“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.”

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.

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.

The only problem was I needed to use my own group, and things didn’t happen until I did. It wasn’t a real country sound.

I don’t believe in reincarnation at all, but if all that stuff is true, then he might have been on his last time around.

Take your tongue out of my mouth, I’m kissing you good-bye.

The ketchup bottle on the kitchen table.

If in 1989 I said, ‘I have an idea: Bottle water and sell it. And charge more than a beer,’ they would have chased me around with a giant butterfly net. The same with paying to watch a television station.

Got no place to go, but there’s a girl waitin’ for me down in Mexico. She got a bottle of tequila, a bottle of gin, and if I bring a little music, I could fit right in.

There hath not one tear dropped from thy tender eye against thy lusts, the love of this world, or for more communion with Jesus Christ, but as it is now in the bottle of God.

Gimme a pigfoot and a bottle of beer.

I rarely drink from the bottle, but I’ll smoke a little weed.

After moral poisoning, one requires physical remedies and a bottle of champagne.

These poets and their metaphors lied to me/ you never felt like a mountain I wished to climb/ or a stream I would let myself float in/ or a scent I was dying to bottle in/ these poets lie when they talk of love.