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MUSIC SINGLES

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Music singles

Mama Kept The Screen Door Singin’

Lyrics

In the morning light, Mama's door swings low,
Every creak and squeak, that’s the sound of home, you know.

Mama had a screen door hanging by a thread,
Squeaked every morning, woke the nearly dead.
Daddy said, “Oil it,” Mama said, “No way—
That door sings the blues better than you can play.”

Every time it opened, it hollered, “Come on in,”
Every time it closed, it moaned about my sin.
The dog kept rhythm with his tail on the floor,
Mama kept the screen door singing some more.

Mama kept the screen door singing,
Squeak-squeak, bang-bang, ringing.
It knew who was leaving, knew who was late,
And told the whole neighborhood I’d missed my date.
That rusty old hinge was a gossiping thing—
Mama kept the screen door singing.

My brother snuck home at a quarter past two,
That door hit a high note and the whole town knew.
Mama came running with a rolling pin raised,
Said, “That door’s got better ears than the Lord these days.”

He blamed the cat, then he blamed the breeze,
Then he dropped to the floor and started begging on his knees.
Mama said, “Son, you can lie till you’re blue,
But that screen door never sings off-key for you.”

Mama kept the screen door singing,
Squeak-squeak, bang-bang, ringing.
It knew who was leaving, knew who was late,
And told the whole neighborhood I’d missed my date.
That rusty old hinge was a gossiping thing—
Mama kept the screen door singing.

I brought home a sweetheart named Sweet Lorraine,
She wore high heels and smelled like rain.
The screen door squealed like it’d seen a ghost,
Mama looked her over and said, “Lord help us both.”

Now Mama’s got a brand-new house in town,
Fancy white porch with no boards falling down.
I bought her a new door, quiet and clean—
She took one look and said, “What does that mean?”

Mama keeps the screen door singing,
Squeak-squeak, bang-bang, ringing.
It still tells the neighbors when I come around,
And plays my mistakes in a twelve-bar sound.
That rusty old hinge is the porch-swing king—
Mama keeps the screen door singing.

Squeak when I’m honest,
Bang when I lie,
Moan when I’m leaving,
Laugh when I cry.
Mama just smiles while the old hinges swing—
Mama keeps the screen door singing.

My Heart Has A History

Lyrics

Jenny wrote her number on a Dairy Queen receipt,
I kept it till the summer wore the ink off in my jeans.
She taught me how to kiss somebody, eyes shut, standing still,
How a town of seven hundred had a thousand ways to thrill.
She went west for college; I stayed home to help with wheat—
We were right about each other, just had different roads to keep.
Now and then I pass that place and smile at seventeen;

Some things last forever without lasting past a season.
Caroline loved thunder, left the windows open wide,
Said, “A little rain won’t hurt you. Let some weather get inside.”
We made Sunday morning pancakes, made a dollar stretch till Friday,
Learned that being broke together had a way of feeling mighty.
When her dream got bigger than the life we’d settled in,
I helped her load the U-Haul, waved till she went round the bend.
I still make her daddy’s biscuits when the winter settles down;
A goodbye can leave some goodness scattered all around.

My heart has a history,
And I’m grateful for the miles.
There’s a little of each woman
In the man who makes you smile.
One taught these hands to hold on,
One taught ’em to open wide;
Every love left something living
That a goodbye couldn’t take.
If you wonder how I got here,
Loving you the way I do—
My heart has a history,
And it’s got a future, too.

You asked about the women in those pictures in the drawer;
I told you who they were and what I loved ’em for.
You laughed about my haircut, said, “Well, she deserved a medal,”
Then you found the one of me beside that rusted Chevrolet.
Said, “I wish I’d known that boy before his hair began to gray.”
I said, “He’d have tried to win you with a tank of gasoline;
These days I know that listening gets a man a lot more green lights.”
You said, “Then put some coffee on, and tell the rest to me.”

My heart has a history,
And I’m grateful for the miles.
There’s a little of each woman
In the man who makes you smile.
One taught these hands to hold on,
One taught ’em to open wide;
Every love left something living
That a goodbye couldn’t take.
If you wonder how I got here,
Loving you the way I do—
My heart has a history,
And it’s got a future, too.

I won’t tell you every road was leading to your door;
That would sell those other summers short of what they were.
I meant it when I said it then; I mean it here tonight.
Love deserves an honest man at every time of life.
And all those years have taught me
What I’m holding when you stay:
Forever’s something two folks choose
On ordinary days.

My heart has a history,
You can hear it when it sings.
There are names I speak with kindness,
There are years I wouldn’t change.
And I’ve still got room for dancing,
Still got plans for growing old—
There’s a porch swing with your name on
In the country of my soul.
When our grandkids ask how long
A heart can keep on making room—
I’ll say, “Mine has quite a history.”
Then I’ll turn and look at you.

I’ve been lucky more than once, love.
I’m still lucky every morning.

I Keep Crazy Hours

Lyrics

In the quiet night, where shadows softly play,
I find my rhythm in the words I sway.

My grandson asked his grandma, “Why’s his light on every night?
Does Grandpa have a secret job he starts at midnight?”
She said, “He’s at that kitchen table, same place he’s always been,
Trying to find a word that rhymes with ‘young again.’”
I’ve counted sheep till every one retired,
Turned my pillow over till both sides were tired.
But somewhere past the weather on the late-night news,
My mind kicks off its slippers and puts on working shoes.

I keep crazy hours, but I don’t raise much hell,
Just a pencil and some paper while the whole house rests itself.
When everybody’s dreaming, I can finally hear
The little things the daylight makes too crowded to hear.
I’d trade a few good verses for a solid night or two,
But till sleep comes around, I’ve got something I can do.
No headlights in the driveway, no closing-time crowd—
I keep crazy hours; I just keep ’em in the house.

There’s a birdhouse on the workbench with a crooked little roof,
And a birthday song for Lucy, who’ll be turning two in June.
I found the missing line at three beneath the kitchen clock;
By four I’d fixed the cradle where the wooden runners rocked.
I leave the noisy tools alone till everybody’s up—
Learned that lesson years ago from your grandma’s coffee cup.
She came out in her bathrobe, gave that hammer quite a stare;
Now my midnight renovations mostly happen in a chair.

Some nights I write my father’s words before they slip away,
Some nights I find the ones I wish I’d had the nerve to say.
And some are just a punch line that the grandkids ought to know—
I write it down; at my age, you can’t trust it till tomorrow.
I’m tired when morning finds me, but there’s something on that page
That wasn’t in this world before I stayed awake.

Last Sunday little Lucy climbed up here on my knee,
Said, “Grandpa, Grandma says you made a song for me.”
I sang it while she tapped her toes against my old blue jeans;
She asked me where I found it. I said, “Somewhere around three.”
Then she laid her head against me halfway through the tune,
And we both caught up on sleeping that Sunday afternoon.

I keep crazy hours, but I don’t raise much hell,
Just making little things to leave for folks I love so well.
When everybody’s dreaming, I can finally hear
A melody worth keeping, a memory coming clear.
I’d trade a few good verses for a solid night or two,
But till sleep comes around, I’ve got something I can do.
Your grandma knows exactly where her restless man is found—
I keep crazy hours; I just keep ’em in the house.

If you see my window shining when the rest of town goes dark,
It’s just an old man at his table, trying to finish what he starts.
Leave a little breakfast for me when you’re heading out—
I keep crazy hours…
And I finally might be sleeping now.