Ghost in This Guitar

Down the drain pipe, cross the yard and through the fence

I risked a whoopin' every time I went

'Cause white boys weren't allowed on the colored side of town

But I was proud to call that old black man my friend

He had a pillow by the bed he used to pray on

And a beat up old guitar he let me play on

I knew where my fingers went from his greasy fingerprints

Yeah, he was passin' on what was handed down to him

And it soaked up all the blood and sweat and teardrops

And the beers he missed in smokey little bars

And sometimes that old man he comes alive in my hands

I feel the beating of his sad old broken heart

Just like there's a ghost in this guitara ghost in this guitar

A ghost in this guitar

Well, the night before he died he made me take it

He said, ‘You play it now, ’cause I gotta go’ “

And I can feel him in my fingers when I play it

'Cause sometimes I'm in control

And sometimes I just sit back and let him go

Sit back and let him go

And it soaked up all the blood and sweat and teardrops

And the beers he missed in smokey little bars

And sometimes that old man he comes alive in my hands

I feel the beating of his sad old broken heart

Just like there's a ghost in this guitar

A ghost in this guitar

Take a listen to the ghost in this guitar