When it's sunny in Seattle and it's snowing down in New Orleans And them boys from Amarillo stop wearin' those boots and jeans When Memphis ain't got the blues That's when I'll stop lovin' you Baby, I don't mind you askin' If there's gonna come a day

Where do we stand? What am I supposed to do? Reach out your hand In a world I thought I knew I need the clearest indication The clearest indication from you Give me the clearest indication I'm not alone with you You left in the morning You left without a

Everything lined up for the taking Make it, make it, make it, boy, we gotta make it You can save your hand, I ain't gotta shake it And what I need from 'em? No favors And what I need from 'em? No favors, no favors What I need? No favors Clique too big,

Rise from the seats to sing hallelujah And my father told me, son It's not his fault he doesn't know your face And you're not the only one Although my grandma used to say, he used to say Darling hold me in your arms the way you did last night And we'll

Sweet hour of prayer Sweet hour of prayer That calls me from a world of care And bids me at my Father's throne Make all my wants and wishes known In seasons of distress and grief My soul has often found relief And oft escaped the tempter's snare By Thy

The summer wind The summer wind came blowin' in from across the sea It lingered there, to touch your hair and walk with me All summer long we sang a song and then we strolled that golden sand Two sweethearts and the summer wind Like painted kites, those

Murderer Used to think the quick now thoughts travel the slowest I remember so they want to murder RA 'Cause I got knowledge of self Unoheal, Unoheal (Rock a bet) Who want low boats of keys from overseas Then put it in the streets and spread like a

Yeah, rum is the reason pirates never ruled the world I ain't getting much done But I'm having fun sailing on the deep blue sea My whole body goes numb from a bottle of dark rum and the sun sinking down on me My catch of the day is a tall Cuba libra

Well woman the way the time cold I wanna be keepin' you warm I got the right temperature for shelter you from the storm Oh Lord, gyal I got the right tactics to turn you on And girl I, wanna be the papa you can be the mom oh oh Make I see the gyal dem

Where I'm from they push a hundred keys and it sound like Tryna make a living Come to my hood Everybody get it And for that paper all the wrong things sound right Young niggas gettin' money, young niggas gettin' money Just a bittersweet symphony I'm from