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