Ballad Of Conley Ballad Of Conley And Billy (the Proof's In The Pickin')and Billy The Proof's In The Picken'

Screamn' 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

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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

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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 …"

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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