polishing the master's shoe

it's always five o'clock somewhere

and a belly somewhere is always running out of gas

in my way of understanding,

it's less than a half-filled glass

when some children smile with tears washing each eye

and there's no great outcry

well, my oh my oh my

no deep sadness from within

no institutional anger or chagrin

well, go west, young man! go west was sung

but that doorbell has already been rung

there's no answer or welcoming mat

no hopeful hill when all the surroundings are flat

the clock was left with dust on its' face

unwound and out of place

and when the chains were being rattled on the early ships' deck

i wasn't allowed to hear about the ruins of the wreck

the high winds rolling over the hot southern air

watching cotton being picked from the comfort of a plantation chair

it was a most exciting thing to do

polishing the master's shoe

and the silver made so bright it was hard to see

more fresh-baked biscuits and sweet tea

down on the ground with bended knee

listening for a faint promise about being free

it's always five o'clock somewhere

and a belly somewhere is always running out of gas

in my way of understanding,

it's less than a half-filled glass

when some children smile with tears washing each eye

and there's no great outcry

well, my oh my oh my

no deep sadness from within

no institutional anger or chagrin

well, go west, young man! go west was sung

but that doorbell has already been rung.