Screamn' whitewall tires and a guitar by his side   Billy's got the fever as he rolls on thru the night   Some were born to listen, some were born to play   He was lightning on the highstrings    And thunder on the bass       Chorus:   He could play it high, he could play it low   He could make it cry, he could make it moan   He knows when push comes to shove   The proof's in the pickin'      In a smoky little tavern just off of bourbon street   Tobacco stained fingers waited on the down beat   Conley was the master, the undisputed king   He'd ruled the town for thirty years   With an army of six strings      Chorus:   He could play it high, he could play it low   He could make it cry, he could make it moan   He knows when push comes to shove   The proof's in the pickin'      Sometimes after midnight billy drives through New Orleans   Straight to the french quarter there's a man he has to see   The music is a raging like a city that's on fire   Billy felt just like an altar boy at the feet of a higher power   Conley watched as Billy walked across the room   Opened his case and started a tune   The whole club was silent    And the lights were turned down low    Billy stepped up on the stage    And Conley whispered, go son, go       Yeah ... Go now boy   --- Instrumental ---      Chorus:   He could play it high, he could play it low   He could make it cry, he could make it moan   He knows when push comes to shove   The proof's in the pickin'      Conley held his hand up, no one made a sound    And he handed Billy his old archtop    And stepped into the crowd    Billy played it soft, Billy played it sad    Then he made it talk and in came the band    Soon the room was shaking before Billy's wall of sound    And just a block off Bourbon Street,    A new king's been crowned.       Chorus:   He could play it high, he could play it low   He could make it cry, he could make it moan   He knows when push comes to shove   The proof's in the pickin'...