 It was my senior year,
I just turned eighteen.
I was a friday night hero,
With division one dreams.
I had an offer on the table,
A four year ride.
'Til that fourth and two and twenty four dive.
I left on a stretcher,
Wound up on a crutch
Walked on that next summer.
Wound up getting cut.
Flipped off that coach,
Left that school in the dust,
For letting my dreams go bust.
But I thank God I ain't what I almost was.
Yea, I moved on back home,
And came awful close to being some son-in-law to some CEO.
Coulda been a corner office, country club, suit and tie man.
Answerin' to no one, but her and him.
I ran out on his money, ran out on her love,
At four in the morning I loaded my truck.
I left my home town in a big cloud of dust.
I just had to follow my gut,
And I thank God I ain't what I almost was.
In guitar town I bought this old Epiphone,
Started stringin' chords and words into songs.
I've been putting in time on Sixteenth Avenue,
Pouring out my heart for tips on a stool.
I ain't making a killing, but then theres those nights,
When the song comes together and hits them just right.
The crowds on their feet cause they can't get enough
Of this music I make and I love.
And I thank God I ain't, yea I thank God I ain't,
Yea I thank God I ain't, what I almost was
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