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I've seen the bright lights of Memphis |
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And the Commodore Hotel |
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Where underneath a street lamp I met a Southern belle |
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She took me to the river, where she cast her spell |
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And in that Southern moonlight, she sang a song so well |
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If you'll be my dixie chicken, I'll be your Tenessee lamb |
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And we can walk together down in dixieland |
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Down in dixieland |
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We made all the hot spots. My money flowed like wine |
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Then that low down Southern whiskey began to fog my mind |
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And I don't remember church bells or the money I put down |
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On the white picket fence and boardwalk or the house at the end of town |
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But boy do I remember the strain of her refrain |
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The nights we spent together, and the way she called my name |
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If you'll be my dixie chicken, I'll be your Tenessee lamb |
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And we can walk together down in dixieland |
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Down in dixieland |
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Well it's been a year since she ran away |
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Yes that guitar player sure could play |
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She always liked to sing along |
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He always handy with a song |
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Then one night in the lobby of the Commodore Hotel |
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I chanced to meet a bartender who said he knew her well |
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And as he handed me a drink he began to hum a song |
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And all the boys there, at the bar, began to sing along |
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If you'll be my dixie chicken, I'll be your Tenessee lamb |
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And we can walk together down in dixieland |
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Down in dixieland |
