Trouble/Guitar Man
by The Walkmen
(Words & music by Leiber - Stoller)
If you're looking for trouble
You came to the right place
If you're looking for trouble
Just look right in my face
I was born standing up
And talking back
My daddy was a green-eyed mountain jack
Because I'm evil, my middle name is misery
Well I'm evil, so don't you mess around with me
If you're looking for trouble
You came to the right place
If you're looking for trouble
Just look right in my face
I was born standing up
And talking back
My daddy was a green-eyed mountain jack
Because I'm evil, my middle name is misery
Well I'm evil, so don't you mess around with me
Well, I quit my job down at the car wash,
Left my mama a goodbye note,
By sundown Id left kingston,
With my guitar under my coat,
I hitchhiked all the way down to memphis,
Got a room at the ymca,
For the next three weeks I went huntin them nights,
Just lookin for a place to play,
Well, I thought my pickin would set em on fire,
But nobody wanted to hire a guitar man.
Left my mama a goodbye note,
By sundown Id left kingston,
With my guitar under my coat,
I hitchhiked all the way down to memphis,
Got a room at the ymca,
For the next three weeks I went huntin them nights,
Just lookin for a place to play,
Well, I thought my pickin would set em on fire,
But nobody wanted to hire a guitar man.
Well, I nearly bout starved to death down in memphis,
I run outta money and luck,
So I bought me a ride down to macon, georgia,
On a overloaded poultry truck,
I thumbed on down to panama city,
Started pickin out some o them all night bars,
Hopin I could make myself a dollar,
Makin music on my guitar,
I got the same old story at them all night piers,
There aint no room around here for a guitar man
We dont need a guitar man, son
I run outta money and luck,
So I bought me a ride down to macon, georgia,
On a overloaded poultry truck,
I thumbed on down to panama city,
Started pickin out some o them all night bars,
Hopin I could make myself a dollar,
Makin music on my guitar,
I got the same old story at them all night piers,
There aint no room around here for a guitar man
We dont need a guitar man, son
So I slept in the hobo jungles,
Roamed a thousand miles of track,
Till I found myself in mobile alabama,
At a club they call big jacks,
A little four-piece band was jammin,
So I took my guitar and I sat in,
I showed em what a band would sound like,
With a swingin little guitar man.
Show em, son
Roamed a thousand miles of track,
Till I found myself in mobile alabama,
At a club they call big jacks,
A little four-piece band was jammin,
So I took my guitar and I sat in,
I showed em what a band would sound like,
With a swingin little guitar man.
Show em, son
If you ever take a trip down to the ocean,
Find yourself down around mobile,
Make it on out to a club called jacks,
If you got a little time to kill,
Just follow that crowd of people,
Youll wind up out on his dance floor,
Diggin the finest little five-piece group,
Up and down the gulf of mexico,
Guess whos leadin that five-piece band,
Well, wouldnt ya know, its that swingin little guitar man.
Find yourself down around mobile,
Make it on out to a club called jacks,
If you got a little time to kill,
Just follow that crowd of people,
Youll wind up out on his dance floor,
Diggin the finest little five-piece group,
Up and down the gulf of mexico,
Guess whos leadin that five-piece band,
Well, wouldnt ya know, its that swingin little guitar man.