He thumbed down from West Virginia
Headed for that Country Music Town
He told her he would come back for her
When his first song hit number one

He found a room near Printer's Alley
Big enough for him and his old guitar
He took a part time job at Shoney's
Just until his first song hit the charts

He played the clubs and dives down on Broadway
They gave him compliments and beer
And countless times he told his stories
To wounded eyes and broken ears


I am a songwriter, and this is my story
I am a songwriter, please listen to me


He carved his poems on paper napkins
He sang love ballads in the rain
He performed for empty chairs and barstools
To cardboard patrons he would sing

He wore the pavement out on Music Row
With all his heart he pitched his soul
But they couldn't hear the sound he made for them
It didn't fit their cookie cutter mold

So he started drinking in the morning
Said it brought him closer to his song
And he would show himself some mercy
When his first song hit number one


I am a songwriter, and this is my story
I am a songwriter, please listen to me


He woke up late one night screaming
And put a gun up to his head
He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger
And wrote his epitaph in lead

They sang his songs at the funeral
Like frozen ivy they caught on
The tune they played on the radio
Shot straight up to number one


I am a songwriter, and this is my story
I am a songwriter, please listen to me