[Verse 1] Some folks call me backyard bramble, Some say I move like dusk through rain, They clock those ember-colored eyelids And the way I laugh at grief and pain. Neighbors talk from folding chairs, Swear I let the whole day slip from view, But I’m just tuning up my old guitar Under a moon that knows me through and through. [Verse 2] They seen me by the split-rail fence line, Mud on my boots, straw in my hair, In a corner patch behind the tool shed I tend what blooms when nobody’s there. I water slow, I keep it hidden, Like a prayer I never say out loud, Then I rest my back against the cedar And let the wind work through the clouds. [Chorus] I’m a picker, I’m a grinner, I’m a low-slung midnight sinner, I sing my way through a long, hard run. I’m a rover, I’m a smoker, I’m a honeyed-tongue backroad joker, I don’t mean trouble for anyone. I don’t mean trouble for anyone. [Verse 3] You’re the sweetest thing this county’s got, Like late peaches in a paper sack, Juicy as a roadside promise With the kind of smile that calls me back. I’ve got a jar and a little spark, And a cool breath drifting through the pine, So come sit close on the porch swing, Let the crickets keep the time. [Verse 4] Let the town keep counting my failures, Let them wag their tongues till they’re thin, They don’t know the miles I’ve carried Or the storms I had to walk back in. I’ve buried hurt in red clay fields, Watched hard winters steal my pride, Now I let one sweet song unwind me And leave the old ache outside. [Chorus] I’m a picker, I’m a grinner, I’m a low-slung midnight sinner, I sing my way through a long, hard run. I’m a rover, I’m a smoker, I’m a honeyed-tongue backroad joker, I don’t mean trouble for anyone. I don’t mean trouble for anyone. [Verse 5] When the headlights fade on the county road And the last front porch goes dim, I still know where my heart is resting, Right here where the clean wind slips back in. If you want me, you can find me easy, By the trail where the fireflies swing, With my old six-string and my quiet grin And a whole wide night that’ll let me sing. [Chorus] I’m a picker, I’m a grinner, I’m a low-slung midnight sinner, I sing my way through a long, hard run. I’m a rover, I’m a smoker, I’m a honeyed-tongue backroad joker, I don’t mean trouble for anyone. I don’t mean trouble for anyone.
