Holy Land

Les Sampou

daddy worked the river as a flat boat man
to pay the rent at the holy land
a trailer park in a shantytown
hook up and water, no money down. . .
in the holy land

momma sipped her whiskey from a chipped tea cup
she crossed her legs and held her pinkie straight up
bourbon, bitters, a sugarcube
it ain't a mint julep, but it'll do. . .
in the holy land

i know'd jimmy since we were kids
whatever he wanted is whatever we did
lying by the river where the rushes grew high
growing up fast 'neath the midnight sky. . .
in the holy land

we used to race that northbound train
motorcycle pumping like a junkie's vein
our headlight was the moon above
and the road curled 'round us like a tunnel of love
when the days dragged by like a wounded dog
in the delta dirt of broken dolls
hey, hi, we would fly
to the cool muddy waters of the riverside
in the holy land

momma died drunk and daddy died straight
jimmy left town on that northbound train
folks all swore the boy'd go far
'cuz he played like a demon on a slide guitar
he said he'd sing for me and the holy land

and me, i don't do much but count my cares
on this sagging front porch in momma's old chair
chain smoking small talk with mary jo
listenin' for jimmy on the radio
sing for me and the holy land
come on, boy, and sing for me in the holy land!
We used to race. . .