| Song | This Old Porch |
| Artist | Lyle Lovett |
| Album | Lyle Lovett |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Keen, Lovett | |
| This old porch is like a big old red and white hereford bull | |
| Standing under a mesquite tree | |
| Out in agua dulce | |
| And he just keeps on playing hide and seek | |
| With that hot august sun | |
| Just a-sweatin' and a-pantin' | |
| Cause his work is never done | |
| And this old porch is like a steaming, greasy plate of enchiladas | |
| With lots of cheese and onions | |
| And a guacamole salad | |
| And you can get'em down at the lasalle hotel | |
| In old downtown | |
| With iced tea and a waitress | |
| And she will smile every time | |
| And this old porch is the palace walk-in | |
| On the main street of texas | |
| That's never seen the day | |
| Of g and r and xs | |
| With that '62 poster | |
| That's almost faded down | |
| And a screen without a picture | |
| Since giant came to town | |
| And this old porch is like a weathered, gray-haired | |
| Seventy years of texas | |
| Who's doing all he can | |
| Not to give in to the city | |
| And he always takes the rent late | |
| So long as i run his cattle | |
| And he picks me up at dinnertime | |
| And i listen to him rattle | |
| He says the brazos still runs muddy | |
| Just like she's run all along | |
| And there ain't never been no cane to grind | |
| The cotton's all but gone | |
| And you know this brand new chevrolet | |
| Hell it was something back in '60 | |
| But now there won't nobody listen to him | |
| 'cause they all think he's crazy | |
| And this old porch is just a long time | |
| Of waiting and forgetting | |
| And remembering the coming back | |
| And not crying about the leaving | |
| And remembering the falling down | |
| And the laughter of the curse of luck | |
| From all of those passerby | |
| Who said we'd never get back up | |
| This old porch is just a long time | |
| Of waiting and forgetting | |
| And remembering the coming back | |
| And not crying about the leaving | |
| And remembering the falling down | |
| And the laughter of the curse of luck | |
| From all of those sons-of-bitches | |
| Who said we'd never get back up |
| zuo ci : Keen, Lovett | |
| This old porch is like a big old red and white hereford bull | |
| Standing under a mesquite tree | |
| Out in agua dulce | |
| And he just keeps on playing hide and seek | |
| With that hot august sun | |
| Just asweatin' and apantin' | |
| Cause his work is never done | |
| And this old porch is like a steaming, greasy plate of enchiladas | |
| With lots of cheese and onions | |
| And a guacamole salad | |
| And you can get' em down at the lasalle hotel | |
| In old downtown | |
| With iced tea and a waitress | |
| And she will smile every time | |
| And this old porch is the palace walkin | |
| On the main street of texas | |
| That' s never seen the day | |
| Of g and r and xs | |
| With that ' 62 poster | |
| That' s almost faded down | |
| And a screen without a picture | |
| Since giant came to town | |
| And this old porch is like a weathered, grayhaired | |
| Seventy years of texas | |
| Who' s doing all he can | |
| Not to give in to the city | |
| And he always takes the rent late | |
| So long as i run his cattle | |
| And he picks me up at dinnertime | |
| And i listen to him rattle | |
| He says the brazos still runs muddy | |
| Just like she' s run all along | |
| And there ain' t never been no cane to grind | |
| The cotton' s all but gone | |
| And you know this brand new chevrolet | |
| Hell it was something back in ' 60 | |
| But now there won' t nobody listen to him | |
| ' cause they all think he' s crazy | |
| And this old porch is just a long time | |
| Of waiting and forgetting | |
| And remembering the coming back | |
| And not crying about the leaving | |
| And remembering the falling down | |
| And the laughter of the curse of luck | |
| From all of those passerby | |
| Who said we' d never get back up | |
| This old porch is just a long time | |
| Of waiting and forgetting | |
| And remembering the coming back | |
| And not crying about the leaving | |
| And remembering the falling down | |
| And the laughter of the curse of luck | |
| From all of those sonsofbitches | |
| Who said we' d never get back up |
| zuò cí : Keen, Lovett | |
| This old porch is like a big old red and white hereford bull | |
| Standing under a mesquite tree | |
| Out in agua dulce | |
| And he just keeps on playing hide and seek | |
| With that hot august sun | |
| Just asweatin' and apantin' | |
| Cause his work is never done | |
| And this old porch is like a steaming, greasy plate of enchiladas | |
| With lots of cheese and onions | |
| And a guacamole salad | |
| And you can get' em down at the lasalle hotel | |
| In old downtown | |
| With iced tea and a waitress | |
| And she will smile every time | |
| And this old porch is the palace walkin | |
| On the main street of texas | |
| That' s never seen the day | |
| Of g and r and xs | |
| With that ' 62 poster | |
| That' s almost faded down | |
| And a screen without a picture | |
| Since giant came to town | |
| And this old porch is like a weathered, grayhaired | |
| Seventy years of texas | |
| Who' s doing all he can | |
| Not to give in to the city | |
| And he always takes the rent late | |
| So long as i run his cattle | |
| And he picks me up at dinnertime | |
| And i listen to him rattle | |
| He says the brazos still runs muddy | |
| Just like she' s run all along | |
| And there ain' t never been no cane to grind | |
| The cotton' s all but gone | |
| And you know this brand new chevrolet | |
| Hell it was something back in ' 60 | |
| But now there won' t nobody listen to him | |
| ' cause they all think he' s crazy | |
| And this old porch is just a long time | |
| Of waiting and forgetting | |
| And remembering the coming back | |
| And not crying about the leaving | |
| And remembering the falling down | |
| And the laughter of the curse of luck | |
| From all of those passerby | |
| Who said we' d never get back up | |
| This old porch is just a long time | |
| Of waiting and forgetting | |
| And remembering the coming back | |
| And not crying about the leaving | |
| And remembering the falling down | |
| And the laughter of the curse of luck | |
| From all of those sonsofbitches | |
| Who said we' d never get back up |