“I say, Lord, do right be me, I’m tired of being lonesome, on’ry, and mean.”

There is one in every crowd, for crying out loud, why was is always turning out to be me?

I may be crazy, but it keeps me from going insane.

Finally, my manager negotiated a deal where I got to produce my own records.

I was very young then. Buddy taught me so much in such a short time.

Ladies touch babies like a banker touches gold, outlaws touch ladies somewhere deep down in their soul.

This world that I live in is empty and cold/the loneliness cuts me and tortures my soul.

I can’t walk, so I can’t go home. No need to talk, cause I’m all alone. If I stay here they’re gonna lock me in, hitting the bottle again.

One thing is that I wasn’t getting booked that well, and they had control over who got the awards, they had control over who sold.

Besides that, I felt guilty. I thought for some reason…

Did ole Hank really do it this way?

If I could only fly, you see, a lot of my problems would be gone. When you think of just how much I’d save on shoes alone.

I’m old and crazy, but I still give a damn. And I still think the boys got screwed over in Vietnam.

I’m just a man, no more or no less. Bad as the worst, good as the best.

And they really did not want Willie or me, either one, to “have a hit record. They wanted the money, but they didn’t want us to be the ones.

Nobody knows I’m Elvis, nobody knows this is me. After all of my tries, I’ve got the perfect disguise.

We did an album one time called White Mansions, about the civil war, but it was written by a guy from England.