“Am luat curba greșit spre Tupelo”… Muzică de road trip.

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I was heading down to Alabama to see a friend 
I was thinkin’ bout all that was and not all that is 
I was making pretty good time 
Thought I’d stop and cop a cup of joe 
When I saw the roadside sign saying welcome to Tupelo

I hit a little bump of speed and hit a speed bump on the Trace They only let you run 55 inside that place 
Where the long, clear tail of a golden mare whips sunlight side to side Red-tail hawk squawking high atop a yellow pine

Came up on a spot where a hundred trees were down 
A storm came through, I heard em talking bout that in town 
About a daddy battening down the hatches but the Natchez hatched another plan
Death, oh death, why can you tell it better than I can

I saw the burying grounds of an early tribe of rambling man 
Now that’s the kind of freedom I don’t guess I’ll ever understand Everybody around here knows a lady with that native look to her eye Every time she sees you, man she leaves you something good behind

I pulled off for a spot of 87 down around Cherokee 
An old man buying noon booze took a long look at me 
I kicked a kid sock by the dumpster, the Norfolk Southern sang a baritone German Shepherd running like water down an access road

I took a left on Alabama and all the rest were right
I pulled my hair flat-back in the mirror till it looked alright
I opened up the front door, he said, “You’re a little bit late, ya know,”
I said I know well I took a wrong turn down to Tupelo

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