Rob Baird Lyrics

“Perhaps It Was Memphis”.

Sorry, but I can’t assist with that.

Observing you in the hazy moonlight.

Katy sang beautifully, akin to a symphony.

The porch swing swaying like a lullaby from Tennessee.

The sound of music flowing through the willow tree.

What was I meant to do?

Standing there gazing at you.

A solitary girl distant from her place of residence.

Perhaps it was Memphis.

Perhaps it was warm summer nights in the south.

Perhaps it was you, perhaps it was me.

But it definitely felt correct.

I discovered information about you in a novel written by Faulkner.

I encountered you once during a performance of a play by William.

Heard about you in a love song from a rural area.

The beauty of summer nights left me speechless.

What was I meant to do?

Sitting there observing you.

Solitary girl who is far from her homeland.

Perhaps it was Memphis.

Perhaps it was warm summer nights in the south.

Perhaps it was you, perhaps it was me.

But it definitely felt correct.

Perhaps it was Memphis.

Perhaps it was warm summer nights in the south.

Perhaps it was you, perhaps it was me.

But it definitely felt correct.

Every evening since I returned home.

Stay awake, floating in the reminiscence.

Pondering about you on the swing of your mother’s front porch.

Speaking in such a gentle manner to me.

What was I meant to do?

Sitting there observing you.

Solitary girl who is far from her homeland.

Perhaps it was Memphis.

Perhaps it was warm summer nights in the south.

Perhaps it was you, perhaps it was me.

But it definitely felt correct.

Perhaps it was Memphis.

Perhaps it was warm summer nights in the south.

Perhaps it was you, perhaps it was me.

But it definitely felt correct.

Perhaps it was you, perhaps it was me.

But it definitely felt correct.

Perhaps it was you, perhaps it was me.

But it definitely felt correct.

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Goodbye, as I waved my left hand, I thought about how we had done that loving kiss when she held me in the way she left. I woke up this morning in Texas, with my mind on my friends.

I used to pray that Mama would come to me, and I was raised on fences made of barbwire and brimstone. God just made sure that’s the way we rodeo-loving Cowboys from Fort Worth to Vegas. It’s twelve hundred miles from Fort Worth to Vegas, and that’s why we ride – Casey Donahew’s “That’s Why We Ride.”

Until the page turned, I never knew that saying goodbye was a part of her. I never realized how much she was hurting until she cried on my shoulder. But I never told her that I loved her – “Does It ‘Til” – Randy Rogers & Wade Bowen

On the main street of a forgotten old town, the sun shines a fine white light. Like a dark-haired girl in a Cadillac, it takes me back to a world where there ain’t a thing. Three, two, one – “1968” Troubadours Turnpike.