The Ballad Of Conley And Billy (The Proof's In The Pickin")

Screamin' whitewall tires and a guitar by his side

Billy's got the fever as he rolls on through the light

Some were born to listen, some were born to play

He was lightnin' on the high strings and thunder on the bass

He could play it high

He could play it low

He could make it cry

He could make it moan

Billy knew when push came to shove

Proof is 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 ruled the town for thirty years with an army of six strings

He could play it high

He could play it low

He could make it cry

He could make it moan

Conley knew when push came to shove

Proof is in the pickin'

Oh some time after midnight Billy drives through New Orleans

Straight to the French Quarter there's a man he has to see

The music is a-ragin' 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, started to 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"

Yeah!

Come on boys!

He could play it high

He could play it low

He could make it cry

He could make it moan

Billy knew when push came to shove

Proof is in the pickin'

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

In came the band

Soon the room was shakin' before Billy's wall of sound

Just a block off Bourbon Street

A new king's been crowned

And he plays it high

And he plays it low

He can make it cry

He can make it moan

He knows when push comes to shove

The proof is in the pickin'