That Girl from Brownsville Texas

Jim WhiteJim White 

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Jim White

Michael Davis Pratt (born March 10, 1957) known professionally as Jim White, is a Southern American singer-songwriter and guitarist. White's music can be loosely described as alternative country, but veers off in different, sometimes experimental directions with occasional nods[citation needed] to Tom Waits and the literary narratives of Flannery O'Connor, Cormac McCarthy, and Harry Crews. more »

Year:

2004

6:22

85 Views

Playlists:

#1

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I say, God, if You ain't smiling on me, then you ain't no friend of mine
It's late at night and this motel room's drunk
I been listening to the lonesome wind crying
My best friend once said, Jim, what you cling to
That's the thing that you had best forget
For ain't no rose bed ever gonna bloom in an untended field of regrets

Guess, I been busy killing time, counting bullet holes in state line signs
I led a life of lonely drifting, trying to rise above the buzzards in my mind
You get dizzy chasing 'round the tail of what you need to leave behind
Oh, sweet Jesus, won't you help me?

'Cause all I'm trying to do is plant them seeds of love
With that girl from Brownsville, Texas
Midnight radio, a crackly, white gospel station kicking out the sounds
Of some half assed revival, me, I never much cared for the feelings
You get quoting scriptures from out of the Bible

For as the crow flies, I know only one cure for a permanent tear in your eye
You gotta crank like hell, that rope on old sorrow's well
'Til the day that the bucket comes up dry

Now, dreams are just prayers, without the put on airs
And though my history of dreams is a scandal of back assward schemes
And romantic disasters, where Lord, You dealt me more cards
Than I could handle

Still from the lips of this half hearted sinner
Comes the pledge of a half baked saint
'Cause Lord, I might finally be willing to become the religious fool
You always wanted me to be, if in return, we could just tell that girl
I'm the man, You and me both know that I ain't

Now, dreams are just prayers, without the put on airs
And though my history of dreams is a scandal of back assward schemes
And romantic disasters, where Lord, You dealt me more cards
Than I could handle

Still, from the lips of this half hearted sinner
Comes the pledge of a half baked saint
'Cause Lord, I might finally be willing to become the religious fool
You always wanted me to be, if in return, we could just tell that girl
I'm the man, You and me both know that I ain't

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