always listening
For raindrops, a tender of kissing
A feather bed that creaks
And as the sun is falling
I hear an old crow calling
Saying stranger come back home
I'm the son of a mountain man,
what he was is what I am,
In my mirror he looks back at me,
a branch don't fall far from a tree.
that this is a song I wrote about
I think about three or four months ago
and the way I was raised was pretty strict Southern Baptist which I think you guys probably
were too and and my mother's thing was if you're enjoying life at all
you're going to hell and I don't think
she ever enjoyed anything
but that's the way it is back
I mean it's a hard life and you
I mean you can have some fun
and you can sit on the front porch
I mean as long as you don't have
it's okay as long as you don't shape
it could be but I was kind of
I guess kind of looking for loopholes
I reckon you could say and I was
I got to thinking one day
maybe there's a lesser heaven
the other side of the tracks in heaven
you know kind of kind of you know that not
the kind of shady part of heaven and and I
but it's called stray dogs now like