Lyrics

They fly over the houses
Every morning noon and night
Looking like diamonds
In a sky of powder white
The kids in California
Don’t even know this place exist
Unless they got a second cousin
Living back=2 0here in the sticks
In the morning drinking coffee in his tiny little place
Blows the dust off of the trophy that they when they took state
The hottest days of summer at the little park
See him pitching to a backstop
Until it got too dark
Senior year of high school
He threw a perfect game
After he fell off of a ladder he never threw the same
In the evening drinking whiskey in his tiny little place
Throws the bottle at the mirror don’t want to see his face
Billy is a roofer
Working hard through the Fall
He’d imagined he be different
Making his money playing ball
At the Conoco Station
You buy cigarettes and coke
When your working on a ladder your caffine ain’t a joke
And the radio’s just chatter they never play no songs
When they tell us about the weather -they always get it wrong
In the morning drinking coffee in his tiny little place
Billy is a Roofer