Painter's Song

He wore trousers every day of the week,
When he smiled he got dimples in both cheeks,
He talked in Spanish and loved to tell dirty jokes.

Spent his spare time at Otto's playin' checkers
And listenin' to Gene Autry records
With Clide the shoe shine boy, and ole Roy Stoltz

He was a painter by trade and perty darn good,
He used brushes and rollers to cover the wood,
He painted our house, our barns, our sheds, and our fence.
That was in 1967, I was 5 my brother 11,
He'd let us help, pay us 50 cents.

Logic lives in a bucket'a paint
Maybe I'm wrong maybe I ain't
'Cause both can be spread with no trouble at all

Thank God for good memories,
It don't make no sense to me
Why people have to grow up at all.

He'd take me fishin' after work when he could
And he'd let me drink beer and it always felt good
To know I didn't have to be home time for supper

Take our shirts off, let our skin get red
And he'd talk about the war and shake his head
Namin' Jesus Christ, John Wayne all in one.

Logic lives in a bucket'a paint
Maybe I'm wrong maybe I ain't
'Cause both can spread with no trouble at all

Thank God for the memories,
It don't make no sense to me
Why people have to grow up at all.

I said thank the good Lord for memories
An' it don't make no sense to me
Why people have to grow up at all