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

Well, I'm going to fetch my woman, people When the kid hits Alabama, people Don't you try to dog him 'round Well, I was born in Mississippi And I don't take any stuff from you I've got my pistols in my pockets boys I'm Alabama bound I've got my pistols

Oh, don't ask why I tell you we must die Oh, moon of Alabama We now must say goodbye We've lost our good old mama Well, show me the way To the next whisky bar Show me the way For if we don't find

It'll bring a bam bam But if you trouble this man it will bring a bam bam What a bam bam What a bam bam, bam bam Bam Bam, what a bam bam It will bring a bam bam Fight for the right, not the wrong Singin' this and singin' that

'Do it slow' I don't know Alabama's gotten me so upset Tennessee made me lose my rest And everybody knows about Mississippi goddam But that's just the trouble The name of this tune is Mississippi goddam And I mean every word of it Can't you see it

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

Hold your hand in the car Write a love song that makes you cry Then turn right around knock some jerk to the ground 'Cause he copped a feel as you walked by When you see a deer you see Bambi And I see antlers up on the wall When you see a lake you think

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

Sweet home Alabama Where the skies are so blue Lord, I'm coming home to you Big wheels keep on turning Carry me home to see my kin Singing songs about the south-land I miss 'ole' 'bamy once again And I think it's a sin Well I heard Mister Young sing

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