[D]I was 15 goin' on 20 when I [G]met up with this [D]old man
[G]He was quite a [D]lover of the cards and of the [A]dice
He had [D]wes and he had ladies, he made [G]love and he made [D]babies
He could tell some damn good stories and [A]give some good [D]advice
(chorus)You gotta learn how to pick 'em son, [G]learn how to [D]lick 'em son,
[G]Learn how to [D]stick 'em son [E]between the [A]thighs.
You gotta [D]try not to beat 'em too much, [G]try not to [D]teach 'em too much,
[G]Try not to [D]feed 'em too much [A]bullst and [D]lies.
He'd sit down and pour some whiskey, then he'd mix it up with water.
Here's a picture of my daughter he would say, then he would sigh.
Then he'd drink and laugh a little, as he picked up that old fiddle.
That same old riddle, I never did know why.
(repeat chorus)
Now the years have seen him buried, his daughter and me married.
I was sure he raised her right and taught her how to fk.
When I asked her what he told her, she said he'd never scold her.
He would always hold her, but he never told her much.
(2nd chorus)But he told her men were plain and simple. He told her love was like a pimple.
Once you squeeze the juices out, it just goes away.
He taught her how to hold on tighter, and he taught her not to let men fight her.
Then there was this poem he taught her on his dying day.
(3rd chorus)You got to learn how to suck 'em daughter, learn how to fk 'em daughter.
Learn how to take their money, learn how to cry.
You got to try not to hold 'em too much, try not to scold 'em too much.
Try not to feed 'em too much bullst and lies.
(repeat first chorus)
[G]He was quite a [D]lover of the cards and of the [A]dice
He had [D]wes and he had ladies, he made [G]love and he made [D]babies
He could tell some damn good stories and [A]give some good [D]advice
(chorus)You gotta learn how to pick 'em son, [G]learn how to [D]lick 'em son,
[G]Learn how to [D]stick 'em son [E]between the [A]thighs.
You gotta [D]try not to beat 'em too much, [G]try not to [D]teach 'em too much,
[G]Try not to [D]feed 'em too much [A]bullst and [D]lies.
He'd sit down and pour some whiskey, then he'd mix it up with water.
Here's a picture of my daughter he would say, then he would sigh.
Then he'd drink and laugh a little, as he picked up that old fiddle.
That same old riddle, I never did know why.
(repeat chorus)
Now the years have seen him buried, his daughter and me married.
I was sure he raised her right and taught her how to fk.
When I asked her what he told her, she said he'd never scold her.
He would always hold her, but he never told her much.
(2nd chorus)But he told her men were plain and simple. He told her love was like a pimple.
Once you squeeze the juices out, it just goes away.
He taught her how to hold on tighter, and he taught her not to let men fight her.
Then there was this poem he taught her on his dying day.
(3rd chorus)You got to learn how to suck 'em daughter, learn how to fk 'em daughter.
Learn how to take their money, learn how to cry.
You got to try not to hold 'em too much, try not to scold 'em too much.
Try not to feed 'em too much bullst and lies.
(repeat first chorus)
