Friend is a word that I don’t throw around, though it’s used and abused, I still like the sound.
I save it for people who’ve done right by me, and I know I can count on, if ever need be.
Some of my friends drive big cars, own ranches and banks and visit with royalty, and some of my friends are up to their neck in overdue notes and can’t write a check.
They’re singers or ropers or writers of prose and others, God bless ’em, can’t blow their own nose!
I guess being friends don’t have nothing’ to do with talent or money or knowing who’s who.
It’s a comfortable feeling when you don’t have to care, but choosing your words or being quite fair.
‘Cause friends will just listen and let go on by those words you don’t mean and not bat an eye.
It makes a friend happy to see your success. They’re proud of your good side and forgive all the rest.
And that ain’t so easy, all of the time; sometimes I get crazy and seem to go blind!
Your friend just might have to take you on home, or remind you sometime, that you’re not alone.
Or ever so gently pull you back to the ground, when you think you can fly, with no one around.
A hug or a shake, whichever seems right is the high point of giving, I’ll tell you day or night,
All worldly riches and tributes of men can’t hold a candle to the worth of a friend.