I

left

my

home

in

Nor-

folk,

Vir-

gi-

nia,

Cal-

i-

for-

nia

on

my

mind.

I

strad-

dled

that

Grey-

hound

and

rode

him

in-

to

Ra-

leigh

and

on

a-

cross

Car-

o-

line.

We

stopped

in

Char-

lotte,

but

by-

passed

Rock

Hill,

we

ne-

ver

was

a

mi-

nute

late.

A,

we

was

nine-

ty

miles

out

of

At-

lan-

ta

by

sun-

down,

rol-

lin'

out

of

Geor-

gia

State.

We

had

more

trou-

ble

that

turned

in-

to

a

strug-

gle

half

way

a-

cross

Al-

a-

bam',

and

that

'Hound

broke

down

and

left

us

all

stran-

ded

in

down-

town

Bir-

ming-

ham.

Right

a-

way

I

bought

me

a

through

train

tic-

ket,

ri-

din'

'cross

Mis-

sis-

sip-

pi

clean.

And

I

was

on

that

Mid-

night

Fly-

er

out

of

Bir-

ming-

ham

smo-

kin'

in-

to

New

Or-

leans.

Some-

bo-

dy

help

me

get

out

of

Lou-

'si-

an-

a,

just

help

me

get

to

Hous-

ton

town.

There

are

a

peo-

ple

there

who

care

a

lit-

tle

'bout

me

and

they

won't

let

the

poor

boy

down.

Sure

as

you're

born,

they

bought

me

a

silk

suit,

and

put

lug-

gage

in

my

hand.

And

I

woke

up

high

o-

ver

Al-

bu-

quer-

que

on

a

jet

to

the

Pro-

mised

Land.

A

wor-

kin'

on

a

T-

bone

steak

a

la

car-

te,

fly-

in'

o-

ver

to

the

Gol-

den

State,

a

when

the

pi-

lot

told

us

in

thir-

teen

mi-

nutes

he

would

set

us

at

the

ter-

mi-

nal

gate.

Swing

low,

cha-

ri-

ot,

come

down

ea-

sy,

tax-

i

to

the

ter-

mi-

nal

zone.

Cut

your

en-

gines

and

cool

your

wings

and

let

me

make

it

to

the

tel-

e-

phone.

Los

An-

ge-

les,

give

me

Nor-

folk,

Vir-

gi-

nia

Tide-

wa-

ter

four-

teen

o

nine.

Tell

the

folks

back

home

this

is

the

Pro-

mised

Land

cal-

lin'

and

the

poor

boy's

on

the

line.