Were songs made to make money?
Or were songs made to sing?
That question ran around my head
His strings were old, his guitar cracked
And the only hit he ever had
Two fingers on his picking hand
were black and blue and sore
He'd accidentally slammed them
Were songs made to make money?
Or were songs made to sing?
That question ran around my head
I don't think I was real to him,
I was a face on a record jacket
and looked like he couldn't hack it
His dad asked in a gentle voice
if he'd play a song I wrote
I smiled, but I never thought
Were songs made to make money?
Or were songs made to sing?
That question ran around my head
But then he played it perfectly
And he didn't miss a word
I swear it was the finest thing
The melody was different,
the chords were not the same
But sittin' there in his living room,
he gave me wealth and fame
Were songs made to make money,
or were songs made to sing?
That question ran around my head,
till I met Bill Mouldeen.
And now I'm back in Nashville,
the commercial music scene.
The first song that I'm writin'
Is just for Bill Molyneux
Were songs made to make money
Or were songs made to sing?
That question ran around my head
Were songs made to make money
Or were songs made to sing?
That question ran around my head
Oh, songs made to make money
That question ran around my head
Oh, songs made to make money
That question ran around my head
That question ran around my head
