Well, you wake up in the mornin', boy
|
You hear the ding dong ring
|
Then you look upon the table, boy
|
You see the same darn thing
|
You find no food upon the table, boy
|
There's no pork up in the pan
|
But you better not complain, boy
|
You get in trouble with the man
|
|
And the Midnite Special
|
Shine its light on me
|
Let the Midnite Special
|
Shine its everlovin' light on me
|
|
Well, yonder comes Miss Rosie, boy
|
How in the world you know
|
By the way she wears her apron, boy
|
And the clothes she wore
|
The umbrella on her shoulder
|
Piece of paper in her hand
|
Well, she come to see the gov'nor
|
She wants to free her man
|
|
And the Midnite Special
|
Shine its light on me
|
Let the Midnite Special
|
Shine its everlovin' light on me
|
|
Well, if you're ever in Houston, boy
|
Well, you better do right
|
You better not gamble, boy
|
And you better not fight
|
For the sheriff will grab you
|
And the boys will pull you down
|
And the next thing you know, boy
|
You're prison bound
|
|
And the Midnite Special
|
Shine its light on me
|
Let the Midnite Special
|
Shine its everlovin' light on me
|
|
-----------------
|
Midnite Special
|
| Paul Evans |
