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

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 my room has got two windows but the sunshine never comes through, You know it's always dark and dreary since I broke off, baby, with I live on a lonely avenue, My little girl wouldn't say, "I do". Well, I feel so sad and blue and it's all because of

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

Why don't hook up the old Winnebago Baby, why don't we go Rolling down a two-lane Park it right, by the lake night Catch a little moonlight Open all the windows You and me in the middle of nowhere We'll build a fire As soon as we get there

I'll be with you from dusk till dawn Baby, I'm right here Go, give love to your body But you'll never be alone I'll hold you when things go wrong It's only you that can stop it Can you feel it through All of the windows Inside this room

This is a place that I call my home Where the doors are moaning all day long, Where the stairs are leaning dusk 'till dawn, Where the windows are breathing in the light, Where the rooms are a collection of our lives, This is a place where I don't feel

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

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