Johnson Grass - Owen Temple

WRITTEN BY: OWEN TEMPLE, ADAM CARROLL, & A.J. ROACH

Pour me another my dreams do fly
Above the Johnson grass so high
Reflections of Daddy’s dreams
Floating on a yellow submarine
He wore that Open Road so well
The Stetson hat he helped sell
Shared three letters L B J
So Lady Bird won’t fly away

Now he wears his hair a little long
He’s got seven telephones
Not used to being left alone
He’s got seven telephones
They don’t ring like they used to

Hill Country boy with dirt on his shoes
Walking around with borrowed blues
Holding men and dogs up by their ears
Master of ten thousand fears
He’s drinking Fresca mixed with scotch
He damn sure loves these Stonewall rocks
He’s going to the Folk Fest to hear a band
He told the Secret Service to clap their hands

Now he wears his hair a little long
He’s got seven telephones
South Asia mess, who could have known?
He’s got seven telephones
They don’t ring like they used to

His eyes could burn like a lighted fuse
Hold on so tight so you don’t lose
Your brass halo and duct tape wings
Held you up awhile then made a mess of things
Yeah it’s time for you, it’s time you had fun
The Mr. President days are done
He says, “move over driver I’ll take the wheel
Before I forget how driving feels”

Now he wears his hair a little long
He’s got seven telephones
Did he do more right than he got wrong?
He’s got seven telephones
They don’t ring like they used to

Pour me another my dreams do fly
Above the Johnson grass so high