|
She might be wearing |
|
A green Chamise |
|
And a hat that she bought |
|
'Cause it matches her jeans |
|
And the water she drinks |
|
Oh it comes from the stream |
|
She might win |
|
It that hospital lottery |
|
And I might be stumbling |
|
And cursing them all |
|
When she picks me up |
|
From the place that we both call |
|
Disaster relief |
|
For the rent must be paid |
|
By the first of the month |
|
Or in my case fifteenth |
|
This is good |
|
As far as I can tell |
|
It's still heavy as hell |
|
When it's good |
|
And I do like the road |
|
But I'd be better at home |
|
I will pine for the oak streets |
|
And pine for the cedars and you |
|
Been around I suppose |
|
I have chatted and chewed |
|
I have loved my guitar |
|
To the nice cafe blues |
|
And when I come home |
|
I am coming home |
|
To this street |
|
And these avenues |
|
This is good |
|
But as far as I can tell |
|
It's still heavy as hell |
|
When it's good |
|
And I do like the road |
|
But I'd be better at home |
|
I will pine for the oak streets |
|
Pine for the cedars and you |
