Give 'em Hell Harry - Tommy Shaw

Harry Truman was born to play piano

That’s all he ever thought about

From the first time he touched those ivory keys

He never had a single doubt

Started playing for all the kin folks

Then in honky tonks and bars

Never once entertained the thought

Of playing a silly six string guitar

He was a piano player dog gone it, case closed

As he made his way to the gigs he’d play

He found the roads in an awful state

I’m not talking about Missouri per se

But the thoroughfares weren’t so great

He said «My name is Harry, Harry Truman»

Give 'em hell Harry give 'em hell

When the lights came on they rang your liberty bell

From Missouri to the White House

There’s one thing Harry knew

If you don’t learn to milk a cow

They’ll never ask you to

Because Harry’s mind was sharp and nimble

Those citizens were in luck

He strapped his family’s old upright Kimble

Up in the bed of his county truck

And every day on his lunch break

All that summer long

He’d park his ruck beside the lake

And play a medley of popular songs

The man sure knew how to string 'em together too

It’s funny, those roads Harry built

Led him to the White House

Under good old FDR

His piano now drew high class crowds

And he was smoking 50 cent cigars

Somewhere out in New Mexico

They were building atom bombs

But how on earth was Harry to know

What the hell was going on

See, he’d been left in the dark about an awful lot

Until that fateful day

When Harry and the rest of the nation got

The news that the President had passed away

And in an instant the music stopped and the weight

Of the world fell upon his shoulders

They sent him across the ocean to a summit

With Churchill and Stalin too

They posed for pictures out by the bar-b-que grill

Then they went inside for stew

Grumpy old Churchill was soon filled with doubt

Over all of Stalin’s demands

All Harry could seem to think about

Was Stalin’s tiny little hands

Couldn’t be much of a piano player, that’s for certain

Give 'em hell Harry…

Well he travelled wide and he travelled far

And when all was said and done

He went back home and opened up a piano bar

And called it «Jefferson's Favorite Son»

Quit shaving, grew his hair down past his shoulders

And wore a fringed John Lennon vest

Got snide remarks from some of the local elders

But he was loved by all the rest

Then every December as time marched on

He’d put on a red velvet suit

And perform his medley of holiday songs

To a 21 gun salute

Give 'em hell Harry Truman, Give 'em hell…