Lyrics

Dirty jeans and four-days-whiskers,
Oh, I needed this ride, Mister,
the rain is hard and I shouldn't shoot her easy.
Well, I ain't much good, you can tell by looking,
Eatin' lousy diner cooking, maybe, "gee, the boy at sure is greasy."
Your license it says 'Georgia', Sir,
that's the state I'm headed for,
maybe how I left a bit won't bore you.
Bone-tiered and the baby crying,
riding on empty, tired of trying,
I pushed on for a job in California.
Get to the golden state I did
and someone down the line said:
"Kid, diploma's from a high school's what you're lackin'"
So, I took to driving a hack for bread,
existing like the living dead,
the wife , she just gave up and started packing.
So, I'm down and done here and out, I guess, Sir,
I tell you Sir, if I could just get back home,
I'd go back to the mill.
Diplomas there ain't worth a hang,
all that counts is if a man
can do his job 'cause no one no ill.
I'll get back on my feet again,
find my family load and then,
I'll stay home where folks like me should stay.
Get out of California state,
Golden streets and pearly gate,
your state of mind that counts most any way.
Just look at that rain coming down,
I never thought, I'd get out of that town,
If you'd like to stop to give this fool a ride.
Oh, thank you, bless you, thank you, Sir,
you never knew how kind you were,
so nice and warm and cozy here inside.

Now, Sir, suppose real slow like you just pull over to the side of the road.
That's real fine.
Now, if you'd be good enough to let me borrow your wallet,
and that real fine watch.
Thank you, Thank you, Sir.
Now, you step out in the rain,
I'm going to take me a ride,
Hey, man, you really ought to know better than to pick up a hitchhiker.