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Lyrics
MAKIN' MUSIC FOR MONEY
When I woke up this morning
I was tired as I could be
I think I was counting my money
When I should have been counting sheep
My agent he just called me
and told me what I should be
If I would make my music for money
Instead of making music for me
Chorus
I said I know that this may sound funny
But money don't mean nothin' to me
I won't make my music for money, no
I'm gonna make my music for me
He said that people only buy the love songs.
Rock and roll is not too long
He said son you got to be commerical
If you want to turn the people on.
And I said turning on the people
Now that's a beautiful place to be
But if I spend my time makin' memorable rhyme
Well who's gonna turn on me?
Chorus
Well now, I went up the country
And I'll tell you all about the scene
I found a place with much charm and much grace
That was untouched by the music machine
Well the people where havin' a good time
Makin' music all day long
And nobody cared if they ever got paid
One penny for playin' a song
Chorus
DOOR NUMBER THREE
Oh I took a wrong turn, it was the right turn
My turn to have me a ball
Boys at the shop told me just where to stop
If I wanted to play for it all
I didn't know I'd find her on daytime TV
My whole world lies waiting behind door number three
I chose my apparel, wore a beer barrel
And they rolled me to the very first row
I held a big sign that said "Kiss me I'm a baker,
and Monty I sure need the dough!"
Then I grabbed that sucker by the throat
Until he called on me
Cause my whole world lies waiting behind door number three
And I don't want what Jay's got on his table
Or the box Carol Merrill points to on the floor
No, I'll hold out just as long as I am able
Until I can unlock that lucky door
Well, she's no big deal to most folks
But she's everything to me
Cause my whole world lies waiting behind door number three
Oh Monty, Monty, Monty, I am walking down your hall
God be, I lost my seat but I'm not a man to crawl
No I didn't get rich you son of a bitch
I'll be back just wait and see
Cause my whole world lies waiting behind door number three
Yes my whole world lies waiting behind door number three
PRESENTS TO SEND YOU
Well now I'm in love with a fast moving angel
Dresses like the city girls do
When we're apart there's no ache in my heart
When we're together we're a hell of a crew
Chorus
And I got presents to send you
Even got money to lend you
But honey I could never ever pretend
your not there on my mind
There sits a fifth of tequila
God I swore I'd never drink it again
But my last little bout
I had my hair pulled out by a man
who wasn't really my friend
And I know I'll never see him again
Chorus
Thought I might sail down to Bridgetown
Spend some time in the Barbados sun
But my plans took a skid when I smoked the whole lid
And wound up where I'd begun
Yes and... Chorus
DALLAS
If you ever get the chance to go to Dallas
Take it from me, pass it by
Cause you'll only sing the blues down in Dallas
Take it from me, don't go and cry
Chorus
And I'm leaving this town as soon as I can
Gonna stop off for a while and see my woman
People do you wrong down in Dallas
I know well, they've done it to me
Stealin' all your bread, they're so calous
I know well, just look and see
Chorus
And people like me just can't be free
The promo man won't let us us be
If the people who knew could get away
I'm real sure they'd leave today
Now come on down and lose your mental balance
Look at me, half crazy now
Talkin' to chairs, strange and I know it
Look at me I'm doin' in now
Chorus
STORIES WE COULD TELL
Talkin' to myself again
wonderin' if this traveling is good
Is they're something else a doin'
We'd be doin' if we could
All the stories we could tell
If it all blows up and goes to hell
I wish that we could sit upon the bed in some hotel
And listen to the stories we could tell
Stared at that guitar in that museum in Tennessee
Name plate on the glass brought back twenty melodies
Scars upon the face told about all the times he fell
Singin' all the stories he could tell
All the stories he could tell
And I bet you it still rings like a bell
I wish that we could sit upon the bed in some hotel
And listen to all the stories it could tell
If your on the road trackin' down your every night
Playin' for a livin' beneth the brightly colored lights
If you ever wonder why you ride the carrousel
You do it for the stories you can tell
All the stories we could tell
And if it all blows up and goes to hell
I wish that we could sit upon the bed in some hotel
Just listen to the stories we could
Yes I wish that we could sit upon a bed in some hotel
And listen to the stories it could tell
LIFE IS JUST A TIRE SWING Jimmy
Buffett
I remember the smell of the cresote plant,
When we'd have to eat on Easter with my
Crazy old uncle and aunt.
They lived in a big house Ante Bellum style,
And the wind would blow across the old bayou,
And I was a tranquil little child.
Life was just a tire swing.
'Jambalaya' was the only song I could sing.
Blackberry pickin', eatin' fried chicken,
And I never knew a thing about pain.
Life was just a tire swing.
In a few summers my folks packed me off to camp;
Yeah, me and my cousin' Baxter
In our puptent with a lamp.
And in a few days Baxter went home,
And he left me by myself.
And I knew that I'd stay, it was better that way,
And I could get along without any help.
Life was just a tire swing.
And I've never been west of New Orleans
Nor east of Pensacola.
My only contact with the outside
world was a n R.C.A. Victrola.
Elvis would sing and then I'd dream about
expensive cars, and who would've figured twenty
years later I'd be rubbing shoulders with the stars.
Life was just a tire swing.
'Jambalaya' was the only song I could sing.
Chasin' after sparrows with rubber tip arrows,
Knowin' I could never hurt a thing,
And life was just a tire swing.
Then the other morning on some Illinois road
I fell asleep at the wheel,
But was quickly wakened up by a 'Ma Bell'
telephone pole, and a bunch of Grant Wood
Faces screaming, 'Is he still alive?'
But through the window could see
it hangin' from a tree, and I knew
I had survived.
Life was just a tire swing.
Jambalaya's still the best song that I can sing.
Blackberry pickin', eatin' fried chicken,
And I finally learned a lot about pain,
'cause life is just a tire swing.
TRYING TO REASON WITH THE
HURRICANE SEASON Jimmy Buffett
Squalls out on the gulfstream,
Big storms coming soon.
I passed out in my hammock,
God, I slept way past noon.
Stood up and tried to focus,
I hoped I wouldn't have to look far.
I knew I could use a Bloody Mary,
So I stumbled next door to the bar.
Chorus
And now I must confess,
I could use some rest.
I can't run at this pace very long.
Yes, it's quite insane,
I think it hurts my brain.
But it cleans me out and then I can go on.
There's something about this Sunday
It's a most peculiar gray
Strolling down the avenue
That's known as A1A
I was feeling tired, then I got inspired.
And I knew that it wouldn't last long
So all alone I walked back home, sat on my beach
And then I made up this song.
Chorus
Well, the wind is blowin' harder now
Fifty knots of there abouts,
There's white caps on the ocean.
And I'm watching for water spouts
It's time to close the shutters
It's time to go inside.
In a week I'll be in gay Paris;
That's a mighty long airplane ride.
Chorus
Yes, I't cleans me out and then I can go on.
TIN CUP CHALICE Jimmy Buffett
I want to go back to the island,
Where the shrimp boats tie up to the pilin'.
Give me oysters and beer for dinner ev'ry day of the year,
And I'll feel fine, I'll feel fine.
Chorus:
'Cause I want to be there,
I want to go back down and lie beside the sea there.
With a tin cup for a chalice
Fill it up with good red wine,
And I'm-a chewin' on a honeysuckle vine.
Yeah, now the sun goes slidin' 'cross the water;
Sailboats, they go searchin' for the breeze.
Salt air it ain't thin,
It can stick right to your skin,
And make you feel fine.
It makes you feel fine.
Repeat Chorus.
Yes, and now you heard my strange proposal;
Get that Packard up and let's move.
I want to be there before the day
Tries to steal away and leave us behind;
I've made up my mind;
Repeat Chorus.
MIGRATION Jimmy Buffett
Look'in back at my background tryin' to
figure out how I ever got here.
Some things are stil a mystery to me
While others are much to clear.
I'm just livin' in the sunshine,
Stay contented most of the time.
Yeah, list'nin to Murphy, Walker and Willis,
Sing me their Texas rhymes.
Now most of the people who retire in Florida
are wrinkled and they lean on a crutch.
And mobile homes are smotherin' my keys;
Well I hate those bastards so much.
I wish a summer squall would blow them
all the way up to fantasy land.
They're ugly and square, they don't belong here.
They look a lot better as beer cans.
Chorus
Yeah, That's why it's still a mystery to me,
Why some people live like they do.
So many nice things hap'nin out there,
Never even seen the clues.
Whoa, but we're doin' fine, we can travel and rhyme.
I know we've been doing our part.
Got a Caribbean soul I can barely control
and some Texas hidden here in my heart.
Well now, I might have joined the merchant marine,
If I hadn't learned how to sing.
And on top of that I got married too early,
And it cost me much more than a ring.
But those crazy days are over,
You've just got to learn from
the wrong things you've done.
I came off the rebound, started looking around,
Figured out it's time to have a little fun.
Chorus
Well now, if I ever live to be an old man,
I'm gonna sail down to Martinique.
I'm gonna buy me a sweat stained Bogart suit
and an African parakeet.
And then I'll sit him on my shoulder
and open up my trusty old mind.
I'm gonna teach him how to fuss,
Teach him how to cuss,
And pull the cork out of a bottle of wine.
Chorus
Yeah, I got a Caribbean soul I can barely control
and some Texas hidden here in my heart.
PIRATE LOOKS AT FORTY Jimmy
Buffett
Mother, mother ocean, I have heard you call,
Wanted to sail upon your waters
since I was three feet tall.
You've seen it all, you've seen it all.
Watch the men who rode you,
Switch from sails to steam.
And in your belly you hold the treasure
that few have ever seen, most of them dreams,
Most of them dreams.
Yes, I am a pirate two hundred years too late.
The cannons don't thunder there's nothin' to plunder
I'm an over forty victim of fate
Arriving too late, arriving too late.
I've done a bit of smugglin'
I've run my share of grass.
I made enough money to buy Miami,
But I pissed it away so fast,
Never meant to last, never meant to last.
I have been drunk now for over two weeks,
I passed out and I rallied and I sprung a few leaks,
But I've got to stop wishin',
Got to go fishin', I'm down to rock bottom again.
Just a few friends, just a few friends.
Instrumental
I go for younger women, lived with several awhile
And though I ran away, they'll come back one day.
And still could manage a smile
It just takes awhile, just takes awhile.
Mother, mother ocean, after all these years I've found
My occupational hazard being my occupations
just not around.
I feel like I've drowned,
Gonna head uptown.
NAUTICAL WHEELERS Jimmy Buffett
Nautical Wheelers who call themselves sailors
Play fiddle tunes under the stars.
Petticoats rustle, working shoes scuffle,
Hustle on down to the bars.
Where the jukebox is blastin'
and the liquor is flowing
an occational bottle of wine.
That's cause everyone here is just more than
contented to be living and dying in three quarter time.
Chorus
And It's dance with me, dance with me
Nautical Wheelers.
Take me to stars that you know.
Come on and dance with me,
Nautical Wheelers
I want so badly to go.
Well the left foot it'll follow where the
Right foot has travelled down to the
Sidewalks unglued.
And into the street of my city so neat,
Where nobody cares what you do.
And Sonna's just grinnin'
And Phil is ecstatic and
Mason has jumped in the sea.
While I'm hangin' on to a line
from my sailboat oh,
Nautical Wheelers save me.
Chorus
Well the sunrise'll bring on the
sleep that's escaped us and
ev'ryone's off to their bed.
There'll be huggin' and sqeezin',
a little pleasin' and teasin'
and rubbin' of each others' head.
So won't you dream on comrades;
seems nothing affects you,
nothing, no reason nor rhyme.
That's cause ev'ryone here is just more than
contented to be living and dying in three quarter time.
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.+Jimmy's Notes+ A1A is the beach access road that runs occasionally on and off
U.S. 1. It can take you to some of the prettiest beaches in Florida east of St. Augustine,
right through the middle of "wrinkle city" better known as Miami Beach and
ending suddenly 90 miles north of Havana and four blocks from my house.
Peter Whorf came to Key West to talk about my ideas for the cover. After several hard
skull sessions at Louie's Backyard, we chose our name and started up A1A to Miami. So the
cover was the trip and the trip was a cover, and there is also a record inside. I hope you
like them both. Jimmy Buffett
August '74
Key West, FL |
