John Hiatt
John Hiatt
John Hiatt
John Hiatt
John Hiatt
John Hiatt
John Hiatt
John Hiatt
John Hiatt
John Hiatt
John Hiatt
I've been riding on this train
Drinking whiskey for the pain
Just another good old boy going home
And every town I see
Seems to take a part of me
That's a price that you pay when you roam
And I lie when I have to
And I cry when I can
But I die a little slower
On the train to Birmingham
I got holes in both my shoes
And a guitar full of blues
A one-way ticket for a remedy
It's the same old lonesome song
I've been singing all night long
Hey porter, are we out of Tennessee?
And I cry when I have to
And I lie when I can
But I die a little slower
On the train to Birmingham
Every year I ride this train
To Alabama in the rain
When I get that lonesome feeling in my bones
But I never get to Birmingham
But getting there is not the plan
No, I just like the feel of going home
And I lie when I have to
And I cry when I can
But I die a little slower
On the train to Birmingham
Well, I die a little slower
On the train to Birmingham