Whisperin' Waylon got nothin’ but time, Polishin’ his still, sippin’ slow on shine. Roscoe the gator, lurks by his side, Eyes like fireflies in the pale moonlight. Half a jug in, the stories start to roll, Tales of kinfolk, deep and old. Waylon leans close, voice like smoke, Roscoe listens, like he knows the joke. Down in the bayou where the cattails sway, A man and a gator pass the night away. One whispers truth, the other don't speak... But legends are born in the mud and the heat. Off in the distance, a hound dog howls, The moon hangs low, the cypress scowls. Waylon grins, tips back his jug, Roscoe slips off with a belly to plug. Ain’t no preacher, ain’t no plan, Just an old ghost talkin’ to the land. If you ask 'round here, they’ll say it plain... Waylon whispers, and Roscoe remains. Sun comes up, swamp still steams, Another night lost in homemade dreams. Just a gator, a ghost, and a jug half gone, In a place where the wild things carry on. Down in the bayou where time moves slow, Waylon and Roscoe steal the show. A man, a myth, a reptile friend... Where the whispers start but never end.
