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Wide awake in San Diego |
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Smallest root shrinking dry |
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The fish are swimming closer inside Lake Morena |
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Still get no rain from the sky |
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Men were firing cannons |
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Hoping smoke might tear an angel's eyes |
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Heard the stories of shooting arrows |
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Tearin' open the clouds |
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But indians shoot the best, and |
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The indians they don't like us, much |
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Hatfield |
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You made rain for L.A. |
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We've got ten grand |
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For you to go cook us some rain |
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Science from the cooking pot mixing up with the air |
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Feeling thunder |
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Nights since they have started |
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Now the clouds won't stay apart |
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A little California voodoo |
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Care of Hatfield and his brother |
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Now the horses won't race where the down's turned to mud |
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Streams and rivers are growing |
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And my boots are filling up |
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Water's from back this way |
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Look at them smiling, cooking and smiling |
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Hatfield |
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Made rain for L.A. |
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Well, "Hot damn", |
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People swear with one walk in this rain |
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Families on porches |
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The children are smiling |
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The owners are mad, owners are crying |
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Still the eyes of the children, wide open |
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Wide, wide |
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Well, the blue light is rolling in between the clouds |
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Feeling of wonder |
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Some water drying up, some sinking down |
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"Charles always kept in touch", swears his mother |
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"Always had the touch" |
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Made rain for L.A. |
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Made rain for L.A. |
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Hatfield |
