One Black Sheep - Mat Kearney

Hmm ba, di, da, deh… hmmm ba, di, da, deh…

I was born a love child in the 70's, touched down at Sacred Heart.

Three boys in a tree-house family, I saw the lights from the resevoir.

Momma told me angels are watching us.

Green Volkswagon van,

in the cities of hippies and angel dust singing along to Amy Grant.

Money in my pocket, shoes on my feet,

but I always felt like the One Black Sheep.

There was food on the table, a place to sleep,

but there’s not rest fot the one black sheep.

Singing, ooo ooo, won’t somebody tell me what’s wrong with me.

Singing, ooo ooo, won’t somebody tell me what’s wrong with me.

Packed in Eugene Oregon, Amtrak with soccer cleats,

Head south to California, Conference player of the Week, but

At night I dreamed of Graceland, stealing my friend Kyle’s guitar.

On the rack or ballcourts playing homeless, broken hearts.

There was money in my pocket, shoes on my feet,

but I always felt like the one black sheet.

Got a good education, on Hobart Street,

but there are no books on the one black sheet.

Singing, ooo ooo, won’t somebody tell me what’s wrong with me.

Singing, ooo ooo, won’t somebody tell me what’s wrong with me.

Two drop-outs headed east-bound.

Chevy truck with no AC.

Starlight bored, Carnie campground said why not in Tennessee.

Got fire in my bones boy, God works the same.

Lord knows I’m not home, but I’m on my way with,

Money in my pocket, shoes on my feet,

but I still feel like the one black sheep.

Got these three guitar chords, the road under my feet,

but there’s not place for the one black sheep.

Singing, ooo ooo, won’t somebody tell me what’s wrong with me.

Singing, ooo ooo, won’t somebody tell me what’s wrong with me.

Singing, ooo ooo, won’t somebody tell me what’s wrong with me.

Singing, ooo ooo, won’t somebody tell me what’s wrong with me.

'Cause there’s no rest for the one black sheep.