Songtext Let him roll von Guy Clark

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Let him roll

He's a wino, tried and true.
Done about everything there is to do.
He worked on freighters, he worked in bars.
He worked on farms, 'n he worked on cars.

It was white port, that put that look in his eye
That grown men get when they need to cry
And he sat down on the curb to rest
And his head just fell down on his chest

He said "Every single day it gets
A little bit harder to handle and yet. . ."
And he lost the thread and his mind got cluttered
And the words just rolled off down in the gutter

Well he was elevator man in a cheap hotel
In exchange for the rent on a one room cell
He's old in years beyond his time
Thanks to the world, and the white Port wine

So he says "Son," he always called me son
He said, "Life for you has just begun"
And he told me a story that I heard before
How he fell in love with a Dallas whore

Well he could cut through the years to the very night
When it ended, in a whore house fight
And she turned his last proposal down
In favor of being a girl about town

Now it's been seventeen years right in line
And he ain't been straight none of the time
Too many days of fightin' the weather
And too many nights of not being together

So he died. . .

Well when they went through his personal affects
In among the stubs from the welfare checks
Was a crumblin' picture of a girl in a door
An address in Dallas, and nothin' more

The welfare people provided the priest
A couple from the mission down the street
Sang Amazing Grace, and no one cried
'Cept some woman in black, way off to the side

We all left and she was standing there
Black veil covering her silver hair
And 'ol One-Eyed John said her name was Alice
And she used to be a whore in Dallas

Let him roar, Lord let him roll
Bet he's gone to Dallas Rest his soul
Lord, let him roll, Lord let him roar
He always said that heaven
Was just a Dallas whore.

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He's a wino, tried and true. 
Done about everything there is to do. 
He worked on freighters, he worked in bars. 
He worked on farms, 'n he worked on cars.

It was white port, that put that look in his eye 
That grown men get when they need to cry 
And he sat down on the curb to rest 
And his head just fell down on his chest

He said "Every single day it gets 
A little bit harder to handle and yet. . ." 
And he lost the thread and his mind got cluttered 
And the words just rolled off down in the gutter

Well he was elevator man in a cheap hotel 
In exchange for the rent on a one room cell 
He's old in years beyond his time 
Thanks to the world, and the white Port wine

So he says "Son," he always called me son 
He said, "Life for you has just begun" 
And he told me a story that I heard before 
How he fell in love with a Dallas whore

Well he could cut through the years to the very night 
When it ended, in a whore house fight 
And she turned his last proposal down 
In favor of being a girl about town

Now it's been seventeen years right in line 
And he ain't been straight none of the time 
Too many days of fightin' the weather 
And too many nights of not being together

So he died. . .

Well when they went through his personal affects 
In among the stubs from the welfare checks 
Was a crumblin' picture of a girl in a door 
An address in Dallas, and nothin' more

The welfare people provided the priest 
A couple from the mission down the street 
Sang Amazing Grace, and no one cried 
'Cept some woman in black, way off to the side

We all left and she was standing there 
Black veil covering her silver hair 
And 'ol One-Eyed John said her name was Alice 
And she used to be a whore in Dallas

Let him roar, Lord let him roll 
Bet he's gone to Dallas Rest his soul 
Lord, let him roll, Lord let him roar 
He always said that heaven 
Was just a Dallas whore.