Host (starts mid-sentence): “…for us and all the way through the show. Okay. See you, John.
John Prine: This is a song I wrote a couple years ago, after I got out of the Army.
Singing:
Sam Stone came home
to the wife and family
after serving in the conflict overseas.
And the time that he served
had shattered all his nerves
and left a little shrapnel in his knees.
But the morphine eased the pain
and the grass grew round his brain
and gave him all the confidence he lacked,
with a purple heart and a monkey on his back.
There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes.
Jesus Christ died for nothin I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears.
Don't stop to count the years.
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios.
Sam Stone's welcome home
didn't last too long.
He went to work when he'd spent his last dime.
And Sammy took to stealing
when he got that empty feeling
for a hundred dollar habit without overtime.
And the gold rolled through his veins
like a thousand railroad trains
and eased his mind in the hours that he chose,
while the kids ran around wearin' other peoples' clothes.
There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes.
Jesus Christ died for nothin I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears.
Don't stop to count the years.
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios.
Sam Stone was alone
when he popped his last balloon
climbing walls while sitting in a chair.
Well, he played his last request
while the room smelled just like death
with an overdose hovering in the air.
But life had lost it's fun,
there was nothing to be done
but trade his house that he bought on the GI bill,
for a flag-draped casket on a local hero's hill.
There's a hole in daddy's arm where all the money goes.
Jesus Christ died for nothin I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears.
Don't stop to count the years.
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios.