Lyrics:
Waking early, shower make my eggs
Drive the same roads, I do the same old thing
Nothing changes in my everyday
Bought me a ticket I need to go away
I
brought him to this prison on that old Big River Train
We became the best of buddies side by side through thick and thin
Then one night he told his story
him ten times or more
The stories of some sailors curse on the bridge
Where it opens to let the boats through
But the natives all laugh at grandpas old
the same.
But way down South the music got the mojo.
It's all homegrown.
You won't hear it on the radio.
Call it what you want but to me it's the good old
Bill Thaxton was an ex-ranger
One of the bravest by far
It's said that old Bill was the fastest man ever
To pin on a ranger's star
Stories about him
happened for me
Gotta read between the lines
It’s the same old story
Same cold story
It’s ironic what a little change done for me
Gone for a minute but
And still keep it intact, and roll over the facts
The story's all for the talks, and a couple of walks
Just going back and forth, a couple days in the south
the same old story you don’t have to write it for me
I know you’ll be gone by morning
always ends in death or Glory
never learn our lesson call it
move,
And choose the course you're running.
Down at the edge, round by the corner,
Not right away, not right away.
Close to the edge, down by a river,
walking down this road
it's all i've ever known from before
the same old story the same old road I roam
just me the view and the world
friends pass by
It's like the same old story, never ending
It's a cycle that I'm living
I wanna start over from the beginning
I feel like I'm getting sick
I'm tired
old back room
He'd bob his head and say, "Damn, oh, that's you?"
But by The Black Album, I was blackin' out
Party at S.O.B.'s and we had packed
old back room
He'd bob his head and say, "Damn, oh, that's you?"
But by The Black Album, I was blackin' out
Party at S.O.B.'s and we had packed
We gone hit the Eiffel then we touring though the Louvre
And I'm starstruck by the women scene too
Pretty brown girls with Parisian attitudes
Grateful
the
Nineteenth century when people in
Advertising and journalism discovered that
If they framed
Their stories and appeals with fear
They could capture our
versatile
I need your lovin' like never before
Well you walk with the same old swatch
I still got the same old couch
You see the painting that you
Did some growing spent all that time by myself
Wise man told me this story'll write itself
God damn
People be tugging right on my belt
If I said
and perplexing story arcs
In them you will find
Problems of the same kind
You’ll be forced to deal
And move on
That’s why
Stories are told
Some are old
Some are
come true
Then my eyes turn red
Sky turns grey
Children slangin' white in the hood
We call it yeah drink old gold
Down my yellow brick road
and purple til my dreams come true
Then my eyes turn red
Sky turns gray
Children slanging white in the hood
We call it yay drink old gold
Down my
story lived and told
Same ol' story gettin' old
Truths and lies draw the line
Truths and lies wasted my time
Same ol' story wonder why
Same ol' story
sad it is to be
Someone captive
By their anger
On a ship that sails an empty sea
(Chorus)
It's the same old story
To darken all The Glory
But you'll
that it's that same old story
When you walk my way
Oh ya
We're the wind in all the willows
Floating by this time that all will surely pass
We're
to a face like a yearbook
Another year stuck in a sinkhole
Sunny days outside staying indoors
Same old story
Same old story
Same old story
I'm late for Banned
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