a lifetime of pickin all thats its getting me is older and alone chasing my dreams left me frayed at the seams faded like an old pair of jeans i have not given one thought to living past my baby right the ink is so dried in the middle oldies died what the hells gonna get me through the night so where do the song writers go the gypsies and the drifters when there aint no more shows what do the song writers do when they cant play for you when i cant play for you a full tank of gas and a half empty glass whiskey barrels are chilled a head full of rhymes and a woman from time to time is all i need to help get me through my green eyes turn gray hollowed with age and my hair is this as the frost not a seed that ive sewn and i die alone then lord ill know the cost so where do the song writers go the gypsies and the drifters when there aint no more shows what do the song writers do when they cant play for you when i cant play for you so where do the song writers go the gypsies and the drifters when there aint no more shows what do the song writers do when they cant play for you when i cant play for you so where do the song writers go the gypsies and the drifters when there aint no more shows what do the song writers do when they cant play for you when i cant play for you