Well, now, Frankie and Johnny were sweethearts;
They were true as a blue, blue sky.
He was a long-legged guitar picker with a wicked wanderin’ eye,
But he was her man nearly all of the time.
Well, Johnny, he packed up to leave her,
But he promised he’d be back.
He said he had a little pickin’ to do a little farther down the track.
He said, “I’m your man; I wouldn’t do you wrong.”
Well, Frankie curled up on the sofa,
Thinkin’ about her man.
Far away the couples were dancin’ to the music of his band.
He was Frankie’s man; he wasn’t doin’ her wrong.
Then in the front door walked a redhead,
Johnny saw her right away.
She came down by the bandstand to watch him while he played.
He was Frankie’s man, but she was far away.
He sang ev’ry song to the redhead,
She smiled back at him.
The he came and sat by her table, where the lights were low and dim.
What Frankie didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her none.
Then the redhead jumped up an slapped him;
She slapped him a time or two.
She said, “I’m Frankie’s sister and I was checkin’ up on you.
If you’re her man you better treat her right.”
Well, the moral of this story
Is be good but carry a stick.
Sometimes it looks like a guitar picker just can’t tell what to pick.
He was Frankie’s man, and he still ain’t done her wrong.