Well it was all

that I could do

to keep from cryin'

Sometimes it seemed so useless to remain

But you don't have

to call me darlin',

darlin'

You never even call me by my name

You don't have

to call me Waylon Jennings

And you don't have

to call me Charlie Pride

And you don't have to call me

Merle Haggard anymore

Even though you're on my fighting' side

And I'll hang around

as long as you will let me

And I never minded standing' in the rain

But you don't have

to call me darlin',

darlin'

You never even called me by my name

Well, I've heard my name

A few times

in your phone book

And I've seen it

on signs where I've played

But the only time I know

I'll hear "David Allan Coe"

Is when Jesus has his final judgment day

So I'll hang around

as long as you will let me

And I never minded standing' in the rain

But you don't have

to call me darlin',

darlin'

You never even called me by my name

(SPOKEN)

Well, a friend of mine named

Steve Goodman wrote that song

And he told me it was the

perfect country western song

I wrote him back a letter

and I told him it was

not the perfect country western song

because he hadn't said

anything at all about mama,

or trains,

or trucks,

or prison,

or getting' drunk

Well he sat down and wrote

another verse to the song

and he sent it to me,

and after reading it,

I realized that my friend

had written the perfect

Country western song

And I felt obliged to

include it on this album

The last verse goes like this here:

Well, I was drunk

the day my mom

got out of prison

And I went

to pick her up

in the rain

But before I could get to the station

in my pickuuuup truck

She got runned over

by a damned old train

And I'll hang around

as long as you will let me

And I neverrr minded standing'

in the rain

No, a' you don't have

to call me darlin',

darLIN'

You never even call me

Well I wonder why you don't call me

Why don't you ever call me by my name