I left my home in Norfolk,
Virginia,
California on my mind.
I straddled that Greyhound road and made a rally on across Carolina.
We stopped that Charlotte,
we bypassed Rocky,
we never was a minute late.
And we was not a mile south of Atlanta by sundown road,
not a Georgia state.
We had motor trouble and turned into
a struggle halfway across Alabama.
And the hum broke down and left us
all straddling downtown Birmingham.
Right away I pulled me fruit train
tick right across Mississippi clean.
And I was on that midnight flight right
around Birmingham smoking into New Orleans.
Somebody help me get out of Louisiana
just to help me get to Houston town.
There were people there who cared a little
about me and I won't let this poor boy down.
But sure as you're born they bought me
a suit suit and put luggage in my hand.
And I woke up high up on Albuquerque on that to the promise lane.
And on a cheap on steak I had a puddle
flying over to the Golden State.
And when the pilot told us in 13 minutes
they were set to dock the terminal gate.
Swing low,
chef,
and come down easy,
taxi to the terminal zone.
Cut your end,
you'll secure your wings,
and let me make it to the telephone.
Los Angeles,
give me Norfolk,
Virginia,
Tidewater 41009.
And telephone's back home,
this is the promise lane,
calling out a poor boy's own lane.