Lyrics:

I'll sing a little song I wrote for my father
Whose an interesting guy, my dad
When I was a kid, he was a preacher
He was a preacher in the old Bible church
Which is a pentecostal church
Those people with little fires on their heads
Intense church
He was a preacher, he spoke in tongues
Healed people with his hands
We moved about every two years
But now he's a Bahá?í, you know
His life, I think we can say, has been a kind of opening up
Process, my father
Interesting guy
And I like my father, which is good, you know, because
At a certain point in life, you find out
You're gonna be somewhat like your parents
To a certain extent, you just have to make your peace with that
Because, it's going to happen, you know
And I like my dad, which has made it a lot easy, really
Last time I went down to see him
I flew into the Albequerque airport, and he met me
I just had bought this hat about three days before
A big canvas hat, with a big brim, and a strap
I thought it would be good for fishing
I never had a hat like that before
But I just liked that hat, I felt drawn to it, and I bought that hat
And I was walking cross the Albuquerque airport
And I see my dad coming across the airport
Same damn hat
That's just the way it is
No one now knows too much about these woods
They got lost, they wouldn't know where to go
Tribe's been gone a long time, small farmers got blowed out
Maybe there ain't even that much left to know
You can strip the trees, foul the streams, try to hide in a progressive dream
Ease into the comfort that kills
Before I do that, I'll grab my pack
And disappear with Billy from the hills
Blood flows back and back and back and back
Like a river from a secret source
I feel it wild in me; I pitched my camp
At the fork where knowledge meets remorse
Women sing in me that song from the ancient choir
I just open my mouth and what comes out gives me chills
I got my song from a secret place
I got my face from Billy from the hills
A 40-inch barrel on that shotgun
Steel traps in a cane pack on his back
Eighteen years old, surrounded by the Ozarks
Ain't one little bit of that boy that's slack
If you're looking for a helping hand
He'll give you one, you know he will
If you're looking for trouble, huh-uh, turn around
You don't want to mess with Billy from the hills
Some folks dance cool, all angles and swaying hips
Sensual as all get out and in
Me, I'm a hick, and I dance like one
I just kind of jump around and grin
I know a guy, he doesn't dance too much
But when he does, he gives everyone a thrill
You might run away or suck it up and stay
When he dances, Billy from the hills
Ah, dance Bill
There's a lantern lit on a Missouri night
A woman writing poems by a stove
She knows the fox's whereabouts by knoll, by gulch, by yelp
As he runs at night through her mother love
Her memory to me is like watercress from a spring-fed stream
Fresh and aching as a mockingbird's trill
She lives in me; I try to look until
I can see for her and her boy, Billy from the hills
It's a drifting time, people are fascinated by screens
No idea what's on the other side
We stare at doom like an uptight groom
And live our lives like a drunken bride
Tonight I feel something on the wind
Deep inside where we have to die or kill
Something I know I didn't know I knew
I learned from Billy from the hills
Billy from the hills
Billy from the hills