| There’s a porch swing in Tupelo
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| In the shade of the south
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| Where the sweet honey drips off that old hush-yo'-mouth
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| It’s a slow road on down
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| That old Natchez Trace
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| Through Alabama cotton fields to a state of grace
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| It’s a crisp golden Autumn
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| On the Tennessee line
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| Rolling down to Mississippi like you headed back in time
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| Town’s closed on Sunday
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| Everybody’s in church
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| It’s empty as the moon this place here on earth
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| And this place don’t change
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| Some places move slow
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| I’m just rocking myself on this porch swing in Tupelo
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| I got nothing to do 'cept hang in the breeze
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| Ghosts of the old south are all around me Yea swing high, yea swing low
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| Here on this porch swing in Tupelo
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| His mama must have loved him
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| That truck drivin’boy
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| With the grease monkey look and the rock 'n roll voice
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| Well I was just thinkin''bout him
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| 'Cause I guess he sat here
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| Singing all praise to God through poverty’s tears
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| And this place don’t change
|
| Some places move slow
|
| I’m just rocking myself on this porch swing in Tupelo
|
| I got nothing to do 'cept hang in the breeze
|
| Ghosts of the old south are all around me Yea swing high, yea swing low
|
| Here on this porch swing in Tupelo
|
| And this place don’t change
|
| Some places move slow
|
| I’m just rocking’myself on this porch swing in Tupelo
|
| I got nothing to do 'cept hang in the breeze
|
| Ghosts of the old south are all around me Yea swing high, yea swing low
|
| Here on this porch swing in Tupelo
|
| And this place don’t change
|
| Some places move slow
|
| I’m just rocking’myself on this porch swing in Tupelo
|
| I got nothing to do but hang in the breeze
|
| The ghosts of the old south all around me Yea swing high, yea swing low
|
| On this porch swing in Tupelo
|
| Here on this porch swing in Tupelo
|
| Here on this porch swing in Tupelo |