Well, I ride on a mail train, baby, can't buy a thrill Well, I been up all night leanin' on the windowsill Well, if I die on top of the hill And if I don't make it, you know my baby will Don't the moon look good, mama, shinin' through the trees Don't the

Now we're listenin' to old Alabama A little dixieland delight and it feels so right Oh, play me some old Alabama She'd rather wear a pair of cut-off jeans Than a fancy evening dress And with her windows rolled down And her hair all blown around She's a

Do we really know the way the wind blows? (Wind blows) Off in my head, lost off in my head Off in the red, dance, dance with the dead Are we really safe around our shadows? (Shadows) Through our windows Ooh, aw man, I can't believe this is happening (Ah

All your treasures When I walk down your street Through your barred windows you look at me And you wonder, have I come to ask For one of your precious things that do not last You think you know me but you don't know That there's more to this picture than

Now we're listenin' to old Alabama A little dixieland delight and it feels so right Oh, play me some old Alabama She'd rather wear a pair of cut-off jeans Than a fancy evening dress And with her windows rolled down And her hair all blown around She's a

Now we're listenin' to old Alabama A little dixieland delight and it feels so right Oh, play me some old Alabama She'd rather wear a pair of cut-off jeans Than a fancy evening dress And with her windows rolled down And her hair all blown around She's a

I have, I hold the key, to nothing, it's a small Murder, murders in the hands, of motion, as It seems to be No more doors No more locks No more windows No more box

Now we're listenin' to old Alabama A little dixieland delight and it feels so right Oh, play me some old Alabama She'd rather wear a pair of cut-off jeans Than a fancy evening dress And with her windows rolled down And her hair all blown around She's a

Yeah, I know it's a good life But I gotta keep moving Fall asleep in a comfort of nest The room is yellow and the windows are deadest white I smell the ghost of your dinner And the space heat is going like a miniature gate to hell I hear the dogs as I

We went to the beach And we went to the beach Every year, the middle of June We crammed into that Astro van Tighter than a can of sardines We fought in the back And dad got mad And mama rolled the windows down "Y'all smell the salt of the beach?"