Chicken Soup for the Soul: Country Music: The Inspirational Stories behind 101 of Your Favorite Country Songs

by Jack Canfield

  The devil’s in the house of the risin’ sun.

  Chicken in the bread pan, pickin’ out dough.

  “Granny, does your dog bite?”

  “No, child, no.”

  The devil bowed his head because he knew that he’d been beat.

  He laid that golden fiddle on the ground at Johnny’s feet.

  Johnny said, “Devil just come on back if you ever want to try again.

  “I told you once, you son of a gun, I’m the best that’s ever been.”

  And he played fire on the mountain, run boys, run.

  The devil’s in the house of the risin’ sun.

  Chicken in the bread pan, pickin’ out dough.

  “Granny, will your dog bite?”

  “No, child, no.”

  The Famous Lefty Flynn’s

  Story by Jamie Johnson

  Song written by Jamie Johnson and Morry Trent

  Recorded by The Grascals

  One day back around 1994 or 1995, I was at this little tavern back home, The Railroad Inn in Milan, Indiana. There was this guy sitting at the bar, and he came up to me and said, “You’re Lee Johnson’s little brother, the singer, right?” And I said, “Sure am.” And he introduced himself. When he did, I just looked at him in amazement. I used to hear my brothers telling stories about this guy all the time and how tough he was. It seemed like he beat up pretty much everybody in town, including all the big, mean guys I knew growing up. In my imagination, I thought he must be huge, but he was about my size. I said, “You’re the guy that’s beating all these people up?” He said, “That’s me.”

  At the time, I thought his name was Flynn, but I found out recently that his name was actually Flint. That event stuck in my mind for several years. Then six or seven years ago, I got the idea to write a song about a bank robber who was little and didn’t look like a bank robber. I’m left-handed, so I called him Lefty Flynn. The rest of the song — the singer going to prison and sharing a cell with this guy and breaking out and going to Mexico — pretty much came from the imagination of me and my co-writer, Morry Trent, who is also left-handed. We were just trying to be Tom T. Hall and make it interesting to the listener.

  I actually had both of the characters in the song living at one point. They were sitting in the bar in Mexico together and enjoying life. I played it for Larry Shell, who co-wrote “Murder on Music Row” and all sort of hits. He is quite a character. He said, “That’s a good song, son, but somebody’s gotta die. You’re gonna have to kill one of them off.” So we did. I played with it for another year or so and we cut it and it eventually ended up being the title cut of the album we released in the spring of 2010.

  I was really looking forward to taking this song back home and playing it for this guy who inspired it, but I heard that he passed away a couple of years ago, so he never got to hear the song. And The Railroad Inn just closed down recently, too. It was a bar and restaurant and hotel, and it took a lot of jobs. It’s kind of sad, really, because there’s not much else there. Maybe I can make enough money from the song to buy the place. If I do, maybe I could even name it “The Famous Lefty Flynn’s.” Talk about life imitating art.

  The Famous Lefty Flynn’s

  The walls are mighty high in Fort Worth Prison

  And the cells are awful small for two grown men

  The Warden slammed that heavy door behind me

  And said “allow me to introduce to you the famous Lefty Flynn”

  Well I’d read about ole Lefty in the papers

  How he’d robbed all the banks out in the West

  I figured he’d be bigger than a mountain

  With chiseled arms and battle scars tattooed upon his chest

  But he was small and looked just like a movie star

  His teeth were pearly white and his hair was black as coal

  And I’ll never forget the day that I shook his hand

  And began my education from the Famous Lefty Flynn

  I guess I must’ve asked a million questions

  And he took to me — I was his only friend

  He told me all about his hiding places

  And all the money that he stole and never got to spend

  He said there was an old abandoned farm house

  And in the backyard was a dried up well

  A million dollars lay there at the bottom

  And we made a pact to not look back and break out of that cell

  We barely made it out with lawmen on our tails

  Well, the bullets were a flyin’ and they shot ole Lefty down

  With a heavy heart, I headed for that pot of gold

  And on across the border to the Gulf of Mexico

  Now I’m living like a king in old Tampico

  I’ll never have to steal or run again

  And just like we planned, I built that little tavern

  Where the neon light says, “Welcome to the Famous Lefty Flynn’s”

  The Good Stuff

  Story by Craig Wiseman

  Song written by Craig Wiseman and Jim Collins

  Recorded by Kenny Chesney

  I was writing with Jim Collins, a buddy of mine — a great song-writer. I was writing for Sony at the time. I was running late and Jim was out in front smoking a cigar with the security guard, Rusty Martin, who I had just gotten to know. I knew Rusty was a retired Mississippi highway patrolman. He found out I was a Mississippi boy, too, and he was always a really nice guy. I also knew he wasn’t old enough to retire; he was maybe in his late forties.

  I started asking around and found out that he had come up here because his wife had been battling cancer for a long time and was being treated at Vanderbilt in Nashville. They were coming up here so much, they were thinking of moving here, but his wife passed away before that happened.

  I didn’t know all those details then, but Jim knew some things and I knew some things and we just started putting Rusty’s story together. At that point, I’d been married probably 10 or 12 years and Jim had been married about 15 or 16. We talked about what it would be like to have to sit and watch your wife pass away in front of you. We sat in silence for a few moments and then we said, “Well, let’s get back to writing.”

  Jim said, “I got this idea for a song. It’s called ‘The Good Stuff.’” We both thought it was going to be a different song, but ended up going in another direction.

  I picked up the guitar and wrote the first line, “Me and my lady had our first big fight. So I drove around until I saw the neon light.” I said, “Well, we can’t just have them have a fight and he goes to a bar. How clichéd is that?”

  The other part of that story comes from an experience I had at a blackjack table. I was at a casino and was playing at a table with one of my songwriter friends. We were talking to the dealer and we said, “How would you play that hand?”

  He said, “I wouldn’t play it. I don’t gamble.”

  I said, “You’re a dealer and you don’t play cards?”

  He said, “I’m in recovery. I was a gambling addict.” Then he said, “I can do one better than that. My other job is at a liquor store and I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

  I said, “Are you kidding me? What’s up with that? That would be a little challenging.”

  He said, “I figure I’m faced with the results of that temptation enough that it actually gives me some peace.” That stuck in my mind. So when we started writing the song again, I thought about that dealer and put him in the place of the bartender in the song. We decided that they weren’t going to drink in the song. Jim told me the idea he had about the customer asking for the good stuff and the bartender says, “That’s not the good stuff. This is,” and he explains what that means. Then we got the idea of them sharing a glass of milk because it seemed so different that it just might work. That was me pushing the envelope a little.

  We always knew it would end with the bartender telling the young guy, “When you get home, she’ll start to cry / When she says ‘I’m sorry,’ say ‘
So am I.’ / And look into those eyes so deep in love... and drink it up, ’cause that’s the good stuff.”

  We knew Kenny Chesney was cutting and thought it might be right for him, so we put it down and sent it over to him.

  The story took on a different angle altogether, but it was emotionally inspired by Rusty’s story of losing somebody so close to him. I told Jim, “Before we do anything, I want to play this for Rusty. I know it’s not exactly his story, but I still want to clear it with him.” Ironically, we were thinking of names for the bartender’s wife, and we actually wrote down “Bonnie” because I thought of somebody I knew from church. We found out later that Rusty’s wife’s name was Connie. So that was kind of strange.

  I brought Rusty in to hear the demo and he just sat there silently and then he took a CD and left. I didn’t know if I had offended him or what. He took the song home and played it for his daughter and she liked it. So he brought it back to us on Monday and said, “Okay. That’s fine.”

  I called the funeral home that did Connie’s burial and found out what kind of stone they used and we had a footstone made for her that read, “The Good Stuff.”

  When we had a #1 party for the song, we invited Rusty and gave it to him there. I worried that it might be too much, but I really wanted to do that for him. It was at the ASCAP building. Sometimes those parties can get to be a little boring, you know, but this time it was different. When we gave it to him, I remember looking up and seeing people coming out of their offices and they were all crying. It was a pretty memorable party.

  We always say that this song came from three happy marriages, and two of them are still going.

  The Good Stuff

  Well, me and my lady had our first big fight

  So I drove around ’til I saw the neon light.

  A corner bar, and it just seemed right.

  So I pulled up.

  Not a soul around but the old bar keep

  Down at the end an’ looking half asleep

  And he walked up, and said, “What’ll it be?”

  I said, “The good stuff.”

  He didn’t reach around for the whiskey;

  He didn’t pour me a beer.

  His blue eyes kinda went misty,

  He said “You can’t find that here.

  ’Cause it’s the first long kiss on a second date.

  Momma’s all worried when you get home late.

  And droppin’ the ring in the spaghetti plate

  ’Cause your hands are shaking so much.

  And it’s the way that she looks with the rice in her hair.

  And eatin’ burned suppers, the whole first year

  And askin’ for seconds to keep her from tearin’ up

  Yeah, man, that’s the good stuff.”

  He grabbed a carton of milk and he poured a glass.

  An’ I smiled an’ said, “I’ll have some of that.”

  We sat there an’ talked as an hour passed

  Like old friends.

  I saw a black an’ white picture and it caught my stare,

  It was a pretty girl with bouffant hair.

  He said “That’s my Bonnie,

  Taken ’bout a year after we were wed.”

  He said, “Spent five years in the bottle,

  When the cancer took her from me.

  But I’ve been sober three years now,

  ’Cause the one thing stronger than the whiskey

  Was the sight of her holding my baby girl.

  The way she adored that string of pearls,

  I gave her the day that our youngest boy, Earl,

  Married his high school love.

  And it’s a new tee-shirt saying ‘I’m a Grandpa.’

  Being right there as our time got small,

  And holding her hand, when the Good Lord called her up,

  Yeah, man, that’s the good stuff.”

  He said, “When you get home, she’ll start to cry.

  When she says ‘I’m sorry,’ say ‘So am I’

  And look into those eyes, so deep in love,

  And drink it up.

  ’Cause that’s the good stuff.

  That’s the good stuff.”

  The Grand Tour

  Story by Norro Wilson

  Song written by Norro Wilson, George Richey, and Carmol Taylor

  Recorded by George Jones, Aaron Neville

  George Richey came up with the title. He said, “We need to write a song called ‘The Grand Tour.’” And we immediately got it as soon as he said it. I’ve always thought that if you come up with a unique concept for a song, it will write itself. We did it in two days. We would just go from one thought to the next, like “see the picture on the table, don’t it look like she’d be able / to touch me and say ‘good morning dear.’” It’s like “Paint Me A Birmingham,” which I think is a fabulous song. The writer of that was saying, “paint me a picture of that. I want to live in that little community and have a white fence and a swing.” What the singer was saying was, “This was what it was like when life was good,” “Over there sits the chair, when she’d bring the morning paper to me,” and things like that.

  We wrote it exclusively for George. That song had George Jones all over it. I can sound like George. I can’t sing like him, but I’ve always been able to do his inflections and he’s always gotten a kick out of that.

  Right after that song was cut, I went to the Opry with Freddy Weller, It was the first time that he had ever sung there, so I went with him to support him. And everybody at the Opry knew about the song that night and they were all saying, “Well, I guess you’ll be able to buy another Cadillac soon,” because they all knew it was going to be a big song.

  When I found out Aaron Neville was going to record it a few years ago, I thought that was fabulous. I really like him and I like his style of singing. The producer who did Aaron’s record apparently knew Billy Sherrill and remembered that song, so he played it for Aaron and he loved it.

  Since that song did pretty well for Aaron, we later pitched him, “A Picture of Me Without You,” which had the same three writers as “The Grand Tour.” He had just lost his wife to cancer, though. He said, “I love the song but I can’t cut it, because I don’t think I would ever get through it.” I’d love to hear what he could have done with it, but of course, we can’t fault him for feeling that way.

  The Grand Tour

  Step right up, come on in

  If you’d like to take the grand tour

  Of the lonely house that once was home sweet home

  I have nothing here to sell you

  Just some things that I will tell you

  Some things I know will chill you to the bone

  Over there sits the chair

  Where she’d bring the paper to me

  And sit down on my knee and whisper, “Oh, I love you.”

  But now she’s gone forever

  And this old house will never

  be the same without the love that we once knew

  Straight ahead, that’s the bed

  Where we’d lie and love together

  And lord knows we had a good thing going here

  See her picture on the table

  Don’t it look like she’d be able

  Just to touch me and say, “Good morning dear.”

  There’s her rings, all her things

  And her clothes are in the closet

  Where she left them when she tore my world apart

  As you leave, you’ll see the nursery

  Oh, she left me without mercy

  Taking nothing but our baby and my heart

  Step right up, come on in.

  The Highwayman

  Story by Jimmy Webb

  Song written by Jimmy Webb

  Recorded by The Highwaymen (Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, and Kris Kristofferson)

  “The Highwayman” was written after a vivid dream experience that I had. It was very unusual. I don’t go around writing songs about my dre
ams very often. I woke up, and there happened to be a piano in the room with me, and I just went over and wrote the first verse about The Highwayman. Then the idea came to me that this guy, for whatever reason, would live more than one lifetime, and I would weave his soul through these different lives.

  I loved it, and it charged me immediately with a lot of energy. It creates a lot of space and time to work in, which is what you are looking for whenever you’ve only got three minutes to tell a story.

  Willie and Waylon and Kris went to help out on a Johnny Cash record that he recorded when he was ill. Glen Campbell was in Nashville helping out with that project and he was in the studio, and it was my understanding that he played the song for them first. This was really where the Highwaymen were born.

  I’m not sure how they decided to later name their album and the foursome “The Highwaymen.” I can only say it was a big deal for me. It was a big injection into my career.

  It is another strophic song, like “By the Time I Get to Phoenix.” It’s a true ballad with the three verses and the story contained with no traditional chorus, and it later won a Grammy for 1985. I remember Waylon, when he heard it was being nominated for Country Song of the Year, being surprised and saying, “Which country is that?”

  The Highwayman

  I was a highwayman. Along the coach roads I did ride

  With sword and pistol by my side

  Many a young maid lost her baubles to my trade

  Many a soldier shed his lifeblood on my blade

  The bastards hung me in the spring of twenty-five

  But I am still alive.

  I was a sailor. I was born upon the tide

  And with the sea I did abide.

  I sailed a schooner round the Horn to Mexico

  I went aloft and furled the mainsail in a blow

  And when the yards broke off they said that I got killed

  But I am living still.

  I was a dam builder across the river deep and wide

  Where steel and water did collide

  A place called Boulder on the wild Colorado