"The Fella grinned and shook his head. 'This next song,' he continued, 'I wrote during one of the worst times of my life. It’s—well, if you’ve ever been in a bar band, you’ll know what I’m talkin' about.'”
Credits
Cole Powell - Vocals/Acoustic Guitars/Bass
Kyle Graves - Electric Guitars
Original Drum Performance by Zack Farnham
Engineered and Mixed by Cole Powell at Randomine Records
Except Original Drum Performance Engineered by Tyler Bridge
Written and Produced by Cole Powell
Lyrics
Well, the dance floor is packed as they call out for Creedence
Shout some requests for a Skynyrd or two
Then, commence one we wrote, and everyone stops believin’
Strictly because they don’t recognize the tune
And I’m reading the lips of a drunk on the back wall
Critiquing the vocals but not meaning to offend
Well, that’s quite all right, I sing just how I want to
And that just goes to show how smart you are, my friend
Swore I’d never give up on my hopes or my dreams
But my mind and my body’s about give up on me
Well, this ain’t what I wanted and sure not what I needed
So, keep drinking your whiskey ‘cause this song ain’t for me
We play for four hours, two hundred-dollar bills
Tips from a jar, drinks, and free food
Well, the tip jar is nice, and so are the meals
But we don’t even drink, so we pass on the booze
And it’s a three-hour drive to return whence we came
And the take split four ways ain’t enough to keep
The less sleep I get, the worse pounds my brain
And the worse my head aches, the less I can sleep
Whoa-oh, yeah
Swore I’d never give up on my hopes or my dreams
But my mind and my body’s about give up on me
Well, this ain’t what I wanted and sure not what I needed
So, keep drinking your whiskey ‘cause this song ain’t for me
Oh, oh
Drink up your whiskey ‘cause this song ain’t for me