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I've seen the bright lights of Memphis |
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And the Commodore Hotel |
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And underneath a street lamp, I met a southern belle |
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Oh she took me to the river, where she cast her spell |
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And in that southern moonlight, she sang this song so well |
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If you'll be my Dixie chicken I'll be your Tennessee lamb |
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And we can walk together down in Dixieland |
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Down in Dixieland |
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We made all the hotspots, my money flowed like wine |
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Then the low-down southern whiskey, yea, began to fog my mind |
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And I don't remember church bells, or the money i put down |
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On the white picket fence and boardwalk |
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On the house at the end of town |
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Oh but boy do i remember the strain of her refrain |
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And the nights we spent together |
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And the way she called my name |
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If you'll be my Dixie chicken I'll be your Tennessee lamb |
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And we can walk together down in Dixieland |
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Down in Dixieland |
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Many years since she ran away |
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Yes that guitar player sure could play |
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She always liked to sing along |
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She always handy with a song |
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But then one night at the lobby of the Commodore Hotel |
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I chanced to meet a bartender who said he knew her well |
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And as he handed me a drink he began to hum a song |
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And all the boys there, at the bar, began to sing along |
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If you'll be my Dixie chicken I'll be your Tennessee lamb |
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And we can walk together down in Dixieland |
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Down in Dixieland, Down in Dixieland |
