Three, four, one. In the early morning rain, with a dollar in my hand, I'm aching in my heart, and my pocket's full of sand. I'm a long ways from home, and I miss my loved one so. In the early morning rain, with no place to go, Hot on runway number nine, big 707 set to go. From out here on the grass, where the pavement never grows, Where the liquor tasted good, and the women all were fat. There she goes, my friend, she's rollin' out at last. Hear the mighty engines roll, see the silver wing on high. She's way northward bound, far above the clouds she'll fly. Where the morning rain don't fall, and the sun always shines, She'll be flyin' home, my home, in about three hours time. This old airport's got me down, it's no earthly good to me. Cause I'm stuck here on the ground, cold and drunk as I might be. Can't even jump a jet plane, like you can't a freight train. So I best be on my way, in the early morning rain. So I best be on my way, in the early morning rain. So I best be on my way, in the early morning rain.