Ghost In The Guitar

Down the drain pipe 'cross the yard and through the fence
I risked a whoopin' every time I went
'Cause white boys weren't allowed on the colored side of town
But I was proud to call that old black man my friendHe had a pillow by the bed he used to pray on
And a beat up old guitar he let me play on
And I knew where my fingers went from his greasy fingerprints
Yeah, he was passin' on what was handed down to himAnd it soaked up all the blood and sweat and teardrops
And the beers he missed in smoky little bars
And sometimes that old man he comes alive in my hands
I feel the beating of his sad old broken heart
Just like there's a ghost in this guitar, a ghost in this guitarWell, the night before he died he made me take it
Well he said, "You play it now, 'cause I gotta go"
And I can feel him in my fingers when I play it
'Cause sometimes I'm in control and sometimes I just sit back
And let him go, I sit back and let him go