Jimmy buffett
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 rca 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.