| Johnny was a slow mover
|
| Took him time to come around
|
| But when he did he was hot on the trail
|
| Of the thing that moved him so
|
| He made all his money
|
| In Nashville, Tennessee
|
| Where he’d hang his hat till the day he died
|
| Cause he loves the life he leads
|
| He’s on the move
|
| Lie-da-die…
|
| He’s on the move
|
| Lie-da-die…
|
| And he kept close his information
|
| And he seldom paid it company
|
| Though his nine to five only magnified
|
| All his careful tendencies
|
| And it’s true he knew a lot of women
|
| And he called them up from time to time
|
| But the picture frame at the foot of his bed
|
| Never saw his guard unwind
|
| Now one day he met a lady
|
| On West End Avenue
|
| She asked his name with a smile and a gaze
|
| That broke him into two
|
| She asked him if he was hungry
|
| And he tried to keep his cool
|
| Though he took his time with his food and wine
|
| He was feeling something new
|
| They made love till the morning
|
| When she said she had to leave
|
| She hopped on a plane to Santa Fe
|
| And he questioned his philosophy
|
| Now Johnny was a slow mover
|
| But when he did come around
|
| He left behind his careful mind
|
| For the girl who moved him so
|
| Lie-da-die…
|
| Lie-da-die…
|
| Whoa, oh lie-da-die…
|
| Whoa, whoa, whoa Whoa, oh lie-da-die…
|
| Whoa, whoa, whoa |