Casserole Bound for Nashville

Your bags are in the back,

the hatchback's open wide

That old beat-up guitar case sits on the passenger side

(hmmm) I wrapped a casserole in foil so you'll have something warm

When you cross the state line in the middle of the storm

And I could tell you to be careful

And I could tell you not to change

But you've got your father's fire

And you know this dusty range So I'll just stand here on

the porch and let you go (yeah)

That guitar was mine before you ever drew a breath

I played it till my fingers bled and scared myself to death

But you've got twice the talent

and three times the grace No need for dusty words of mine

to take up all your space

(ohhh) And I could tell you to be careful

And I could tell you not to change

But you've got your father's fire

And you know this dusty range

So I'll just stand here on the porch and let you go

Watching your taillights fade down the gravel road

Missouri's red clay dust in the air

Just a casserole on the passenger seat

And my silent prayer