Lust May Be In The

I Can Only Sing Songs My Way. I Don't Know Any Other Way.

I Don't Think I'm Singing. I Feel Like I'm Playing A Horn...what Comes Out Is What I Feel.

So I Asked Him To Play "trav'lin' All Alone." That Came Closer Than Anything To The Way I Felt. And Some Part Of It Must Have Come Across. The Whole Joint Quieted Down. If Someone Had Dropped A Pin, It Would Have Sounded Like A Bomb. When I Finished, Everybody In The Joint Was Crying In Their Beer, And I Picked Thirty-eight Bucks Up Off The Floor. . . . When I Showed Mom The Money For The Rent And Told Her I Had A Regular Job Singing For Eighteen Dollars A Week, She Could Hardly Believe It.

Don't Threaten Me With Love, Baby. Let's Just Go Walking In The Rain.

You Can't Copy Anybody And End With Anything. If You Copy, It Means You're Working Without Any Real Feeling.