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Austin Cunningham Let That Poor Boy Sing Buck Clayborn His name was Robert Clayborn but the whole town called him Buck He didn’t have a whole lot ’cept his cowdog and his truck And I’d hang out on the front porch of his shack just west of town And soak up all his stories ‘til the Texas sun went down He’d sip his flask of bourbon while I sipped a bottle coke I’d almost wet my pants y’all just laughing at his jokes He taught me how to cuss and how to lose at dominoes And how to throw a roundhouse right if it ever came to blows Chorus: We were the toughest hombres We were the best of friends And freedom never felt so free As sittin’ there on that front porch way back when When it was Buck Clayborn and me Now some town folks called him drunkard and they called my Daddy twice Concerned that my virtue to be exposed to all Buck’s vice I can still hear Mrs. Beasley tell my Mama ‘I declare I’m afraid to see what kind of manners your boy picks up down there.’ But what a preacher could not teach me about how to talk to God I learned from Buck a prayin’ when we buried his old dog He said ‘Please take him to heaven Lord if you let an old dog in And bless dear Mrs. Beasley, she’s a peach, Amen.’ Sometimes I like to come home, and stand on this very spot And though the porch we sat and laughed on is now an asphalt parking lot I can still hear his old whiskey voice whisper on the wind sayin’ “How ‘bout a game of checkers son, if you’re lucky I’ll let you win” Whoa, take me back to that front porch once again When it was Buck Clayborn and me |
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