Now this is an old friend's story. Every Sunday morning my folks hauled me off to church, sometimes dad would go to the fishing hole. Mom would shake her head and say, that man's a piece of work, and they'd fuss a little bit before we'd go. He'd say, Lord have mercy woman, missin' preachin' ain't no crime, and on a day like this I know the good Lord he don't mind. If I slip off the straight and narrow, take a look around the bend, a little bit of mischief keeps the boy inside the band. A winding road takes longer, but there's so much more to see, sometimes a little detour's all you need. That's right. There were times I know my dad would have a drink or two, but he never drank enough soju to tell. He played nickel dominoes down at the chattin' chute, he could stretch the truth to fit the tape. He'd say, son life is a journey, there's a thousand different roads, sometimes one less tribe will get you where you need to go. If I slip off the straight and narrow, take a look around the bend, a little bit of mischief keeps the boy inside the band. A winding road takes longer, but there's so much more to see, sometimes a little detour's all you need. Now mama and the good book taught me what I ought to be, but every time I feel this old world closing in on me. If I slip off the straight and narrow, take a look around the bend, a little bit of mischief keeps the boy inside the band. A winding road takes longer, but there's so much more to see, sometimes a little detour's all you need. *