Riding Through

All my life
I never had a home
Back and forth
Across the land I would go
You could see me riding through
The heat of Atlanta
West Tennessee or Southern Indiana

I’m riding through
Oh, I’m riding through
Yeah, I’m going through
I’m riding through

Arkansas or West Mississippi
Playing all these shows
With the blood on my fingers
Will they remember?
Or will they forget?
Either way I’m riding through
Pop in that Segar cassette

Riding through
Turn it up
Turn up the rock and roll, yeah

My home is my soul
My soul is the music
I play it for people
Hoping they won’t refuse it
Different countries, different stages
Different room full of fans
I’m riding through with the guitar
Strapped to the top of the van