Songwriter's Lament

My big plans were soarin', yes, today would be the day
The mornin' I pulled in to Music City, USA
The folks back home in Tulsa said I had just what it takes
Why, it won't be long and I'll be on my way

I said, "Good mornin' gentlemen," and picked up my guitar
Expectin' them to say that I would soon be goin' far
The only rise, I noticed, was the smoke from his cigar
He turned to me and this he had to say

"Mister, we've got ten thousand pickers
A songwriter under every rock
We've got singers singin' and guitars twangin'
And heaven only knows where it'll stop"

I knocked on every door I found on 16th Avenue
I dropped in every name I'd ever read in the who's who
I said, "I know Big Harlan, Old Hank, and there's Tom T."
But nothin' changed the way they looked at me

Last night I dreamed I passed away, and heaven was my fate
And there was old Saint Peter, I could see him plain as day
He said, "Leave your name and number with the girl out at the gate"
As he turned away, these words I heard him say

"Mister, we've got ten thousand pickers
A songwriter under every rock
We've got singers singin' and guitars twangin'
And heaven only knows where it will stop"