There s a Black Wreath Down in Nashville

There s a black wreath down in Nashville on a Broadway record store.
It commemorates a troubadour who used to walk the floor
He was Lone Star long and lanky with a voice like Texas sand.
It s adios to Ernest Tubb, with his County Western Band.
There s a black wreath down in Nashville on a Broadway record store.
It s near the place where the Grand Old Opry ain t going to play no more,
Where E. T. helped the girl from Butcher s Holler shine the light,
Across from Tootsies Orchid Lounge, where Tom T. used to write.

There s a black wreath down in Nashville on a Broadway record store.
I ve browsed those crowded album racks three dozen times or more,
I sometimes came to purchase, or look and not to buy.
Those photographs of Kitty Wells and Jimmy got me by.

There s a black wreath down in Nashville on a Broadway record store.
You can shed a tear if you want to, but tragedy s a bore,
The man himself is best remembered for his Texas smile.
Let s hit he dance floor, Ernest Tubb is still in style.
09-06-84