When I leave this town you will not see me cry An East Texas town with all the wells run dry Looking to the sky, waiting for a change No sign of rain
Send me a dozen long stem roses I tell you what I will do I'll bend them into a crown of thorns And send it right back to you Your love, love, love Don
I thought I knew what I was doing I was wrong Mistakes I've made and lived to tell I tell them in a song I knew a river wide and deep Her banks were
Memories of East Texas And those piney green, rolling hills Covered in the springtime With golden daffodils Rowing on Sandy lake come April Harvesting
Well, I'm admitting I was drifting When I came into your harbor But I feel my spirits lifting Like a wind just off the starboard bow Now, I know I swore
If love was a train I think I would ride a slow one One that would ride through the night making every stop If love was a train I would feel no pain And
Billy Barlow was a poor boy That's why he robbed the Union Grove Bank He was a sweet talking ladies man That's what he'd have ladies all to think Oh,
God is a real estate developer With offices around the nation They say one day he'll liquidate His holdings up on high I say it's all speculation He
He turned the rock, He turned the rock He turned the rock into living water He turned the rock, He turned the rock He turned the rock into a flowing fountain
What's to be done with a prodigal son? Welcome him home with open arms Throw a big party, invite your friends Our boy's come back home When a girl goes
Sleep comes creeping in At four in the morning Sneaking up the stairs Shoes in her hands Don't you know what time it is? Oh, I've been worried about
When you asked me "Michelle, do you love me?" I did not know what to say So I just laid down beside you And loved you in a silent way And when you asked
Shaking hands and fingers that do tremble Soldier's joy has been a bitter pill Though in battle a brave man I resemble Alone, I am a coward without will
It was that kind of misting rain It was that kind of night Nothing was wrong Oh, it just wasn't right It weren't the blues It weren't low rent It was
Saturday morning found me itching To get on over to my grandma's kitchen Where the sweetest little berries was cooking up right And then we'd put them
I keep a pile of pennies In the pocket of my pants I pay my toll to the sidewalk troll My entrance fee to street romance Oh, streetcorner ambassador
I seem to have lost my patience Waiting for the clouds of dust the custom cutters bring The foreman called to say, he would be here any day With his convoy
When I grow up I want to be an old woman When I grow up I want to be an old woman Oh, an old, an old, old woman Then I think I'm gonna find myself an