Rain

drip-

ping

off

the

brim

of

my

hat

sure

is

cold

to-

day.

Here

I

am

walk-

ing

down

six-

ty

six.

Wish

she

had-

n't

done

me

that

way.

Sleep-

ing

un-

der

a

tab-

le

in

a

road

side

park,

a

man

could

wake

up

dead.

But

it

sure

seems

wa-

rm-

er

than

it

did,

sleep-

in

in

my

king-

size

bed.

Is

an-

y-

bod-

y

go-

in'

to

San

An-

tone,

or

Phoe-

nix

Ar-

i-

zon-

a?

An-

y

place

is

al-

right

as

long

as

I

can

for-

get

I

ev-

er

known

her.

Wind

whip-

pin'

down

the

neck

of

my

shirt

like

I

ain't

got

no-

thing

on.

But

I'd

rath-

er

fi-

ght

the

wind

and

rain,

than

what

I've

been

fight-

ing

at

home.

Yon-

der

comes

a

truck

with

the

U.

S.

mail,

peo-

ple

writ-

in'

let-

ters

back

home.

To-

mor-

row

she'll

prob-

a-

bly

want

me

back,

but

I'll

still

be

just

as

gone.

Is

an-

y-

bod-

y

go-

in'

to

San

An-

tone,

or

Phoe-

nix

Ar-

i-

zon-

a?

An-

y

place

is

al-

right

as

long

as

I

can

for-

get

I

ev-

er

known

her.

Is

an-

y-

bod-

y

go-

in'

to

San

An-

tone,

or

Phoe-

nix

Ar-

i-

zon-

a?

An-

y

place

is

al-

right

as

long

as

I

can

for-

get

I

ev-

er

known

her.

An-

y

place

is

al-

right

as

long

as

I

can

for-

get

I

ev-

er

known

her.