He met a pretty girl one rainy Sunday
in Slapout town 'way down in Alabam;
he knew he had to leave that Southern crossroad
before he made that girl his honey lamb.
Her rosy lips were surely made for kissing;
her eyes shone like the stars up in the sky,
and it took all the courage he could muster
to pack his gear and tell that girl goodbye.

He drifted long in Tennessee and Georgia,
he had a fling in Dayton, Ohio;
he left her far behind and hitched to Vegas
to see the shows and gamble all his dough.
He punched some cows in the lone star state of Texas;
he had a ball 'way down in Mexico
while kissing many dark-eyed senoritas,
then left them sad and went to El Paso.

He stopped awhile in sunny California,
he got in jail in Boise, Idaho;
he dreamed of twinkling eyes and rain a-falling
in a Southern town he left so long ago.
He hopped a ship and sailed the great Atlantic;
he thought for sure that girl he could erase
when drinking German beer with frisky frauleins,
still searching for her smile on every face.

I guess he must have known in all his ramblings
that someday he'd give up his endless flight
and journey back to Slapout, Alabama,
to memories of a Slapout Sunday night.
He'll settle down now with that Southern beauty
with lips as soft as morning dew,
and on rainy nights in Slapout, Alabama,
I know they're gonna have a kid or two.

Copyright 1978 Ruth Gillis

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