I remember the smell of the creosote plant,
When we'd have to eat on Easter with my
Crazy old uncle and aunt.
They lived in a big house Ante Bellum style,
And the wind would blow across the old bayou,
And I was a tranquil little child.

Life was just a tire swing.
'Jambalaya' was the only song I could sing.
Blackberry pickin', eatin' fried chicken,
And I never knew a thing about pain.
Life was just a tire swing.

In a few summers my folks packed me off to camp