Your native language

عربي

Arabic

عربي

简体中文

Chinese

简体中文

Nederlands

Dutch

Nederlands

Français

French

Français

Deutsch

German

Deutsch

Italiano

Italian

Italiano

日本語

Japanese

日本語

한국인

Korean

한국인

Polski

Polish

Polski

Português

Portuguese

Português

Română

Romanian

Română

Русский

Russian

Русский

Español

Spanish

Español

Türk

Turkish

Türk

Українська

Ukrainian

Українська
User Avatar

Sound


Interface


Difficulty level


Accent



interface language

en

Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Cookie policy   |   Support   |   FAQ
1
register / login
Lyrkit

donate

5$

Lyrkit

donate

10$

Lyrkit

donate

20$

Lyrkit

And/Or support me in social. networks:


Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Grateful Dead

Promised Land

 

Promised Land

(album: Steal Your Face - 1976)


I left my home in Norfolk Virginia, California on my mind.
Straddled that Greyhound, it rode me past Raleigh, and on across Caroline.

Stopped in Charlotte and bypassed Rock Hill, and we never was a minute late.
We was ninety miles out of Atlanta by sundown, rolling 'cross the Georgia state.

Had motor trouble it turned into a struggle, half way 'cross Alabam,
the 'hound broke down left us all stranded in downtown Birmingham.

Straight off bought me a through train ticket, right across Mississippi clean
And I was on the midnight flyer out of Birmingham
Smoking into New Orleans.

Somebody help me get out of Louisiana
Just help me get to Houston town.
People are there who care a little 'bout me
And they won't let the poor boy down.

Sure as she bore me, she bought me a silk suit, put luggage in my hands,
And I woke up high over Albuquerque
On a jet to the promised land.

Working on a T-bone steak a la carte,
Flying over to the Golden State;
When the pilot told us in thirteen minutes
We'd be heading in the terminal gate.

Swing low sweet chariot, come down easy
Taxi to the terminal zone;
Cut your engines, cool your wings,
And let me make it to the telephone.

Los Angeles give me Norfolk Virginia,
Tidewater four ten on nine
Tell the folks back home this is the promised land calling
And the poor boy's on the line.

done

Did you add all the unfamiliar words from this song?