If you ever get the chance to go to Dallas
Take it from me, pass it by
Cause you'll only sing the blues down in Dallas
Take it from me, don't go and cry
And I'm leaving this town as soon as I can
Gonna stop off for a while and see my woman
People do you wrong down in Dallas
Door Number Three
Oh I took a wrong turn, it was the right turn
My turn to have me a ball
Boys at the shop told me just where to stop
If I wanted to play for it all
I didn't know I'd find her on daytime TV
My whole world lies waiting behind door number three
I chose my apparel, wore a beer barrel
And they rolled me to the very first row
I held a big sign that said "Kiss me I'm a baker,
Life Is Just A Tire Swing
I remember the smell of the creosote plant,
When we'd have to eat on Easter with my
Crazy old uncle and aunt.
They lived in a big house Ante Bellum style,
And the wind would blow across the old bayou,
And I was a tranquil little child.
Life was just a tire swing.
'Jambalaya' was the only song I could sing.
Blackberry pickin', eatin' fried chicken,
Makin' Music For Money
When I woke up this morning
I was tired as I could be
I think I was counting my money
When I should have been counting sheep
My agent he just called me
and told me what I should be
If I would make my music for money
Instead of making music for me
Lookin back at my background tryin' to
figure out how I ever got here.
Some things are stil a mystery to me
While others are much to clear.
I'm just livin' in the sunshine,
Stay contented most of the time.
Yeah, listenin to Murphy, Walker and Willis,
Sing me their Texas rhymes.
Now most of the people who retire in Florida
Presents To Send You
Well now I'm in love with a fast moving angel
Dresses like the city girls do
When we're apart there's no ache in my heart
When we're together we're a hell of a crew
And I got presents to send you
Even got money to lend you
But honey I could never ever pretend
your not there on my mind
Stories We Could Tell
Talkin' to myself again
wonderin' if this traveling is good
Is they're something else a doin'
We'd be doin' if we could
All the stories we could tell
If it all blows up and goes to hell
I wish that we could sit upon the bed in some hotel
And listen to the stories we could tell
Tin Cup Chalice
By: jimmy buffett
I wanna back to the island
Where the shrimp boats tie up to the pilin
Gimme oysters and beer
For dinner every day of the year and I'll feel fine
Ill feel fine
I wanna be there
Trying To Reason With Hurricane Season
Squalls out on the gulf stream,
Big storms coming soon.
I passed out in my hammock,
God, I slept way past noon.
Stood up and tried to focus,
I hoped I wouldn't have to look far.
I knew I could use a Bloody Mary,
So I stumbled next door to the bar.