Who draws the crowd and plays so loud? Baby, it's the guitar man Who's gonna steal the show, you know? Baby, it's the guitar man He can make you love
Should've kept on goin' But the hurt was showing When she looked at me that way I had to stay I knew I had to get to know her name The town was weary
Everytime I look into you it tears me up inside Got a hunger for ya, woman, that just can't be denied Don't tell me no, ain't my kind of answer Don't
alone They say in quiet desperation many people cannot see They cannot see the simple truth That's not the way it has to be You got to find it for yourself God helps the man
Used to be my pleasure When I'd wake up in the morning Just to open my eyes and see you Just to find you were lying there But mornings now they seem to
You know I've got to leave here If I can pull myself up to the door You see I've tried my best to stay here But I can't see you anymore There's something
die than get married Let me go, tell her no, tell her no (Solo) You heard my story and you now know why A strange old woman makes a grown man cry
Traduction: Maid in Manhattan BO. Pain - Guitar Man.
it all up on the grill Fix some beans and corn bread, everybody's gonna get their fill Then we'll grab all the guitars, greasy hands and all Someone'll count off a shuffle, and man
cha ears up and a mirror speaker And the day's lesser than simple if you don't work, you don't eat And the lowest level of a man is when he is living
Orange juice and . . . uh . . . a roll, uh-huh? Aynsley: One stale roll Dick: Yeah FZ: Bread and water Aynsley: One stale roll Dick: Bread and water Waitress
c. 1981-82 Johnny "Guitar" Watson lead guitar & lead vocals FZ guitar, vocals Ike Willis guitar?, vocals Steve Vai guitar? Ray White guitar, vocals Bobby
Napa Valley and the guitar king Comes a sparkling wine, to make a blind man sing Yo it's the cham-pan-yah, from the man with the bandana I can't stand
old folks Take my dinner with the Don Couscous with parmesan The sun is about to set Hawaiian shirts, Havana cigars Red sky, hot breeze, ladies like the guitars
lips boss, like you were wearing lip glos. I shit not. I'm a one man clan, one man band, just gi'mme one mic and one mic stand, one guitar for me to
'Gimme some guitars punk, that's better Sweet Leaf Limp Bizkit in the house What fucken' house? Seattle baby Terry Date, Limp Bizkit, Staind Bring the
