Screamin' whitewall tires
And a guitar by his side
Billy's got the fever
As he rolls on thru the night
Some were born to listen,
Some were born to play
He was lightning on the highstrings
And thunder on the bass
Chorus:
He could play it high, he could play it low
He could make it cry, he could make it moan
He knows when push comes to shove
The proof's in the pickin'
In a smoky little tavern
Just off of Bourbon Street
Tobacco stained fingers
Waited on the down beat
Conley was the master,
The undisputed king
He'd ruled the town for thirty years
With an army of six strings
Chorus
Sometimes after midnight
Billy drives through New Orleans
Straight to the French Quarter
There's a man he has to see
The music is a raging
Like a city that's on fire
Billy felt just like an altar boy
At the feet of a higher power
Conley watched as Billy
Walked across the room
Opened his case and started a tune
The whole club was silent
And the lights were turned down low
Billy stepped up on the stage
And Conley whispered "Go son, go"
Chorus
Conley held his hand up,
No one made a sound
And he handed Bill his old archtop
And stepped into the crowd
Billy played it soft,
Billy played it sad
Then he made it talk
And in came the band
Soon the room was shaking
Before Billy's wall of sound
And just a block off Bourbon Street,
A new king's been crowned
Chorus
