Trouble/guitar Man Lyrics - Elvis Presley

If you're looking for trouble 

You came to the right place 

If you're looking for trouble 

Just look right in my face 

I was born standing up 

And talking back 

My daddy was a green-eyed mountain jack 

Because I'm evil, my middle name is misery 

Well I'm evil, so don't you mess around with me 

I've never looked for trouble 

But I've never ran 

I don't take no orders 

From no kind of man 

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I'm only made out 

Of flesh, blood and bone 

But if you're gonna start a rumble 

Don't you try it on alone 

Because I'm evil, my middle name is misery 

Well I'm evil, so don't you mess around with me 

I'm evil, evil, evil, as can be 

I'm evil, evil, evil, as can be 

So don't mess around don't mess around don't mess around with me 

I'm evil, I'm evil, evil, evil 

So don't mess around, don't mess around with me 

I'm evil, I tell you I'm evil 

So don't mess around with me 

Yeah! 

Photos 

Well, I quit my job down at the car wash, 

Left my mama a goodbye note, 

By sundown I'd left Kingston, 

With my guitar under my coat, 

I hitchhiked all the way down to Memphis, 

Got a room at the YMCA, 

For the next three weeks I went huntin' them nights, 

Just lookin' for a place to play, 

Well, I thought my pickin' would set 'em on fire, 

But nobody wanted to hire a guitar man. 

Well, I nearly 'bout starved to death down in Memphis, 

I run outta money and luck, 

So I bought me a ride down to Macon, Georgia, 

On a overloaded poultry truck, 

I thumbed on down to Panama City, 

Started pickin' out some o' them all night bars, 

Hopin' I could make myself a dollar, 

Makin' music on my guitar, 

I got the same old story at them all night piers, 

There ain't no room around here for a guitar man 

We don't need a guitar man, son 

So I slept in the hobo jungles, 

Roamed a thousand miles of track, 

Till I found myself in Mobile Alabama, 

At a club they call Big Jack's, 

A little four-piece band was jammin', 

So I took my guitar and I sat in, 

I showed 'em what a band would sound like, 

With a swingin' little guitar man. 

Show 'em, son 

If you ever take a trip down to the ocean, 

Find yourself down around Mobile, 

Make it on out to a club called Jack's, 

If you got a little time to kill, 

Just follow that crowd of people, 

You'll wind up out on his dance floor, 

Diggin' the finest little five-piece group, 

Up and down the Gulf of Mexico, 

Guess who's leadin' that five-piece band, 

Well, wouldn't ya know, it's that swingin' little guitar man.