Rhinestones on his shirt his boots and guitar strap
He walks onto stage and they all cheer and clap
He begins to sparkle though he's sometimes feeling rough
They yell and stamp and whistle they just can't hear enough
Of his music yeah his country sound
Two hours of singing every day then ten hours of travel
Fourteen towns in fourteen days and still they yell for more
He's been on the road so long he's feeling tired and sore
But he can't stop for rest when they're wanting to hear more
Of his music yeah his country sound
From small-town gigs to football grounds the fans all call his name
They forgot their troubles laid their ghosts to the gigs they came
The buckle on his belt may read (Stranger in Town) not just a name
But they all know and love him cause he never lets them down
With his music yeah his country sound
© J P Makinson
Richard Makinson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem