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John Prine – When I Get to Heaven

John Prine - A Good Time Lyrics | Lyrics.com

About the Song

If there’s one song that beautifully captures the wit, wisdom, and warmhearted mischief of John Prine, it’s “When I Get to Heaven.” Released in 2018 on his final studio album, The Tree of Forgiveness, this song became a fitting farewell from a man who spent nearly five decades writing about life’s messiness with equal parts humor and heart. It’s not just a song—it’s a celebration of everything Prine stood for: love, laughter, family, and the belief that music could make even the hardest truths feel gentle.

“When I Get to Heaven” is Prine at his most playful, imagining the afterlife not as a solemn destination, but as a rollicking, joyful reunion. He opens the track by declaring he’ll “open up a nightclub called The Tree of Forgiveness,” where he’ll sip vodka and ginger ale and smoke a cigarette “nine miles long.” The imagery is vivid, absurd, and delightful—and yet, underneath the whimsy lies something deeply moving. Prine isn’t denying death; he’s dancing with it. His voice—raspy from surviving cancer but stronger in soul than ever—welcomes us into this imagined heaven where grief is replaced with glee, and regret is outshined by resilience.

The song’s spoken-word intro, complete with handclaps and background vocals from his family, gives it a down-home, front-porch feel. It’s like hearing a grandfather spin one last tall tale, winking all the while. But make no mistake—John Prine is doing more than joking around. When he sings about forgiving those who did him wrong and kissing the lips of a girl named Claudette, he’s sharing his final thoughts on what really matters: kindness, joy, forgiveness, and love.

What makes this song so touching for older listeners is how fearlessly it faces the end. Instead of tears or silence, “When I Get to Heaven” gives us laughter, music, and celebration. It reminds us that legacy isn’t built on grand gestures, but on small moments of humor, generosity, and humanity.

This track became all the more poignant after Prine’s death in 2020 due to COVID-19. In many ways, it now plays like a message he left behind—his voice echoing with life, love, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, heaven has a good jukebox.When John Prine Gets to Heaven – Garden & Gun

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Lyrics: When I Get to Heaven

When I get to heaven, I’m gonna shake God’s hand
Thank him for more blessings than one man can stand
Then I’m gonna get a guitar and start a rock-n-roll band
Check into a swell hotel, ain’t the afterlife grand?

And then I’m gonna get a cocktail: vodka and ginger ale
Yeah, I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long
I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl on the tilt-a-whirl
‘Cause this old man is goin’ to town

Then as God as my witness, I’m gettin’ back into show business
I’m gonna open up a nightclub called “The Tree of Forgiveness”
And forgive everybody ever done me any harm
Well, I might even invite a few choice critics, those syph’litic parasitics
Buy ’em a pint of Smithwick’s and smother ’em with my charm

‘Cause then I’m gonna get a cocktail: vodka and ginger ale
Yeah I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long
I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl on the tilt-a-whirl
Yeah this old man is goin’ to town

Yeah when I get to heaven, I’m gonna take that wristwatch off my arm
What are you gonna do with time after you’ve bought the farm?
And then I’m gonna go find my mom and dad, and good old brother Doug
Well I bet him and cousin Jackie are still cuttin’ up a rug
I wanna see all my mama’s sisters, ’cause that’s where all the love starts
I miss ’em all like crazy, bless their little hearts
And I always will remember these words my daddy said
He said, “Buddy, when you’re dead, you’re a dead pecker-head”
I hope to prove him wrong… that is, when I get to heaven

‘Cause I’m gonna have a cocktail: vodka and ginger ale
Yeah I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long
I’m gonna kiss that pretty girl on the tilt-a-whirl
Yeah this old man is goin’ to town
Yeah this old man is goin’ to town

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In the 1970s, one quiet regret followed Elvis Presley wherever he went. The world knew his voice, but he never truly saw the world. Offers came from Europe, from Asia, from places where fans had waited for years to hear him live. The numbers were extraordinary, millions of dollars, sold out arenas before tickets even existed. Yet every time the idea rose, it faded again. The answer was always the same. Not now. Not possible.

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August 16, 1977 did not come with chaos or warning. It arrived quietly, and when Elvis Presley was gone at Graceland, the world felt a silence that was hard to explain. Life continued on the surface, radios played, people moved through their days, but something had shifted underneath it all. It felt as if a familiar presence had slipped away without saying goodbye.

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On the morning of August 16, 1977, the world seemed to pause when Elvis Presley was gone. The news moved quickly, but understanding it did not. Radios fell quiet between songs, television voices lost their certainty, and millions sat with a feeling they could not quite name. For so long, Elvis had felt untouchable, larger than life. In that moment, he felt suddenly, painfully human.

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THE SONG THAT WASN’T A LYRIC—IT WAS A FINAL STAND AGAINST THE FERRYMAN. In 2017, Toby Keith asked Clint Eastwood a simple question on a golf course: “How do you keep doing it?” Clint, then 88 and still unbreakable, gave him a five-word answer that would eventually haunt Toby’s final days: “I don’t let the old man in.” Toby went home and turned that line into a masterpiece. When he recorded the demo, he had a rough cold. His voice was thin, weathered, and scraped at the edges. Clint heard it and said: “Don’t you dare fix it. That’s the sound of the truth.” Back then, the song was just about getting older. But in 2021, the world collapsed when Toby was diagnosed with stomach cancer. Suddenly, “Don’t Let the Old Man In” wasn’t just a song for a movie—it was a mirror. It was no longer about a conversation on a golf course; it was about a 6-foot-4 giant staring at his own disappearing frame and refusing to flinch. When Toby stood on that stage for his final shows in Las Vegas, he wasn’t just singing. He was holding the line. He sang that song with every ounce of breath he had left, looking death in the eye and telling it: “Not today.” Toby Keith died on February 5, 2024. But he didn’t let the “old man” win. He used Clint’s words to build a fortress around his soul, proving that while the body might fail, the spirit only bows when it’s damn well ready. Clint Eastwood gave him the line. Toby Keith gave it his life. And in the end, the song became the man.