Dobro Joe

He couldn't make his fingers play
 Like they used to anymore
 But he couldn't keep from singing
 Country songs
 From an old pocket spit toon
 And a rummaged sale guitar
 He made himself a dobro
 So that he could play along
 He couldn't hold the slide
 So he taped it to his hand
 And he'd play for me a song
 From long ago
 I'd hear it come alive
 As I listened to him sing
 Nobody ever played them
 Quite like my good friend, Joe
 Just an old dobro
 Laid across his knee
 Joe, won't you play
 A song for me
 He couldn't write a letter
 So talked to me on tape
 Then he'd pick a few
 And talk to me some more
 "Billy Clide," he'd say,
 "Since you're so far away,
 I'll sing for you a song
 Like the ones we played before."
 Just an old dobro
 Laid across his knee
 Joe, won't you play
 A song for me
 That was thirty years ago
 Those tapes are getting old
 My how the years
 Have passed me by
 My hiar's turned to grey
 My friend Joe's passed away
 And the echo of his dobro
 Brings a teardrop to my eye
 Just an old dobro
 Laid across his knee
 Joe, won't you play
 A song for me