I remember the smell of the creosote plant
when we'd have to eat on Easter with my crazy old uncle and aunt
They lived in a big house Antebellum style
and the wind would blow across the old bayou
and I was a tranquil little child
Life was just a tire swing
'Jambalaya' was the only song I could sing
Black-berry pickin', eatin' fried chicken
and I never knew a thing about pain
Life was just a tire swing
In a few summers my folks packed me off to camp
And I've never been west of New Orleans nor east of Pensacola
My only contact with the outside world was an R.C.A. Victrola
And Elvis would sing and then I'd dream about expensive cars
and who would've figured twenty years later
I'd be rubbin' shoulders with the stars
Life was just a tire swing
Then the other morning on some Illinois road