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about

Inspired by the last gig to totally screw me out of my money, this song took my whole career to research. The stories you are about to hear are true--the names have been changed to keep my ass out of court. :D

lyrics

He sits on a barstool to watch the big game,
While I sit and play my guitar.
He hollers, 'Hey buddy, now what was your name?
'To get here, didja have to drive far?'
Before I can answer he orders a drink,
Makes a pass at the barmaid and gives her a wink,
And forgets all about me as his nose turns to pink,
While I sit and play my guitar.

Two rows behind me sits a family of four
Who came out to have a nice meal.
The mother looks fragile, the father looks bored
'Til the little girls let out a squeal.
They sound like the brakes on an 18-wheeled truck,
The drunk at the bar does a cover and duck
And I'm thinkin' that I should avoid the word 'flammable'
While I sit and play my guitar.

There's a loving young couple in the booth in the back
Who are lost in a world of their own.
They could star in a movie called 'When Tongues Attack'
Coming soon to your nearest iPhone.
In her left-hip pocket she's got a bus pass,
Peaking out through the rip that shows off half her ass,
But her boyfriend will find it before it's lost in the grass,
While I sit and play my guitar.

Strutting up to me is a former prom queen with a song that she just has to hear.
She flashes a smile and she's workin' her jeans that she's got painted onto her rear.
She could once make a man thank God he was a live,
But her trim girlish figure didn't really survive,
She's been poundin' the Pounders since '75,
While I sit and play my guitar.

There's John the owner, he's in charge of this crew,
And he walks through the room with a grin.
He just loves my music and all the songs I can do,
And he thanks me for bringing folks in.
I can't hear my voice for the roar of the crowd,
That fills up the building and batters the clouds,
And he says, 'Can you turn down, you're a little too loud,
While you sit there, playin' your guitar.'

I have been here five hours, but it feels like ten years,
My fingers are tingling and sore.
As I case up my Martin and tear down my gear,
Someone yells, 'Buddy, play just one more!'
'You're a heluva picker; you're our favorite draw;
Do you know any Skynnerd? how about some Outlaws?'
But my tip jar is empty and I'm pissed-off because,
All their talk is dirt-cheap, you can't spend the applause
That you get when you're playin' guitar.

credits

from Something This Way Filker Comes, released April 2, 2012

license

all rights reserved

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about

Pete Grubbs image

Pete Grubbs Brookville, Pennsylvania

I started performing music when I was 6, turned pro at 20ish & spent well over 30 years tracking down as many gigs a month as possible. While those days are behind me, I'm still making calculated noise. My music lives where rock, classical, folk, blues & parody hang out. Oddly enough, one of their favorite haunts appears to be in collections of my songs--you'll find a bit of each on every track. ... more

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