Well, I quit my job down at the car wash, 
Left my mama a goodbye note, 
By sundown I'd left Kingston, 
With my guitar under my coat, 
I hitchhiked all the way down to Memphis, 
Got a room at the YMCA, 
For the next three weeks I went hunting them nights, 
Just looking for a place to play, 
Well, I thought my picking would set 'em on fire, 
But nobody wanted to hire a guitar man. 

Well, I nearly about starved to death down in Memphis, 
 [bad word] outta money and luck, 
So I bought me a ride down to Macon, Georgia, 
On a overloaded poultry [bad word]  
I thumbed on down to Panama City, 
Started picking out some o' them all night bars, 
Hopin' I could make myself a dollar, 
Makin' music on my guitar, 
I got the same old story at them all night piers, 
There ain't no room around here for a guitar man 
We don't need a guitar man, son 

So I slept in the hobo jungles, 
Roamed a thousand miles of track, 
Till I found myself in Mobile Alabama, 
At a club they call Big Jack's, 
little four-piece band was jamming, 
So I took my guitar and I sat in, 
I showed 'em what a band would sound like, 
With a swinging little guitar man. 
Show 'em, son 

If you ever take a trip down to the ocean, 
Find yourself down around Mobile, 
Make it on out to a club called Jack's, 
If you got a little time to kill, 
Just follow that crowd of people, 
You'll wind up out on his dance floor, 
Digging the finest little five-piece group, 
Up and down the Gulf of Mexico, 
Guess who's leadin' that five-piece band, 
Well, wouldn't ya know, it's that swingin' little guitar man.