He left New Orleans with a half-packed case, Lucille in hand and a look on his face. Said, “These streets got too much sorrow, I need a louder tomorrow.” Taxi lights fade, bourbon in his veins, He’s humming thunder through the rain. Where the lights flicker on the edge of town, He says, tonight I’m gonna tear it down. B.B. King lets his hair down, Turns that blue note inside out. From the Mississippi moon to a metal crown, He’s bending steel and shouting loud. Crowd’s half leather, half tattoos, Didn’t know the man could light a fuse. He hit that string, the walls went still, Then broke their hearts with a delta swill. No suits tonight, no gentle hands, Just screaming amps and heavy fans. He said, You call it metal, I call it pain, It’s the same old soul by another name. B.B. King lets his hair down, Lucille’s crying, people shout. From the crossroads dust to the underground, He’s the blues they’ve all heard about. Silver strings cut through the heat, Old ghosts dancing at his feet. He grins and says, Well, look at that, The devil wearin' my flat brim hat. B.B. King, gettin' on down, Fire and feedback shake the ground. Every note a prayer, every bend a vow, The blues got louder, and he showed them how. Smoke curls high, lights go dim, He tips his hat, that’s the end of him. But in every bar where amps still sound, You’ll hear the night he let his hair down.
