life is just a tire swing

i remember the smell of the creosote plant

when we'd have to eat on easter with my

crazy old uncle and aunt. they lived in a big house ante bellum style

and the wind would blow across the old bayou

and i was a tranquil little child. life was just a tire swing. 'jambalaya' was the only song i could sing. blackberry pickin'

eatin' fried chicken

and i never knew a thing about pain. life was just a tire swing. in a few summers my folks packed me off to camp;

yeah

me and my cousin' baxter

in our pup tent with a lamp. and in a few days baxter went home

and he left me by myself. and i knew that i'd stay

it was better that way

and i could get along without any help. life was just a tire swing. and i've never been west of new orleans

nor east of pensacola. my only contact with the outside

world was a n r.c.a. victrola. elvis would sing and then i'd dream about

expensive cars

and who would've figured twenty

years later i'd be rubbing shoulders with the stars. life was just a tire swing. 'jambalaya' was the only song i could sing. chasin' after sparrows with rubber tip arrows

knowin' i could never hurt a thing

and life was just a tire swing. then the other morning on some illinois road

i fell asleep at the wheel

but was quickly wakened up by a 'ma bell'

telephone pole

and a bunch of grant wood

faces screaming

'is he still alive?'

but through the window could see

it hangin' from a tree

and i knew

i had survived. life was just a tire swing. jambalaya's still the best song that i can sing. blackberry pickin'

eatin' fried chicken

and i finally learned a lot about pain

'cause life is just a tire swing.