I said, “Right. But now I have to come up with seven thousand dollars just to get the son of a bitch home!”
Billy said, “Right.”
Now I have to find a place to put him. I got an idea. I still owe Faron Young a fat calf, and this is one of the fattest he could ever get. So I had Bill Polk, the gentleman who worked for me and took care of the livestock, to load him up and take him to Nashville. He took him right to Faron's office and left him in the trailer, in the parking lot.
I called Faron and told him his calf was out front.
“What calf ?”
“How soon we forget,” I said. He called me back later to say thanks, and that this was the heaviest bull he'd ever seen. He said he was going to make a fortune in breeding fees. I thought, Right.…
PAMPER MUSIC WAS a companyowned byRayPrice and Hal Smith. Hank Cochran and I were out behind the offices in a garage that had been turned into a sound studio and a place to write. There was no phone, one window, a piano, and a couple of guitars. Maedell Sandusky, the secretary, came in and told Hank he had a phone call. By the time Hank had gotten back from his call, I had written “Hello Walls.” If Hank hadn't gotten that phone call we would have written it together and it would have been half his. We laughed a lot about the phone call that cost him half of “Hello Walls.” I mayhave laughed a little more than Hank did.
We did write songs together though. One night we were in the basement of my house in Ridgetop. We wrote seven songs. One of them is called “What Can You Do to Me Now?” The next day my house burned down.
What Can You Do to Me Now?
What can you do to me now
That you haven't done to me already?
You broke my pride and made me cry out loud
What can you do to me now?
I'm seeing things that I never thought I'd see
You've opened up the eyes inside of me
How long have you been doing this to me?
I'm seeing sides of me that I can't believe
Someway, somehow, I'll make a man of me
I will build me back the way I used to be
Much stronger now, the second time around
'Cause what can you do to me now?
The Party's Over
Turn out the lights, the party's over
They say that all good things must end
Call it a night, the party's over
And tomorrow starts the same old thing again
What a crazy, crazy party
Never seen so many people
Laughing, dancing, look at you, you're having fun
But look at me, I'm almost crying
But that don't keep her love from dying
Misery, 'cause for me, the party's over
Once I had a love undying
I didn't keep it, wasn't trying
Life for me was just one party and then another
I broke her heart so many times
Had to have my party wine
Then one day she said
“Sweetheart, the party's over”
I WAS AT A CHRISTMAS PARTY AT Lucky Moeller's office. I get a phone call from my nephew Randy, who was at the house in Ridgetop. He said, “Uncle Willie, the house is burning.”
I said, “Is everybody OK?” He said yes. I then said, “Pull the car in the garage and get out.”
Sure enough, when I got there, it was burning pretty good. There were fire trucks, police cars, and a lot of other people. I ran in through the back door and the kitchen was full of smoke, firemen, policemen and I don't know who all. I walked down the hall to a closet, picked up my guitar and a bag of weed, and ran out the back door, giving the weed to a friend who ran to the woods and hid it.
Everyone had gotten out of the house OK and they put the fire out before it reached the garage. Too bad, too, it was a piece-of-shit car. I moved to Texas.
Texas
Listen to my song
And if you want to sing along
It's about where I belong
Texas
Sometime far into the night
And until the morning light
I pray with all my might
to be in
Texas
It's where I want to be
It's the only place for me
Where my spirit can be free
Texas
AFTER THE HOUSE BURNED IN RIDGETOP, I moved to Austin. I thought about Houston first because Connie's family lived there. But after visiting sister Bobbie in Austin, I decided this was a better spot for me. The weather was better, the hill country was beautiful, and the Austin music scene was well under way with Jerry Jeff Walker, Steve Fromholz, Michael Murphey, Gary P. Nunn, and just a lot of great fans.
I was playing Big G's in Round Rock, a cowboy/redneck good-ole-boy-and-girl beer joint. I saw a couple of long-haired cowboys in there. Very interesting, I thought. Then I went to the Armadillo World Headquarters, and there I met a lot of long-haired cowboys and cowgirls who liked to drink a beer and listen to country music. I saw two audiences in the same area, separated by what was called a generation gap. The old and the new coming together, or trying to come together. They were finding common ground, country music.
I called Waylon. I said, “Waylon, you're the luckiest son of a bitch alive just to know me. I'm gonna save your ass again. Come to Austin.” And, of course, when the Armadillo crowd heard Waylon they loved him at first sight. They could relate. Here's another crazy, talented lost soul looking for new friends. And he found them. We both did. Long live Austin, Texas, the Armadillo World Headquarters, and, of course, Big G's, where the heart of two worlds came together.
WAYLON WROTE most of this song, but I took half.
Good-Hearted Woman
A long time forgotten
Her dreams have just fell by the way
And the good life he promised
Ain't what she's living today
But she never complains of the bad times
Or the bad things he's done, Lord
She just talks about the good times they've had
And all the good times to come
She's a good-hearted woman
In love with a good-timing man
And she loves him in spite of his ways
That she don't understand
Through teardrops and laughter
They'll pass through this world hand in hand
This good-hearted woman
In love with a good-timing man
He likes the night life, the bright lights
And his good-timing friends
And when the party's all over
She'll welcome him back home again
Lord knows she don't understand him
But she does the best that she can
She's a good-hearted woman
In love with a good-timing man
“Outlaws”
IN THE EARLY '70S, the name “Outlaw music” was given to some of us by Hazel Smith, a friend and writer in Nashville. I wanted Hazel to tell you in her own words how it happened.…
During '72 and '73, music by Willie, Waylon Jennings, and a bevy of cosmic creators began to find itself on the side of the majority. Hippies and lawyers, rednecks and suits, sat side by side on the Texas ground and dug Willie Nelson, Billy Joe Shaver, Jerry Jeff Walker, et al. It was unlike anything I had ever seen in the three decades I'd been in the music business.
In the beginning, radio sparsely programmed the music. Three stations had the balls to play only “Progressive music,” as we called it for lack of a better term, and they were in Ashboro, North Carolina; Flint, Michigan; and Austin, Texas. Like western swing, rhythm and blues, and bluegrass, I knew the music needed a hook. “Progressive” was too uppity and prissy.
Searching out names for the genre, “Renegade” wasn't bad. But if you read Webster's, you'll find it's not good. “Outlaw” crossed my mind time and again. Perhaps the Lee Clayton song, “Ladies Love Outlaws,” was the inspiration. I can't say,
but I can say I looked up “outlaw” in Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, and the one line that jumped out at me was, “Living on the outside of the written law.”
Outlaws and solid citizens (left to right): Ray Stevens, Waylon Jennings, me, Bobby Bare, Glen Campbell, and Ralph Emery in 1990 in Nashville.
Waylon frowned, Willie shrugged. Tompall Glaser said, “Don't tell nobody you named it.” Truth is, those guys just wanted to pick, sing, and make a living. I'll tell you how great Outlaw music was. The creators are in the Country Music Hall of Fame. Enough said? Enough said.
—Hazel Smith
April 9, Williamsport, Pennsylvania, 9:30 P.M.
I MADE A BIG RUSH TO GET TO my pen and paper to write something brilliant. Now I've forgotten it. Oh well. It couldn't have been that brilliant.
The other day a lady golfer came into the pro shop complaining of a terrible beesting. “Where did it sting you?” asked the golf pro. “Between the first and second hole,” she cried. The pro said, “Well, the first thing, your stance is too wide!”
We had a great golf game today, me, Bee, Poodie, and Paul. We met a lot of nice people at the golf course. They made us feel right at home, and for four old guys, we didn't play too badly.
Scooter Franks came by the bus and we talked and laughed awhile. Scooter and his brother, Bo, have been handling the concessions on the road with me for many years. Scooter drives along behind the buses every night. He travels every mile we do, and does a terrific job of hawking swag. I let him read a little from this book today, and he laughed in all the right places. Thank you, Scooter.
I'VE BEEN WATCHING the stock market go up and down for several years. It's like “follow your bouncing money.” I don't own any stock at this time, so I can watch and sing along. A lot of the guys in the band own stock, and it's interesting to see how they've aged. Paul English told me today that he has already lost half a million dollars in the stock market this year. I thought that was really bad, but I said, “Paul, you're the only drummer I know who can say that.”
They all have that “leave it alone and it will be fine” attitude. I'm beginning to think they're right.
Did you hear about the nervous bank robber? He walked into the bank and yelled, “Stick up your ass or I'll blow your hands off !”
Paul Simon is on TV doing “Graceland” with all the original African backup players and singers. It is wonderful! I recorded that song a few years back. Paul called many years ago, I suppose after he had cut the song in Africa. I had heard the song before, of course, and Paul thought I should record it. I thought it was a wonderful song, but Paul had already done it. He called a few years later and asked me again to consider recording “Graceland.” This time I thought I'd better do it.
I was in the middle of recording a CD called Across the Borderline, produced by Don Was. When I mentioned “Graceland” to Don, he thought that Paul should produce it. This was a good idea, and I did the best I could, but in my mind I feel that my version wasn't nearly as good as Paul's. This was, and is, his creation, and can only be done by him. This is just my opinion, and of course opinions are like assholes. Everybody has one.
DID YOU HEAR about the guy in the bar who stood up and said, “All lawyers are assholes!”? Another guy stood up and said, “I take exception to that remark, sir!”
The first guy said, “Are you a lawyer?”
The other guy said, “No, I'm an asshole.”
Ninety-nine percent of the world's lovers are not with their first choice. That's what makes the jukebox play.
Summer of Roses
A short time I have to be with you my love
But a short time is better than no time you see
So I bring to you all my possessions
And would that you'd share them with me
I bring you one springtime of robins
One springtime of robins to sing
And I bring you one summer of roses
One summer of roses I bring
I bring you one autumn of dry leaves
Dry leaves will be helpful you know
To soften the fall of your snowflakes
When I bring you your winter of snow
She's Not for You
Pay no mind to her
She only wants to play
But she's not for you
She's not for you
And I'm the only one
Who would let her act this way
But she's not for you
She's not for you
So she told you she found heaven
In your eyes
Well I think it only fair to warn you
That sometimes she lies
But it's your heart
I can't tell you what to do
But she's not for you
She's not for you
She just looks for greener pastures
Now and then
And when she grows tired she knows Old Faithful
Will just take her back again
So just leave her here
I'm used to feeling blue
She's not for you
She's not for you
You Left Me a Long, Long Time Ago
You tell me today that you're leaving
But just think a while
I'm sure that you must know
Today might be the day that you walk away
But you left me a long, long time ago
Today's just the day that ends it all
Except the usual memories
That always linger on
And today might be the day that you walk away
But you left me a long, long time ago
I stood with helpless hands
And watched me lose your love
A little more each day
Then it was gone
And I kept wondering
Just how long until this day would come
Just how long could your pride keep hanging on
So please don't say you're sorry
Don't say anything
Don't try to say why you must leave
Just go
And today might be the day that you walk away
But you left me a long, long time ago
Permanently Lonely
Don't be concerned 'cause it's time I learned
But those who play with fire get burned
But I'll be all right in a little while
But you'll be permanently lonely
And don't be too quick to pity me
Don't salve my heart with sympathy
'Cause I'll be all right in a little while
But you'll be permanently lonely
The world looks on with wonder and pity
At your kind
'Cause it knows that the future is not very pretty
For your kind
For your kind will always be running
And wondering what's happened to hearts
That you've broken and left all alone
We'll be all right in a little while
Running lonely
Half a Man
If I only had one arm to hold you
Better yet, if I had none at all
Then I wouldn't have two arms that ached for you
And there'd be one less memory to recall
If I'd only had one ear to listen
To the lies that you told to me
Then I'd more closely resemble
The half a man that you've made of me
If I had been born with but one eye
Then I'd only have one eye that cries
And if half of my heart turned to ashes
Maybe half of my heartaches would die.
If I only had one leg to stand on
Then a much truer picture you'd see
For then I'd more closely resemble
The half a man that you've made of me
So Much To Do
My oatmeal tastes just like confetti
The coffee's too strong so forget it
The toast is burning, so let it
There's just so much to do since you've gone
Too much to do all alone
My tie's lost and I can't find my sweater
There's the doorbell, I hope that's your letter
My head aches, I hope I feel better
There's just so much to do since you've gone
Too much to do all alone
So much to do since you've gone
Too much to do all alone
And time, time rolls on like a river
And oh there's just so much to do
And I just can't do without you
Country Willie
You called me Country Willie
The night you walked away
With the one who promised you a life of joy
You thought my life too simple
And yours was much too gay
To spend it living with a country boy
I'm writing you this letter
I write you every day
I hope that you've received the ones before
But I've heard not one word from you
And every day I pray
That you will not forget your country boy
While you're living in the city
With riches at your door
Is this your love, is this your kind of joy?
Or do you find there's something missing
Does your heart cry out for more?
And do you sometimes miss your country boy?
A cottage in the country
With roses around the door
Could not compete with flashing city lights
But it's all I have to offer
Except for one thing more:
A heart so filled with love that it could die
Well, it's time to end this letter