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Promised Land
- wykonawca: Grateful Dead
- album: Steal Your Face
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, rollin' '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.
Workin' 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 headin' 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 callin'
And the poor boy's on the line.
- album: Steal Your Face
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, rollin' '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.
Workin' 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 headin' 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 callin'
And the poor boy's on the line.