In '63 they drafted me right off the farm. 
I took the train down for my physical.
The doctor said I was legally blind, 
that I might want to think about glasses.
I bought a hat to hide my sunburned ears
and loitered around the Opry.
I blew my whole stake on a girl
from Meshack, Kentucky.
I bought her a Zenith radio.
She explained that it was just a loan.
I lied and said my eyes worked fine,
and asked did she know how to cook biscuits.

It's hard to be good.
Yes it's hard to be good.

That's all I've got so far, the hook.

I need a pedal steel ace, the Holy Ghost,
and a doctor's excuse for the last thirty years.
My third wife and I are not speaking.
She's half my age and likes to throw things when she's mad.

Right now I'd guess she's on the phone,
bitching me out to her best friend, Tammy.
Tammy's tall, wears a white bikini in the pool.
I tell a guy named Tim at the World of Wines and Liquors
how much steel the old Buicks packed. 
Easy does it, bud, he says to me.
That's some mean weather out there.

I watch a shopping cart sail up a hill,
crash itself into my car.

I've come a hell of a long way.