Complicated Type

He was a sweet, boy

Never mean to cause no trouble

Couldn't help but be polite

He probly learned it from his mother

He's a complicated type

A complicated type

Complicated type

Grew up real fast

Just like Carolina

He hid his drugs under his bible

Mixed his whisky with his wine

He had a sparkle in his eye

Like just before you cry

Like right before you cry

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa

It was a long night

He'd been sittin at the bar

When they turned off all the lights

He started lookin for his car

But when his eyes began to gleam

And the lights started to stream

Well he slipped into a dream

Well now while most

Folks dream of money, love, and hope

His were of violent, crashing waves

And bodies swinging, tied to ropes

While his whole family laughed aloud

Hovering above a crowd

Who, for hell, was screamin out

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa

Well of nobody, there's nothing I can do

To bring anyone back to life

But I know that I should try to tell the truth

And to fight for the right side

When he came to

As if he'd been dead for years

And the wind was blowin hard

Both his eyes were full of tears

But a change had taken place

You could see it on his face

Man you could see it on his face

And on the way home

He found a bottle in the road

And thought of all the explanations

That he felt that he was owed

And as he kicked it down the street

He felt lighter on his feet

And he couldn't help but sing

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa