What do these lyrics mean, John?

Prine, Prine, Prine, Prine, and more Prine

Cried pennies on Sunday morning
Laughed nickels on Saturday night

—John Prine, Billy the Bum

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What do these lyrics mean, John?

Well, we can tell you because Kody’s dad once chased down Handsome Johnny in Wichita to ask him. Can you imagine getting to ask your favorite artist to interpret the lyrics to your favorite song? Well, for Dennis “Gib” Gibson, it happened. Today marks the seventh anniversary of Gib’s passing, so we found it fitting to ask his best friend Russ to recount this legendary story in this week’s Bonus Track.

And to celebrate Gib, all of the Music Swap contributors have selected a song from John Prine’s masterful catalog. We hope you’ll join us in singing with the Singing Mailman.

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That’s the Way That the World Goes ‘Round (Adam)

“It’s a half an inch of water and you think you’re gonna drown, that’s the way that the world goes ‘round.”

There aren’t many lines of a song that are more relatable than those. John Prine is arguably one of the greatest songwriters to ever live. The way he could paint a picture in a song is honestly remarkable. I’ve always been attracted to this song because it really captures what life feels like. Sometimes you feel like you’re frozen solid in a bathtub naked as the eyes of a clown, but when you look back later that was just the way things go. Prine highlights that well here. Enjoy it folks, artists like this don’t come around too often.

Angel From Montgomery (Mat)

I am confident that I am not the only person who has fallen in love with Prine through this song. His ability to tell a story from a totally different perspective from his own shines brilliantly in this song. I cannot think of a more bold or engaging opening line than “I am an old woman.” Talk about setting up some expectations. Prine exceeds them! From there, the song builds on top of itself with killer line after killer line. Does it get much better than “If dreams were lightning and thunder were desire, this old house would have burnt down a long time ago” or “no matter how I try the years just flow by like a broken-down dam”? Add to all of this that the lady in the song is from Alabama. She’s longing for a pardon from the governor from her “prison” of life, which Prine poetically describes with vivid detail. It’s a world class song from a world class songwriter.

Long Monday (Ben)

The song opens, “You and me - sitting in the back of my memory.” Long Monday has it all. Effortless acoustic genius. Love. Longing. An accordion…Prine’s use of simple rhyme and pause, repetition and alliteration are masterful. The song also carries an understated harmony that I look forward to every time the chorus loops. It’s seemingly sung by the very woman who he hopes “will give him a kiss that will last all week.”

He co-wrote this ballad with Keith Sykes - and lyrics like, “Radio’s on - Windows rolled up - And my mind’s rolled down,” make me glad they did.

Paradise (Jonathan)

While Paradise is one of Prine’s most well-known songs, I couldn’t have told you who sang it as I heard it growing up. I became familiar with Prine later in life, and have come to realize how many of my go-to artists have been inspired by his incredible storytelling. The particular story in this song covers the devastation of his parent’s home city of Paradise, Kentucky due to coal mining. At the end of this song, Prine asks, "When I die, let my ashes float down the Green River/Let my soul roll on up to the Rochester Dam." While Prine lived to the age of 73, his death from Covid in 2020 still felt like it was too early. Soon after he passed, his wish for his ashes was fulfilled.

Lake Marie (Kody)

This is my sister’s favorite Prine song. It’s a classic from 90s Prine, and we probably heard it at least a hundred times while we sat in the backseat of our parents’ red Buick, flying down the interstate while Dad belted out the lines:

You know what blood looks like in a black and white video?
Shadows, shadows! That's what it looks like
All the love we shared between her and me was slammed
Slammed up against the banks of old Lake Marie, Marie

At the time, we were probably embarrassed or annoyed, but not anymore. We’re proud to be the kids of a Prine fanatic. We miss him like crazy today, but we’ll let John bring us some comfort and some good memories. Love you, sis!

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Road Trip with Gib: Austin via Wichita by Russ White

It was one of those spontaneous adventures that felt inevitable. The kind of thing that just happened when Gib was around. I was sitting at my computer one afternoon—maybe a Friday, maybe a Saturday—when I noticed that John Prine was playing in Wichita that night. Just as I’m taking it in, Gib calls. He’s planning on heading down to Austin to watch his son pitch the next day, and before I even have time to think it through, we strike a deal: We’ll go to Austin tomorrow, but only if we stop in Wichita tonight.

Gib, as always, was game.

So off we went, making our way to the Orpheum Theatre, an old, elegant venue with history seeping from the walls. The kind of place where the past still lingers, where echoes of old acts mix with the melodies of Prine’s timeless songwriting. The opening act was a young woman—her name escapes me now—but she joined Prine for “Paradise,” as was his tradition.

The show was everything you’d expect from Prine: intimate, familiar, and unforgettable. Gib and I had seen him plenty of times, and every time was like the first time. After the show, Gib wanted to get backstage, but Prine had already left—a rarity. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well, maybe he was just tired. Normally, he’d stick around, shaking hands, and swapping stories.

But Gib wasn’t one to take a closed door as an answer. We decided to track him down. Hotel bars are always a good bet, so we made the rounds—one, two, three places—no luck. Finally, we landed at the Hyatt, our last stop before hitting the road to Austin.

We sat for a bit, waiting, hoping. Nothing.

Just as we were about to leave, the lobby doors spun open. In walks John Prine himself, trench coat collar turned up, hat pulled low, making a beeline for the elevators. He clearly wasn’t looking to be seen.

Gib wasn’t having that.

Without hesitation, he hollered, “Hey!”—loud enough to turn every head in the room, including Prine’s. He stopped, realizing he’d been made.

Gib walked right up, stuck out his hand, and said, “You remember me? I’m Gib.” Prine, ever gracious, smiled. “Of course, Gib.”

They talked briefly, Gib keeping it short out of respect. But before he let him go, he had one burning question: “John, my favorite song of yours is ‘Billy the Bum.’ There’s that line—‘Cried pennies on Sunday morning, laughed nickels on Saturday night.’ What does that mean?”

Prine grinned and said, “It’s simple, Gib. He laughed more than he cried.”

That was all Gib needed. We hit the road, heading south through the night, aiming for Austin. The details get a little hazy after that—long hours, late-night highways—but I remember the destination: a Catholic school in Austin where Gib’s son was pitching. He had been injured but was back on the mound, and he threw three or four solid innings that day. Seeing Gib in the stands, watching his boy play, was something special.

Gib was always there, always present, always the biggest fan in the room.
Years later, I still think about that night in Wichita, that road trip to Austin, that moment in the Hyatt lobby. And I think about Gib—his big voice, his love for music, his unstoppable spirit.

If you ever hear someone belting out a Prine lyric just a little too loud, with just the right amount of conviction, there’s a good chance they knew Gib. And if they didn’t, they would’ve loved him.

Earlier this week, Kody and I talked about Gib and how Friday (today) marks another year since he left us. We reminisced about the road trips, the music, and all the ways he made life bigger and louder. As we made plans to talk on the anniversary date, I told Kody: "We'll talk, and we'll laugh more than we cry." And I know we will.

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Russ White’s first concert was Johnny Cash on his 6th birthday. He went backstage and got his autograph. He still has it. Russ’ first John Prine concert was with Gib. He thinks the venue was 20th Century in Edmond. John had a full band called The Peanuts. It must have been the late ‘70s. The next JP show was also with Gib and another friend, Tim Marrs in Norman, OK at the Sooner Theater. He remembers shouting out a request for ‘Middle Man’. Prine responded and said he couldn’t remember the words. After the show, Tim told some girls in the parking lot that he was John Prine. If you knew Tim, you know he pulled it off. Russ has a lot more stories we’ll save for a future Bonus Track.

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Thank you for reading! Play some John Prine today in honor of Gib and all his friends!

-TheMusicSwap