Kelly was a blackjack dealer living on the Gulf of Mexico
Kelly had a taste for guns and pills; he was looking for a mark to roll
Sarah was a Kappa from Tulane; she was looking for a little change of pace
When a cop pulled 'em over on the interstate, Kelly blew that car away
(I heard him singin')
Gulf breeze, on the porch, me and my honey rockin' back and forth
Ridin' up again with my kin and friends, underneath the yellow moon
Sweet dream, New Orleans, Mississippi River running over me
Pretty mama come and take me by the hand
Don't mock what you don't understand
It's a southern thing
(it's a southern thing)
Now when they held up the bank in Mobile, they finally made it on the evening news
She's a Georgia peach, never within reach; he's a felon from Baton Rouge
I heard Robert Johnson playing on the steel guitar in the heat of the Delta sun
Kelly drove 'em back up to Memphis to finish what the king had once begun
(come on and sing it now:)
(come on baby, now
Come on baby now
It's a southern thing)
If we ever get out of here
I want you to promise me you'll go
Down to the Gulf and swim
Deep in the sea
And you'll think of me
The way you used to sing that silly song to me:
Sing: "M-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-humpback-humpback"
Get a little closer
"M-I-crooked letter-crooked letter-humpback-humpback"
Get a little closer!
Warner/Chappell Music, Inc.