Текст песни Songwriter's Lament - Buck Owens

My big plans were soarin′, yes, today would be the day
The mornin' I pulled in to Music City, USA
The folks back home in Tulsa said I had just what it takes
Why, it won′t be long and I'll be on my way
I said, "Good mornin' gentlemen," and picked up my guitar
Expectin′ them to say that I would soon be goin′ far
The only rise, I noticed, was the smoke from his cigar
He turned to me and this he had to say
"Mister, we've got ten thousand pickers
A songwriter under every rock
We′ve got singers singin' and guitars twangin′
And heaven only knows where it'll stop"
I knocked on every door I found on 16th Avenue
I dropped in every name I′d ever read in the who's who
I said, "I know Big Harlan, Old Hank, and there's Tom T."
But nothin′ changed the way they looked at me
Last night I dreamed I passed away, and heaven was my fate
And there was old Saint Peter, I could see him plain as day
He said, "Leave your name and number with the girl out at the gate"
As he turned away, these words I heard him say
"Mister, we′ve got ten thousand pickers
A songwriter under every rock
We've got singers singin′ and guitars twangin'
And heaven only knows where it will stop"