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Lyrics » Letter : J » Artist : Johnnie Allan » The Promised Land Lyrics

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The Promised Land by Johnnie Allanالقصائد الغناءيه -текстове на песни -texty -paroles -στίχοι -गीतletras -songteksten -тексты песен -versuri -tekst utworu -testi -the text of the song - - نص الاغنيةтекста на песента -tekst pjesme -text písně -teksten til sangen -teksti, laulu -le texte de la chanson -το κείμενο του τραγουδιού -पाठ के गीतEl texto de la canción -de tekst van het lied -der Text des Liedes -teksten til sangen -o texto da canção -Текст песни -textul de la piesa -Texten till låten -il testo della canzone

The Promised Land by Johnnie Allan

     

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I left my home in Norfolk Virginia
California on my mind
I straddled that Greyhound
And rode into Raleigh
And on across Caroline

We had motor trouble that turn into a struggle
Halfway across Alabam'
And that hound broke down and left us all stranded
In downtown Birmingham

Right away I brought me a through train ticket
Ridin' across Mississippi clean
And I was on that midnight flyer out of Birmingham
Smoking into New Orleans

Somebody help me get out of Louisiana
Just to help me get to Houston Town
There are people there who care a little about me
And they won't let the poor boy down

Sure as you're born brought me a silk suit
Put luggage in my hand
And I woke up high over Alburquerque
On a jet to the promised land

Working on a T-bone steak a la carte
Flying over to the golden state
Ah when the pilot told us in thirteen minutes
He would set us at the terminal gate

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

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

Working on a T-bone steak a la carte
Flying over to the golden state
Ah when the pilot told us in thirteen minutes
He would set us at the terminal gate

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

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

Writer : CHUCK BERRY
Copyright : Lyrics © REGENT MUSIC CORPORATION

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