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Sam Stone
John Prine
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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Lyrics
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About month and a half ago
My buddy Al Bunetta and me was in Washington, DC
And Al has his video camera with him
And we decided to play tourists 'cause we had a day off after the show
So we went to see a couple of things like Lincoln Memorial
And a hot-dog stand, and Kennedy's grave
And we went over the Vietnam Veterans Memorial
I never been there before, I seen pictures of it
So, I looked up, both Al and me
Looked up guys in the telephone book there
That's what it looks like, they got these little phone books around you
You look up the person's name you wanna see
Tells you which part of the wall to go to
So we looked at our friends in there
And went and found their names on the wall
And when you stand there, looking at their names
To this black marble and you can see your reflection in the wall
So, if you ever get the chance to go there, I suggest you, go to the place
It's pretty fitting Memorial
Sam Stone came home to his wife and family
After serving in the conflict overseas
And the time that he'd served had shattered all his nerves
And left a little shrapnel in his knees
But the morphine eased the pain
And the grass grew 'round his brain
And gave him all the confidence he lacked
With a purple heart and a monkey on his back
There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes
And Jesus Christ died for nothing I suppose
Little pitchers have big ears, don't stop to count the years
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios, hm-hm-hm-hm
Sam Stone's welcome home didn't last too long
He went to work when he'd spent his last dime
And Sammy took to stealing when he got that empty feeling
For a hundred dollar habit without overtime
And the gold roared through his veins
Like a thousand railroad trains
And eased his mind in the hours that he chose
While the kids ran around wearin' other peoples' clothes
There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes
And Jesus Christ died for nothing I suppose
Little pitchers have big ears, don't stop to count the years
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios, hm-hm-hm-hm
Sam Stone was alone when he popped his last balloon
Climbing walls while sittin' in a chair
Well, he played his last request while the room smelled just like death
With an overdose hovering in the air
But life had lost its fun
And there was nothing to be done
But trade his house that he bought on the GI bill
For a flag-draped casket on a local hero's hill
There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes
And Jesus Christ died for nothin' I suppose
Little pitchers have big ears, don't stop to count the years
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios, hm-hm-hm-hm
Hm-hm-hm-hm
Thank you
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