POCKET FULL OF GRAVEL (OUTLAW COUNTRY) - Levi Stoker
The sun hit the windshield like a yellow fist
Driving past the cotton in the valley mist
Trading my youth for a 20-year sentence
Living on the edge without a dime of repentance
Wore through my boots on a state line blacktop
Looking for a place where the trouble might stop
Got a couple torn bills and a key that don't fit
Sitting in the cab where the shadows all sit
No gold in my wallet
No silver in my bones
Just walking down this highway
Completely alone
The rich man counts his paper
The preacher counts his flock
While I count the miles on this old dashboard clock
They can measure a man
By the suit on his back
But they don't know the weight
Of a heavy leather pack
Yeah, I got empty pockets but a pocket full of gravel
Every single grain is a road I had to travel
It came from the creek bed, the quarry and the ditch
Proof that I survived every hard scrabble hitch
They can take my money, take the coat from my frame
But they can't wash the grit out of my Southern name
Oh, I'm grinding through the dirt where the quiet rivers travel
Standing tall with a pocket full of gravel
Pocket full of gravel
Met a girl in Memphis with a heart like glass
Watching all her youth and her sweet dreams pass
I left her my coat and my last silver dime
Hoping she'd escape this river bottom town
Now I'm living on stones down in Georgia mud
Feeling the grit down inside of my blood
Every sharp edge is a lesson I bought
And a battle that my spirit fought
Yeah, I got empty pockets but a pocket full of gravel
Every single grain is a road I had to travel
It came from the creek bed, the quarry and the ditch
Proof that I survived every hard scrabble hitch
They can take my money, take the coat from my frame
But they can't wash the grit out of my Southern name
Oh, I'm grinding through the dirt where the quiet rivers travel
Standing tall with a pocket full of gravel
Standing tall
With a pocket
Full of gravel
Cross the rock
Grind it small
I'm standing right here at the foot of the wall
You can beat on my shoulders till the twilight dies
I'm made of the stone
Where the river bed lies
Yeah, I got empty pockets but a pocket full of gravel
Every single grain is a road I had to travel
It came from the creek bed, the quarry and the ditch
Proof that I survived every hard scrabble hitch
They can take my money, take the coat from my frame
But they can't wash the grit out of my Southern name
Oh, I'm grinding through the dirt where the quiet rivers travel
Standing tall
With a pocket full of gravel
Written in the hands
Stones and the cold
Still walking
Pocket full of gravel
Pocket full of gravel
