Lirik Lagu Sam Stone - John Prine
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Sam Stone came home,To the wife and familyAfter serving in the conflict overseas.And the time that he served,Had shattered all his nerves,And left a little shrapnel in his knees.But the morhpine 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,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.
Sam Stone's welcome homeDidn't last too long.He went to work when he'd spent his last dimeAnd soon he took to stealingWhen he got that empty feelingFor a hundred dollar habit without overtime.And the gold roared through his veinsLike 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,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.
Sam Stone was aloneWhen he popped his last balloon,Climbing walls while sitting 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 it's fun,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,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.
Transcribed by Rich Kulawiec, rsk@ecn.purdue.edu
There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes,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.
Sam Stone's welcome homeDidn't last too long.He went to work when he'd spent his last dimeAnd soon he took to stealingWhen he got that empty feelingFor a hundred dollar habit without overtime.And the gold roared through his veinsLike 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,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.
Sam Stone was aloneWhen he popped his last balloon,Climbing walls while sitting 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 it's fun,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,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.
Transcribed by Rich Kulawiec, rsk@ecn.purdue.edu
