On the road trying to make a few bucks, it's not like the old days. A lotta' miles and not many big hits since he and Myra parted ways. He's still mean as a snake and smart as a fox. He still plays like his soul's possessed. He's asleep next door, passed out on the floor. It's time to get him sober and dressed.
There'll be another show tonight, a whole lotta' shaken' and maybe a few hillbilly tunes. Whether he knocks 'em dead and leaves them yelling for more depends on pills and liquor consumed. There will be a hole in his heart and the tears will start when the lights go black. The King has gone, he's taken his songs and he's not coming back.
Aw, man, we started the whole ****** thing, didn't we? We made Sun shine bright from that hole in the wall in Memphis, Tennessee.
Now, stop and think and pour him a drink. Sit him up in bed. Give him the word, tell him what we just heard. Tell him Elvis Presley's dead.
Somebody go wake up Jerry Lee Lewis. Get that ******* hillbilly out of the bed. Wait till he looks you straight in the eye and tell the Killer the King is dead.
