Three Wooden Crosses Randy Travis
A farm[C]er and a teacher, a ho[Am]oker and a preacher, r[F]idin' on a
[C]midnight bus, b[F]ound for Mexi[G]co.
One was hea[C]ded for vacation, one for h[Am]igher education, and
[F]two of them were sea[G]rchin' for lost s[C]ouls.
That driv[F]er never, ever saw the stop[G]sign, and eighteen-[F]
wheelers can't stop on a d[G]ime.
There are th[C]ree wooden crosses on the [Am]right side of the highway.
Why[F] there's not f[C]our of them heav[G]en only knows.
I guess it's n[C]ot what you take when you l[Am]eave this world behind you.
It's wh[F]at you leave behi[G]nd you when you [C]go.
That farmer left a harvest, a home and eighty acres, a faith and love for
growin' things in his young son's heart.
And that teacher left her wisdom in the minds of lots of children and did
her best to give'm all a better start.
And that preacher whispered, "Can't you see the promised land?"as he laid
his blood-stained Bible in that hooker's hand.
That's a story tha[G]t our preacher told last Sunday, as he held that
blood-stained Bible up for all
of us to see. He said,
"Bless the fa[C]rmer and the te[Am]acher and the pre[F]acher
who gave this Bi[C]ble to my mama, who re[G]ad it to me."
There are three wooden crosses on the right side of the highway.
Why there's not four of them, now I guess we know.
It's not what you take when you leave this world behind you.
It's what you leave behind you when you go.
There are thr[C]ee wooden crosses on the r[Am]ight side of the hig[C]hway.