Lyrics

Hit The Road Again (A Drifter's Tale)

The lonesome sun was sinking down just as he arose
Feeling like he just survived a lethal overdose
One more cup of coffee, one last shot of gin
The drifter stands, puts down his glass, and hits the road again

Some say he came from Birmingham, some say Delacroix
Others knew him way out west when he was just a boy
Years before his innocence became a life of sin
And another newborn drifter would hit the road again

He packed a dog-eared Bible and a snub-nose 44
And a lucky chip Sinatra dropped on the casino floor
A picture of the Buddha and a flask of rotgut gin
That's all the drifter needed to hit the road again

In a town in old Wyoming, a storefront preacher cursed
He crossed paths with the drifter once and came out for the worse
Instead of God's forgiveness, he plotted his revenge
And waited for the drifter to hit the town again

In a card game 20 years ago, the preacher lost his world
The drifter won his money and took off with his girl
The preacher tried to take him down but took one on the chin
The drifter left him in the dirt and hit the road again

The sheriff was a righteous God-fearing simple man
He'd listen to the preacher and try to understand
The things he'd say about God and man and goodness and of sin
And how he must arrest the drifter when he hit the town again

The judge just sat there stone-faced as the storefront preacher wailed
"If we don't do something soon, we'll all have surely failed
Hand me down a sentence, judge - we just can't let him win
We have to stop the drifter before he hits the road again"

The judge looked at the drifter, a distant clock did chime
He said, "I've heard the evidence, but I just can't find a crime
The verdict is Not Guilty, I find for the defense
Drifter, you're now free and clear to hit the road again"

In an act of desperation, the preacher pulled his gun
He said, "Drifter, now you're mine, and this time you can't run"
As he proclaimed, "Vengeance is mine!"
a shot screamed through the wind
The preacher's vision faded, and he hit the dirt again

The sheriff stood with smoking gun as a crowd did gather round
They saw the drifter standing there and the preacher on the ground
The sheriff spoke through tears and said, "Sometimes justice wins
But that don't mean you're welcome here, I'd hit the road again."

I turned off the TV, a mourning dove did wail
It's funny how a motel room can feel just like a jail
One more cup of coffee, one last shot of gin
I stood up, put down my glass, and hit the road again