| Song | Alabama Chrome |
| Artist | Jim White |
| Album | Drill a Hole In That Substrate and Tell Me What You See |
| 作词 : White | |
| Sunday I am young and wild, | |
| Monday I go lame. | |
| Tuesday I start twitching, | |
| Wednesday | |
| I'm insane. | |
| Thursday I lay dying, | |
| Friday I'm quite dead. | |
| Saturday I get carried away by things better left unsaid. | |
| But heaven ain't no place, brother, and love ain't no word sister. | |
| And prison ain't no building made of iron bars and stone. | |
| You can seek the rhyme and reason, but in the realm of the unknown you won't catch no true reflections in that "Alabama Chrome." | |
| For there's mountains you will scale with ease, yet molehills where you stumble. | |
| Sins you so regret and yet other sins that you enjoy. | |
| Harps can beg forgiveness, and the guitars can scream pain, but the contradictions are larger than any language can explain. | |
| For in the secret territory where the preachers come to steal the jewel of your heart, for they have no treasure of their own, there lies a sacred window, in your hand the perfect stone. | |
| You'd throw it, but you arms are bound 'round with that "Alabama Chrome." | |
| The heat it is withering, humidity smothering. | |
| Strip of silver tape, a sly lie covering dent in the side of the redneck ride. | |
| Going deep for the | |
| Crimson Tide. | |
| Yeah! Gonna bump to the thump of the | |
| Selma slammer. | |
| Wanna jump up and down like a wack jackhammer. | |
| Sing a little ' | |
| Sweet Home | |
| Alabama' - | |
| Jimmy gimme wink like a big flimflammer. | |
| Bone tired and so weary of treating truth as a lie, | |
| I been hunkered down in the bunker of some fools alibi. | |
| Squint harder you will see the slim tether of the saints. | |
| It's whipping wild in the hurricane of all that is and all that ain't. ' | |
| Cause there's angels in the shed mother and spiders in the bed brother and ghosts inside my head father, no | |
| I am not alone. | |
| My mind is teeth without a mouth, my thoughts are marrow without bone. | |
| My eyes are blinded by a thousand layers of that god damn "Alabama Chrome." |
| zuò cí : White | |
| Sunday I am young and wild, | |
| Monday I go lame. | |
| Tuesday I start twitching, | |
| Wednesday | |
| I' m insane. | |
| Thursday I lay dying, | |
| Friday I' m quite dead. | |
| Saturday I get carried away by things better left unsaid. | |
| But heaven ain' t no place, brother, and love ain' t no word sister. | |
| And prison ain' t no building made of iron bars and stone. | |
| You can seek the rhyme and reason, but in the realm of the unknown you won' t catch no true reflections in that " Alabama Chrome." | |
| For there' s mountains you will scale with ease, yet molehills where you stumble. | |
| Sins you so regret and yet other sins that you enjoy. | |
| Harps can beg forgiveness, and the guitars can scream pain, but the contradictions are larger than any language can explain. | |
| For in the secret territory where the preachers come to steal the jewel of your heart, for they have no treasure of their own, there lies a sacred window, in your hand the perfect stone. | |
| You' d throw it, but you arms are bound ' round with that " Alabama Chrome." | |
| The heat it is withering, humidity smothering. | |
| Strip of silver tape, a sly lie covering dent in the side of the redneck ride. | |
| Going deep for the | |
| Crimson Tide. | |
| Yeah! Gonna bump to the thump of the | |
| Selma slammer. | |
| Wanna jump up and down like a wack jackhammer. | |
| Sing a little ' | |
| Sweet Home | |
| Alabama' | |
| Jimmy gimme wink like a big flimflammer. | |
| Bone tired and so weary of treating truth as a lie, | |
| I been hunkered down in the bunker of some fools alibi. | |
| Squint harder you will see the slim tether of the saints. | |
| It' s whipping wild in the hurricane of all that is and all that ain' t. ' | |
| Cause there' s angels in the shed mother and spiders in the bed brother and ghosts inside my head father, no | |
| I am not alone. | |
| My mind is teeth without a mouth, my thoughts are marrow without bone. | |
| My eyes are blinded by a thousand layers of that god damn " Alabama Chrome." |