Music City Makes a Killin

Words live up to the feathers they're of

A rooster's job is makin' man somethin' not unknown

And we all race the sun, tryna keep up with the moon

Stayin' dry from all the storms, so we soak up sky's blue

For what it's worth, just remember, I run with no pretenders

So if you do not love me tender, prolly 'cause the vengeance cut the rope

But the one's tryna hang the wrong pitch

Leave a lotta silence for them downtown singers

Many lyrics unfinished, many flowers not given

Our position in the rift says to be a hymn collision

Without a dollar to my name, the soul remains the same

Who came to stay focused in singin' that I sang, sang, sang

Music City made a killin', the kind I won't remember

Six strang, six rounds, got your six until they get ya

Give a dozen rebel roses to the ones who won't surrender

If you playin' and they love it but won't sell it

Music City makes a killin'

That's a record you ain't hearin' (that's a record you ain't hearin')

Music City makes a killin'

That's a record you ain't hearin'

Music City makes a killin'

Ooh

Mm

Mm

Ooh

I don't pull strings, I just pick and turn my love to hateful mentions

Then the meanin' of a critic, then your hinderin' opinion

Well, some folks got a fear to liberate their spirit

So searchin' non-existent, never left to call it missin'

My hits are when I feel 'em, and they hit you in your feelings

The highwaymen we cherish live the lonesome dark conditions

The rebels never rebelled, they were slaves that didn't make it

Be the storm that made the town burn the bridges

Murder on music, role perpetratin' the authentic

And that's why I'm singin'

Music City made a killin', I'm the proven witness

If you got too many heads, then they put you on a hit list

Music City made a killin', the kind I won't remember

Six strang, six rounds, got your six until they get ya

Give a dozen rebel roses to the ones who won't surrender

If you playin' and they love it but won't sell it

Music City makes a killin' (Music City makes a killin')

That's a record you ain't hearin' (that's a record you ain't hearin')

Music City makes a killin' (Music City makes a killin')

That's a record you ain't hearin' (that's a record you ain't)

Music City makes a killin'

Every song y'all got is empty, everything is beer and whiskey

Spendin' time down there wastin', and you know it's too expensive

Put the truth inside a bottle so the label owners hear me

Want a song to be a problem, who'll give the last bottle to Wigley?

I think the nickname is guilty, and mine should be the man

It's my judgment on your actions, all the actions on my head

And I said, Music City makes a killin', but the city's my spirit

Printed on my birth certificate, I'll be luscious 'til heaven to send me

I'll be the rhythm they all know they ain't gettin'

Ooh

Ooh

Ooh

Ooh

Music City, Music City (Keith Whitley was found dead in his Goodlettsville home just after noon today)

(At this point, his death is a mystery)