Two solid miles of studios
Two A.M., they're all aglow
Singers, pickers, record men,
Lacy ladies, saints and sin
Syrup, sugar, pepper, salt
A beat, a bounce, a little schmaltz
Would-be stars and over-the-hill
Hopeful, hopeless, won't and will
Can and can't and may and won't
Did and didn't, do and don't
Session pickers, master hands
Makin records for the fans.
Think of how it used to be
In Memphis...Tennessee Two and
     me
Timeless, tireless, night and day
Living just to sing and play
Listen to that first play-back
Watch the faces of Sam and Jack
"Well, sir, what do you think of it?
"A stone smash!" "A natural hit!"
The first joy of my first success
Overwhelmed and over blessed.

Just to think, yes, just to know
They'll play it on the radio.
Now, walking music city streets,
I taste the same old aftersweet.
Enthusiastic Bobby Moore,
Proud and fulfilled to the core,
Shouted out, "Come gather round,
We've done it! That's the sound!"
Eastern glow, fading stars
Forgot where I parked the car
Found it, drove home, wanna sleep
Forgot my tape. It will keep.
I won't soon forget a song
I've been singing all night long.
This same scene repeated over
Eighteen, twenty times or more
Mixed & mastered, finally through
A record I'm proud of, for you.

P.S. Thanks Mama.


John R. Cash