Lyrics:

I was 15 going on 20 when I met up with the soul man he was quite a lover of the cards and of the dice and he had whores and he had ladies he made love and he made babies he could tell some damn good stories and give some good advise

You gotta learn how ta pick 'em son learn how ta lick 'em son learn how to stick 'em son between the thighs and you got to try not to beat 'em too much try not to teach 'em too much try not to feed 'em to much bull shit and lies

He sat down and poured some whisky and he mixed it up with water heres a picture of my daughter he would say and he would sigh and he would drink and laugh a little as he picked up that old fiddle that same ol riddle I never did know why

You gotta learn how ta pick 'em son learn how ta lick 'em son learn how to stick 'em son between the thighs and you got to try not to beat 'em too much try not to teach 'em too much try not to feed 'em to much bull shit and lies

Now the years I've seen him bury his daughter and me marry I was sure he raised her right an taught her how ta fuck when I asked her what he told her shed said he never skulled her he would always hold her but he never told her much well her told her men were plain and simple told her love was like a pimple once you squeez the juices out it just goes away he taught her how ta hold on tighter and her taught her not to let men fight her and then there was this poem he taught her on his dyin' days

You got to learn how ta suck 'em daughter learn how ta fuck 'em daughter learn how ta take there money and learn how ta cry you got to try not to hold 'em too much try not to skulled 'em too much try not to feed 'em too much bull shit and lies


You gotta learn how ta pick 'em son learn how ta lick 'em son learn how to stick 'em son between the thighs and you got to try not to beat 'em too much try not to teach 'em too much try not to feed 'em to much bull shit and lies