Once I knowed a guitar picker,
lived his life on wine and liquor,
running around in one of them
new machines.
He was about the proudest feeling,
wheeling, dealing, sneaking,
stealing,
aggravating this man I ever seen.
Nothing but a midnight rambler,
biggest drunkard and a gambler,
he'd do anything that
wasn't nice.
Huntin', golfin', fishin',
swimmin',
runnin' around with other women,
playin' dominoes
and shootin' dice.
Then one night as he was dinin',
while the moon was brightly shinin',
with his secret love he was so gay.
He'd laugh and call her honey
while she proudly spent his money,
as they'd hug and smooch
the time away.
Laughin', jokin', drinkin',
dancin',
plannin' parties and romancin',
havin' fun regardless of the price.
Eatin' caviar and chicken,
strummin' his guitar and pickin',
playin' dominoes
and shootin' dice.
Then his wife walked in and found him,
all those pretty girls around him,
started makin' headway for the game.
When he seen them gals dividing,
he commenced to slip and sliding,
but he seemed to know it was too late.
Crowds began to getting thinner,
they jumped up and left for dinner,
no one seemed to have an appetite.
Not a person dared offend her,
everyone jumped out the window,
no one hung around to
see the fight.
Then she grabbed him by the collar,
he commenced to squeal and holler,
as she plastered him betwixt
the eyes.
Grabbed his old guitar
and swung it o 'er his head,
she proudly hung it,
bruised his knots
and bumps began to rise.
He leapt up and tried to squeeze her,
but she warped him cross the beaser,
pulled a gun and shot him once or twice.
When the wicked fight was over,
he was four beneath the clover,
no more dominoes and shootin' dice.
He's neath the clover,
no more dominoes
and no more shootin' down.