by David Allen Coe
| A | E | A |
| It was all that I could | do to keep from c | ryin' |
| D | A | |
| som | etimes it seems so useless t | o remain |
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| You don't have to call me darlin', | darlin' |
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| You never even c | all me by my | name. |
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| You don't have to | call me Waylon | Jennin | gs |
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| And | you don't have to | call me Charlie | Pride | . |
| D | A | F#m |
| You don't have to call me Merle | Haggard, | anymore. |
| B | E | E7 |
| Even though your on my fightin' | side. |
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| I've heard my name | a few times in | your | phone book |
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| I've | seen it on signs w | here I've laid |
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| But the only time I know, I'll he | ar David | Allan Coe |
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| Is when Jesus has his final judge | ment d | ay. |
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| Well, I was d | runk the day my M | om got outta p | rison. |
| A | E | A | A7 | |
| And | I went to pick her | up in the r | ain. |
| D | A | F#m | |
| But, be | fore I could get to the station in my | pickup t | ruck |
| B | E | E7 |
| She got runned over by a damned old tr | ain. |
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