Texty: Indigo Girls. Nomads Indians Saints. Southland In The Springtime.

Maybe we'll make Texas by the morning
Light the Bayou with our tail lights in the night
800 miles to El Paso from the state line
And we never have the money for the flight

I'm in the back seat, sleepy from the travel
Played our hearts out all night long in New Orleans
And I'm dirty from the diesel fumes, drinking coffee black
When the first breath of Texas comes in clean

And there's something 'bout the southland in the springtime
Where the waters flow with confidence and reason
Though I miss her when I'm gone, it won't ever be too long
Till I'm home again to spend my favorite season

When God made me born a yankee, he was teasin'
There's no place like home and none more pleasin'
Than the southland in the springtime

In Georgia nights are softer than a whisper
Beneath the quilt somebody's mother made by hand
With the farmland like a tapestry passed down through generations
And the peach trees stitched across the land

There'll be cider up near Helen off the roadside
And boiled peanuts in a bag to warm your fingers
And the smoke from the chimneys meets it's maker in the sky
With a song that winter wrote whose melody lingers

And there's something 'bout the southland in the springtime
Where the waters flow with confidence and reason
Though I miss her when I'm gone, it won't ever be too long
Till I'm home again to spend my favorite season

When God made me born a yankee he was teasin'
There's no place like home and none more pleasin'
Than the southland in the springtime