hoosier surf     song lyrics

Weekend Wanna Be

written by Scott Greeson
© 1996 Greesong Music Publishing (BMI). All Rights Reserved.

When I was ten years old, got my first guitar
Saved up some money, bought it at the K-mart
It wasn’t nothin’ fancy, just a blue light special
But that’s all you need, to make believe you’re Elvis

All my childhood friends used to pretend
What they were gonna’ be, when they were men
Some were baseball stars, others were cops
My brother was a trucker, and part-time astronaut

CHORUS:
I knew what I was gonna’ be
I was gonna’ play and sing
They’d hear me on the radio, and watch me on T.V.
That’s what I was gonna’ be

Had my own stage, out in the garage
Had just enough room when we backed out the Dodge
Told the neighborhood kids, I was puttin’ on a show
Promised them cookies, just to make sure they’d go

BRIDGE:
When I was in high school, I didn’t play sports
When it came to athletics, I came up short
Me and some friends we had our own band
We’d play after the ballgame, when they had a dance

CHORUS:
I knew what I was gonna’ be
I was gonna’ play and sing
They’d hear me on the radio, and watch me on T.V.
That’s what I was gonna’ be

It’s been twenty years since that first guitar
I still play music, but I’m not a star
I spend my days in a factory
Gotta’ have a steady check for my family

CHORUS 2:
On the weekend you’ll find me
Holding on to a life long dream
I play in a local band, sometimes we play for free
I’m a weekend wanna be
Weekend wanna be

 

Read Between The Roses

written by Scott Greeson/Brenda Zika
© 1997 Greesong Music Publishing (BMI). All Rights Reserved.

You ask me how I feel about you, thought you’d know by now
I send you roses once a month, how could you doubt
You say you need to hear those words, to be reassured
But every time I try my throat closes
Why can’t you read between the roses

CHORUS:
Why can’t you read between the roses, when the flowers don’t say it all
Can’t you hear it in my voice, every time I call
Can’t you see it in my eye’s, feel it in my touch
Can’t you read between the roses
When the flowers ain’t enough

I’m not a man of many words, so I send a dozen hints
Oh why does a woman need, to hear it from the lips
My heart is just a little shy, true feelings cannot hide
Baby if you’ll just look real close, you’ll read it all between the roses

Repeat Chorus

BRIDGE:
Some men say just what they feel, but I guess I’m not that kind
Cause what’s within my heart for you
Words can not describe

Repeat Chorus

When the flowers ain’t enough, when the flowers ain’t enough
When the flowers ain’t enough

 

Who Took You From Us

written by Scott Greeson/Brenda Zika
© 1994 Greesong Music Publishing (BMI). All Rights Reserved.

Dancing with you tonight, is not like it’s always been
Usually you hold me so tight, I can feel beneath my skin
A love so on fire, it burns me to the ground
But know I feel a cold chill, who put the fire out

CHORUS:
Who stole the passion from our dance
Who broke the rhythm of a perfect romance
Did I take you for granted, did you expect to much
Oh who, took you from us

When the music comes to an end, look me straight in the eye
Don’t try to pretend, a slow dance never lies
I won’t walk away, even if there’s someone new
Could’ve been a weak moment, when I wasn’t there for you

Repeat Chorus

BRIDGE:
Baby if it’s me that needs to change
I can right the wrong
But is there still a corner in your heart
Where we can hold on

Repeat Chorus

TAG:
Oh who, took you from us

 

Suburban Boy

written by Scott Greeson/Lorin Lemme
© 1997 Greesong Music Publishing (BMI). All Rights Reserved.

Look-alike houses on a dead end road, built in a field, where corn used to grow
It wasn’t city, it wasn’t country, our neighborhood was somewhere in between
You knew all your neighbors where I grew up,
Never locked our doors, we lived on trust
Nobody was rich, we were all workin’ class
If you needed a hand, all you had to do was ask
Kids outside, makin’ their share of noise
It was all part of life, for a suburban boy

Summertime back yard baseball games, hittin’ every puddle, ridin’ bikes in the rain
In a small woods behind the house, we built our fort, where we camped out
Sunday morning, get dressed for church, I couldn’t get there, breakfast on my shirt
When I was 14, took a ride in dad’s car, tried to be sneaky, didn’t get far,
Just minor damage, nothin’ destroyed
Another lesson learned, for a suburban boy

BRIDGE:
Layin’ in my bed at night, I’d listen to the trains
Roarin’ engines on the tracks half mile away
I’d wonder where they came from, and where they were bound
Pretend I was their engineer, riden’ the rails to another town

You knew all your neighbors where I grew up
Never locked our doors, we lived on trust
Nobody was rich, we were all workin’ class
If you needed a hand, all you had to do was ask
Kids outside, makin’ their share of noise
It was all part of life, for a suburban boy

 

The Father's Hand

written by Scott Greeson
© 1997 Greesong Music Publishing (BMI). All Rights Reserved.

He nervously paces the floor of the busy waiting room
Doctors have done all they can, only time will tell how she will do
Right now he feels so alone, although friends have been there all day
He’s always tried to be the man of her dreams
But this is one thing he can’t change

BRIDGE:
The pain of not knowing is wearing him down
He prays, "Oh Lord, I need a hand to hold on to"

CHORUS:
He’s learning to let go of the worry,
He’s learning to know what’s out of his control
Learning to hear, and fight off the fear
Learning to let go, and take hold of the father’s hand --
She patiently waits in line to apply for benefits
She’s had to swallow some pride, has to take what she can get
She’s a single mom, who lost her job, bills are stacking up day by day
At least for now they have a home
But she’s not sure how long they’ll stay

BRIDGE:
The pain of not knowing is wearing her down
She prays, "Oh Lord, I need a hand to hold on to"

CHORUS:
She’s learning to let go of the worry
She’s learning to know what’s out of her control
Learning to hear, and fight off the fear
Learning to let go, and take hold of the father’s hand

CHORUS:
They’re learning to let go of the worry
They’re learning to know what’s out of their control
Learning to hear, fight off the fear
Learning to let go and take hold of the father’s hand

 

Blue Eyed Southern Girl

written by Monte Johnson
© 1996 Monte Johnson.

I can’t describe this feeling
But I feel it when she turns her love on me
Hits me harder than a moonshine buzz
And knocks me to my knees
Yeah she’s got a way of overwhelming me

CHORUS:
There’s a Blue Eye Southern Girl
Barefoot in the backyard
She’s sweeter than a cool Kentucky breeze
She gets my mind to reelin’
And I can’t help believin’
God in heaven is smiling down on me

Don’t even try to blind me
Don’t tell me I ain’t got a good thing going on
Wouldn’t improve my condition much
To win the lottery
Just having her around is enough for me

CHORUS

BRIDGE:
Diamonds don’t have no charm on me
Whiskey don’t give the buzz I need
The way she charges through my heart
Like a runaway stampede that’s all I need

CHORUS

 

The Station

written by Scott Greeson/Ken Kingston
© 1997 Greesong Music Publishing (BMI). All Rights Reserved.

On a two lane state highway, in a small drive-thru town
There stood a fillin’ station, the only one for miles around

There were two pumps, one garage door, and bottle pop machine
Old tires and hub caps stacked out back,
A sign that said "Our rest rooms are clean"

REPRISE:
I worked after school and summer vacation, at the station

Get the latest information at the station,
Always somebody just hangin’ round
Talkin’ bout ball games, politics and pick-up trucks,
Tellin’ tall tales ’bout our little town

Sign out front said "Full service, clean the glass,
"Check the tires, pump the gas"
Always had to have a look under the hood,
Once I figured out where the latch was at

CHORUS:
Earned my shade tree mechanic certification, at the station

BRIDGE:
Old tool girl calendar, hung on the wall,
Faded pages, turned a 1000 times
I figured some of them girls were grandmas by now
But they sure looked good back in ’65

In the summer, I’d sit outside the station,
Wave at the girls that would pass
I’d flirt with the ladies that pulled up to the pump
My cologne smelled stronger than the gas

In the winter, it never failed, some guy would wait ’til it got five degrees
Roll down the window, barely enough, that I could hear him say,
"Fifty cents worth, please"

REPRISE:
Had my share of fun, had my share of frustration
Workin’ at the station

 

Hoosier Surf

written by Scott Greeson
© 1997 Greesong Music Publishing (BMI). All Rights Reserved.

Something happened to me, in 1963
I was born in Indiana, nowhere near the sea
Now I’m proud of the state the Lord chose for my birth
But I’ve looked in every county, tryin’ to find that Hoosier Surf

Some men live on the ocean, sail from shore to shore
I live on the farm, work from chore to chore
Sometimes I daydream, while on the tractor plowin’ dirt
About waves on the farm pond, and ridin’ the Hoosier Surf

CHORUS:
From the mighty Wabash river, on down to Lake Monroe
I’ve tried to ride the waves, but my surfboard wouldn’t go
Some people call me crazy, they say give up your search
But I gotta believe, one day I’ll catch a dream, and ride that Hoosier Surf

Once I had the urge, went to Lake Michigan,
It was in late December, there were snowflakes in the sand
In my swim suit and a winter coat, had my surfboard in hand,
I told the cop when he stopped, I was a "Hoosier Surfin’ Man"

Repeat Chorus

Late last summer, a new idea was born
I was drivin’ thru the country, just starin’ at the corn
Put my truck into the field, didn’t worry about the crop
Pulled out my surfboard, laid it on the cab top
I climbed onto that board, and as far as I could see
There was a sea of stalks with tassel tops wavin’ in front of me
A warm breeze was blowin’, it was easy to pretend
That I was Hoosier Surfin’, on brown waves in the wind

CHORUS:
From the mighty Wabash river, on down to Lake Monroe
I’ve tried to ride the waves, but my surfboard wouldn’t go
Now I know the secret, there’s no need to search
I spend my spare time in the fields just ridin’ that Hoosier Surf

 

No One Else Can Hear

written by Scott Greeson
© 1997 Greesong Music Publishing (BMI). All Rights Reserved.

20,000 men have passed through these gates
Since opened the mill, back in ’38
And soon there’s gonna be room for one more
I’m gonna miss them coffee break conversations
Those carry-in dinners before Christmas vacation
Miss the guys on the line, but I won’t miss the overtime

CHORUS:
My friends offer opinions, they offer advice
Their intentions are good, tell me I better think twice
But I’ve prayed for discretion, this time the choice is clear
I’m gonna listen to a voice that no one else can hear

That steady paycheck was always good to see
But that security kept me from my dreams
I gotta take the risk, so I never have to wonder "what if"
(I just keep thinkin’) ’bout what I’m gonna achieve
Once I dedicate myself to what I wanna be
That company time will turn into mine

CHORUS

It’ll be quite a change, once I say goodbye
That blue collar career, been such a part of my life
But I’ve prayed for direction, and this time the choice is clear
I’m gonna listen to a voice that no one else can hear

CHORUS