Maybe we'll make Texas by the morning Light the bayou with our taillights in the night Eight hundread miles to El Paso from the state line And we never have the money for the flight
I'm in the back seat sleepy from the travel Played our hearts out all night long in New Orleans I'm dirty from the diesel fumes, drinking coffee black When the first breath of Texas comes in clean
And there's something bout the Southland in the springtime Where the waters flow with confidence and reason Though I miss her when I'm gone it won't ever be too long 'Til I'm home again to spend my favorite season
When God made me born a Yankee He was teasin' There's no place like home and none more pleasin' Than the Southland in the springtime
In Georgia nights are softer than a whisper Beneath a quilt somebody's mother made by hand With the farmland like a tapestry passed down through generations And the peach trees stitched across the land
There'll be cider up near Helen off the roadside And boiled peanuts in a bag to warm your fingers And the smoke from the chimney meets its maker in the sky With a song that winter wrote whose melody lingers.