Bourbon [DVD]

Rory GallagherRory Gallagher 

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Rory Gallagher

William Rory Gallagher ( /ˈrɔriː ˈɡæləhər/ GAL-ə-hər; 2 March 1948 – 14 June 1995) was an Irish blues-rock multi-instrumentalist, songwriter, and bandleader. Born in Ballyshannon, County Donegal, and raised in Cork, Gallagher recorded solo albums throughout the 1970s and 1980s, after forming the band Taste during the late 1960s. A talented guitarist known for his charismatic performances and dedication to his craft, Gallagher's albums have sold in excess of 30 million copies worldwide. Gallagher received a liver transplant in 1995, but died of complications later that year in London, England at the age of 47. more »

Year:

2007

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#1

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Well, he's drinking down the bourbon like it was soda pop, 
Trying to quell a feeling he knows ain't gonna stop; 
He's mortgaged out his blood for one more chance to breath~

He had the D. T. 's for breakfast, the shakes till noon, 
He picked up his bag and left his motel room; 
His head is held high but his heart is on its knees.

Well, he packed his guitar and his bar-room tan, 
Gotta get some miles behind him as fast as he can; 
Another destination, some P!ace else to play.

Well, he left a life behind him in some old trailer park. 
They tried to make it work; it was ruined from the start. 
He had to shake the rust; it became time to leave.

It's a honky-tonk engagement, 
But there's no better place to play. 
His face feels like crazy pavement, 
It's getting more lined every day.

Well, he's gonna write a letter and try to explain. 
She says he's too old to have these growing pains, 
But something keeps him moving, living on through the night

But as the night approaches, a change is in the air, 
His heart is pumping fast, he's got no cares. 
The music befriends him, it can take him anywhere.

It's a honky-tonk engagement, 
But there's no better place to play. 
His mind feels like crazy pavement, 
He's getting crazed out every day.

Well, he's drinking down the bourbon like it was soda pop, 
Trying to quell a feeling he knows ain't gonna stop; 
He's mortgaged out his blood for one more chance to play.

He had the D. T's for breakfast, the chills till noon, 
He packed his guitar and left his motel room; 
His head is held high but his heart is on its knees.

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