Copyright 2011 by Grant Carrington

It began in Greenwich Vilage
In nineteen sixty-one.
I was learning to play folk guitar,
Just havin' a little fun.

    A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . G
    We looked ahead to better days,
    F . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A
    When we would ride Paisley Highways.

Ed was the last of the beatniks
With a beat-up Buick car.
With a girl in every bar.

    Those days are gone but memory stays
    When we discovered Paisley Highways.

I met Eileen in San Antone;
She taught me a thing or three
On how to live a different way
On the edges of society.
    You only gets just what you pays--
    That's the toll on Paisley Highways.

In November of '66
Where Asbury meets Haight--
I'd been bent up quite a bit by then
And forgotten how to live straight.
    We all walked around in a purple haze,
    Lost and dreaming on Paisley Highways.

The years they passed and the times they changed. It was one hell of a ride.
Now we're paunchy and we're bald and we're getting gray
But the music never died.
    In our rooms the music plays
    As we remember Paisley Highways

Ed jackknifed in Michigan
And George is looking for God.
Eilen has grand-kids now
And I find that kind of odd.
    They've all gone their separate ways
    And forgotten Paisley Highways.

    So I'm out here alone as the music plays
    'Cause I'm still riding Paisley Highways.

    Feel free to perform this song in public, as long as you mention who wrote it. (A mention of the CD, Ancient Laughter, and the fact that it can purchased from would be appreciated too.) If you want to record it, however, you will have to cross my palm with silver. My brother-in-law comes from Sicily.