Steve Goodman - Six Hours Ahead of the Sun lyrics
[Steve Goodman - Six Hours Ahead of the Sun lyrics]
One more night in a transatlantic city
And the clocks all run on someone else's time
And the streets run so close to the houses
But none of them run into mine
And the people are all in a hurry
And the whiskey's as cheap as the beer
And that skyline looks just like
That postcard I sent you
And darling, I wish that you were here
Some folks travel for pleasure
And other folks just born to roam
Some folks can't stand the pressure
And some of them never come home
And I only go where I have to go
And I only come home when I'm done
And if everything's right
Then I'll be home Friday night
Six hours ahead of the sun
One more night in a transatlantic city
And you buy one round for everyone in sight
And you order up the same
Old glass of trouble
But trouble just don't taste the same tonight
And the local bartender tells
You all the stories
And the local lovelies dance before your eyes
And they call that dance
Old "Younger's Tartan"
And I can't get all this mud out of my eyes
Some folks drink when they're happy
Other folks drink when they're dry
Some folks drink so they won't have to think
And some of them drink until they die
But drinking just gives me amnesia
But the devil has a list of those who run
Run, win, place, and show, and nowhere to go
And six hours ahead of the sun
Run, win, place, and show and nowhere to go
And six hours ahead of the sun
And the clocks all run on someone else's time
And the streets run so close to the houses
But none of them run into mine
And the people are all in a hurry
And the whiskey's as cheap as the beer
And that skyline looks just like
That postcard I sent you
And darling, I wish that you were here
Some folks travel for pleasure
And other folks just born to roam
Some folks can't stand the pressure
And some of them never come home
And I only go where I have to go
And I only come home when I'm done
And if everything's right
Then I'll be home Friday night
Six hours ahead of the sun
One more night in a transatlantic city
And you buy one round for everyone in sight
And you order up the same
Old glass of trouble
But trouble just don't taste the same tonight
And the local bartender tells
You all the stories
And the local lovelies dance before your eyes
And they call that dance
Old "Younger's Tartan"
And I can't get all this mud out of my eyes
Some folks drink when they're happy
Other folks drink when they're dry
Some folks drink so they won't have to think
And some of them drink until they die
But drinking just gives me amnesia
But the devil has a list of those who run
Run, win, place, and show, and nowhere to go
And six hours ahead of the sun
Run, win, place, and show and nowhere to go
And six hours ahead of the sun