Ghost in his guitar

Down the drain pipe cross the yard and through the fence I risked a whoopin' every time I went 'Cause white boys weren't allowed On the colored side of town But I was proud to call That old black man my friend He had a pillow by the bed he used to pray on And a beat up old guitar he let me play on I knew where my fingers went From his greasy fingerprints Yeah, he was passin' on What was handed down to him