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The flies have quit their buzzing |
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Even Bear has stopped his barking |
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They all sense something brewing |
|
up the James and headed this way |
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Bobby sips his morning coffee |
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Says `Have you finished with the funnies |
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Looks like a storm's coming honey |
|
guess we'll have to stay in bed today' |
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I've heard that into every life |
|
a little of it must fall |
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If there's any truth to the saying, |
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Lord, let it be a southern rain |
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Marie was born in Macon, Georgia |
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She met a west coast lawyer |
|
He plucked that sweet magnolia |
|
and carried her to the hills of West L.A. |
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She says `I never thought I'd tire of a dollar |
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But this life has grown so hollow |
|
Every night there's lipstick on his collar |
|
and every morning I wash it away' |
|
She heard that into every life |
|
a little of it must fall |
|
So she spends her evenings praying |
|
for a little of that southern rain |
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Cars alive on city streets |
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of sparkling black water |
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like waves beneath my window |
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never break just roll away |
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Tonight, this rain will be my lullaby |
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these cars, my dreams |
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to carry me home to stay |
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The wipers beat a rhythm |
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Truck spray obscures my vision |
|
But I'm closing in on my destination |
|
Two more hours and I'll be at your door |
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And it will never cease to amaze me |
|
how a little rain can drive folks crazy |
|
When I'd trade all my blue skies gladly |
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for your blue eyes, crooked smile |
|
and a steady downpour |
|
I've heard that into every life |
|
a little of it must fall, |
|
but you'll never catch me complaining |
|
about too much of that southern rain |
