Sunday I am young and wild, Monday I go lame. Tuesday I start twitching, Wednesday I'm insane. Thursday I lay dying,
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Friday I'm quite dead. Saturday I get carried away by things better left unsaid. But heaven ain't no place, brother, and
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love ain't no word sister. And prison ain't no building made of iron bars and stone. You can seek the rhyme and reason,
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but in the realm of the unknown you won't catch no true reflections in that "Alabama Chrome." For there's mountains you
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will scale with ease, yet molehills where you stumble. Sins you so regret and yet other sins that you enjoy. Harps can beg
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forgiveness, and the guitars can scream pain, but the contradictions are larger than any language can explain. For in the
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secret territory where the preachers come to steal the jewel of your heart, for they have no treasure of their own, there
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lies a sacred window, in your hand the perfect stone. You'd throw it, but you arms are bound 'round with that "Alabama
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Chrome." The heat it is withering, humidity smothering. Strip of silver tape, a sly lie covering dent in the side of the
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redneck ride. Going deep for the Crimson Tide. Yeah! Gonna bump to the thump of the Selma slammer. Wanna jump up and down
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like a wack jackhammer. Sing a little 'Sweet Home Alabama' - Jimmy gimme wink like a big flimflammer. Bone tired and so
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weary of treating truth as a lie, I been hunkered down in the bunker of some fools alibi. Squint harder you will see the
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slim tether of the saints. It's whipping wild in the hurricane of all that is and all that ain't. 'Cause there's angels in
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the shed mother and spiders in the bed brother and ghosts inside my head father, no I am not alone. My mind is teeth
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without a mouth, my thoughts are marrow without bone. My eyes are blinded by a thousand layers of that god damn "Alabama
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Chrome."
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Alabama Chrome
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Jim White |