| You have sailed the sparkling waters
|
| Of the shady sandy coast of Carolina
|
| From the rock bound coast of Maine
|
| Down past Virgina to the sunny Florida keys
|
| You have chased the whistling wind along
|
| The painted canyon walls of Colorado
|
| And you followed that big river from
|
| Saint Paul to where she flows into the sea
|
| You have seen the early sun light kiss
|
| The blue grass on a cold Kentucky morning
|
| And the Palomino oceans of the Kansas
|
| Wheat field when the west wind blows
|
| You’re a gypsy, loose and running
|
| Chasing rainbows in the Mississippi sunset
|
| Just a number one hell raiser with the
|
| Taste for whiskey, women and the road
|
| And there ain’t no ramblers anymore
|
| And you can take that for what it’s worth
|
| Seems like everybody’s jet’n
|
| They ain’t got time to touch the earth
|
| I guess their feet don’t get to itching
|
| When they hear the whistle blow
|
| That ain’t crossed the Chattahoochee
|
| And there ain’t no ramblers anymore
|
| You have heard the lonesome rattle of the
|
| Midnight freight train in the easy hours
|
| You’ve been burned by Arizona sun
|
| Stood shivering in the Minnesota snow
|
| You have smelled the sweet magnolia blossom
|
| Perfume in a Alabama evening
|
| You’ve stood drunk beside the highway and wished
|
| To hell you still had some place left to go
|
| Because there ain’t no ramblers anymore |