Killer

Who’s the fella with the fingers?

he’s the king of country singers,

leaves a lullaby that lingers,

he’s got soul.

 

Out of East Louisiana,

he’s the priest of the piana,

even if you aint a fan o’

rock ‘n roll.

 

If they say his music’s moody,

Jerry woos the judge and jury,

with a little boogie-woogie

dipped in gold.

 

Sure he’s had his misadventures,

he don’t try to be pretentious,

he’s a nightmare for the censors

to control.

 

Didn’t like the seminary,

cos it wasn’t very Jerry,

pleasing God by makin’ merry,

that’s his  goal.

 

Girls from Memphis to Manilla,

all come calling on The Killer,

when they feel the need to fill a

little hole.

 

Young pretenders try to copy,

but it leaves their fingers floppy,

when the good lord saw him off he

broke the mould.

 

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