Lyrics:
parrot in a palm tree
On the sixth day of Christmas
My true love gave to me
Six matte guitar picks
Five cheeseburgers
Four Hawaiian ukes
Three finn
too too amped
Guitar Pick
Hold my drink cuz imma have to drip
Scream my name in the mosh pit
Yeah I'm so so so so sorry
Because that was a rip
Yeah i'm
too too too amped
Guitar Pick
Hold my drink cuz imma have to drip
Scream my name in the mosh pit
Yeah I'm so so so so sorry
Because that was a rip
Yeah
out my pockets, took my pills and guitar picks.
I said: "Wait, my name is..." "Ah, shut up."
Well, I sure was in a fix.
The sergeant put me in a cell,
Well I wrote your name on this guitar pick
In hopes that you'd hear my song
I will write it in a song
The power of song
This isn't some stupid game
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o
Son of a gun, we'll have big fun on the bayou
Settle down far from town, get him a pirogue
And he'll catch
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o
Son of a gun, we'll have big fun on the bayou
Settle down far from town, get him a pirogue
And he'll catch
they emptied out my pockets, took my pills and guitar picks.
I said: "Wait, my name is..." "Ah, shut up."
Well, I sure was in a fix.
The sergeant
they emptied out my pockets, took my pills and guitar picks.
I said: "Wait, my name is..." "Ah, shut up."
Well, I sure was in a fix.
The sergeant
Do Stop laughing at me!
The last thing I need from you
My guitar pick
You don't know all I wanna do!
I used that fucking pick to write a song about
the stones written on the beam
JACKIE’S NAME the daughter of Mr. Butcher Barlow
HIS GUITAR PICKS lay in the cracks it seems we aren’t alone
I’M LIVING WITH
something in between my fingers like guitar picks
I know I'm a piece of shit, play with her heart strings like a harpist
Before I fuck with anybody gotta deal
Woh Jambalaya, crawfish pie, filé gumbo
'Cause tonight I'm-a gonna see my machez amio
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-oh
Son of a gun,
Mamas' don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks
Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such
Mamas' don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
Don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks
Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such
Jambalaya
Jambalaya
Jambalaya and a crawfish, pie and filé gumbo
'Cause tonight I'm gonna see my ma cher amio
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar
Jambalaya
Jambalaya
Jambalaya and a crawfish, pie and filé gumbo
'Cause tonight I'm gonna see my ma cher amio
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar
he just didn't dig me at all
So I took my guitar, picks and all
And bid farewell to my poor ole pa
And I split for Memphis where they say all
Them
a square, he just didn't dig me at all
So I took my guitar, picks and all
And bid farewell to my poor ole pa
And I split for Memphis where they say all
and again
So I'm out here searching
This side of town
Ain't the sharpest
Think I could turn it all around with a guitar pick
With my cowboy hat and boots
Pick up guitar trouble, guitar trouble comin' 'round the bend
Pick up guitar trouble, guitar trouble comin' 'round the bend
Long as he keeps
Mama, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys
And don't let 'em pick guitars or drive them old trucks
Make 'em be doctors and lawyers and such
He's a flatland farmer
Who flat picks and old guitar
Yeah he's a flatland farmer
He flat picks and old guitar
He don't make no money
But he can
big fun on the bayou
Jambalaya and a crawfish pie and file' gumbo
'Cause tonight I’m gonna see my ma cher amio
Pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay-o
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