About "Southern Rock Opera" album:
This page contains lyrics from the album
"Southern Rock Opera" by Drive-By Truckers, which was released in 2001 and consists of 11 songs.
Angels And Fuselage
Looking out the window, the trees are getting closer it seems.
Thinking bout you Darling.
Adding up the cost of these dreams.
Strapped to this projectile, just a blink ago I was back in school.
Smoking by the gym door, practicing my rock-star attitude
And I'm scared shitless of what's coming next.
I'm scared shitless, these angels I see in the trees are waiting for me.
Economics shut the furnace down
Bull Connor hosing children down
George Wallace stared them Yankee's down
Take a left on the interstate
In the middle of this sultry state
I can't wait to see your face
Greenville To Baton Rouge
One more night, one more show, four down, eighty-four to go
This ain't no time for moving slow
Greenville to Baton Rouge
I'll call you up when I get through
The life I live is the life I choose
Greenville to Baton Rouge
The shows have sure been great this year
All eight cylinders all twelve gears
Let There Be Rock
Dropped acid, Blue Oyster Cult concert, fourteen years old,
And I thought them lasers were a spider chasing me.
On my way home, got pulled over in Rogersville Alabama, with a half-ounce of weed and a case of Sterling Big Mouth.
My buddy Gene was driving, he just barely turned sixteen.
And I'd like to say, "I'm sorry", but we lived to tell about it
And we lived to do a whole lot more crazy, stupid, shit.
And I never saw Lynyrd Skynyrd but I sure saw Molly Hatchet
With 38 Special and the Johnny Van Zant Band.
Life In The Factory
Let me tell ya'll a story
So far fetched it must be true
Bout a bunch of fatherless boys from Florida and a boy who was man enough for two.
Practiced twelve hours a day in the Hell House
In the swamps out side of town.
100 degrees without no open windows
Heat radiating off the tin.
They named their band Lynyrd Skynyrd, after the coach who kicked them out of school.
Practiced seven days a week 'cause Rock's the only thing to save them from life in the factory.
I live down in Alabama where the river so muddy got to watch where you step.
Figurin' out things by the Railroad Bridge and a cousin or two want to give me just a little help.
Damn sure not much to do down here 'cept to cook it down and run it in your veins.
That's where the trouble started.
I fucked a lot of friends.
I fucked a lot of friends got a black line drawn right across my name.
Before the soul dies.
Before the sun burns out.
Plastic Flowers On The Highway
He was ready for the big trip, he was moving to the city; he had packed his prize possessions and gave away the rest. He was almost doing ninety, the sky was blue, sun was shining. All the shit, he left behind for the big world waiting there. He was almost out of Leighton, when that phone truck didn't see him. Hit the brake and slided sideways, he never had a chance.
Plastic flowers on the highway. Bits of glass for the machine to sweep away.
Had to pass it on my way to where I'z going. For the next few minutes, I drove a little slower.
Them, M.A.D.D. mothers couldn't help him. He was sober, it was Sunday. He was full of good home cooking when he crashed the savior's door.
Plastic flowers on the highway. A greasy spot on the asphalt for a while.
Every morning, new babies being born, who'll do the best they can to hang around a little while.
Got them pretty road cases
Protect our asses, protect our faces, protect our guitars, protect our amps.
Got them pretty road cases throw them out an airplane and they'll just bounce
Paint our name on them road cases, stencil and white spray paint
"Drive-by Truckers" on every one or maybe just "DBT"
Gonna get ourselves a big tour bus, maybe even an airplane
Fly around the world and back.
Hope it don't run out of gas.
Shut Up And Get On The Plane
Well your wishes and your feelings
Your bad dreams and intuitions
Are about as much good to me right now as a brand new set of golf clubs
We've been this close to death before, we were just too drunk to know it
Guess the price of being sobers being scared out of your mind
When it comes your time to go, ain't no good way to go about it
Ain't no use in thinking bout it
You'll just drive yourself insane
Women Without Whiskey
If I make it through this year, I think I'm gonna put this bottle down
Maybe as time goes on I'll learn to miss it less than I do now
Think I'm gonna tell her that I'm gonna go away for a while
Till I can get this demon out
You know the bottle ain't to blame and I ain't trying to
It don't make you do a thing it just lets you
When I'm six feet underground, I'll need a drink or two
And I'll sure miss you
Your Daddy was mad as hell
He was mad at me and you
As he tied that chain to the front of my car and pulled me out of that ditch that we slid into
Don't know what his problem is
Why he keeps dragging you away
Don't know why I put up with this shit
When you don't put out and Zip City's so far away
Your Daddy is a deacon down at the Salem Church of Christ
And He makes good money as long as Reynolds Wrap keeps everything wrapped up tight
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