Looks Like Rain

(J. Lyon)



She caught the five-fifteen to Reno

Said she'd phone me in a week

I had a ten-spot in my pocket

And her lipstick on my cheek

I still hear that railroad whistle

Blowing like a hurricane

Weatherman says fair tomorrow

But tonight it looks like rain



I had a gypsy take me downtown

To my usual port o' call

Where everyone's a drunken sailor

Waiting on a call

I took my ivy-covered cottage

And slowly poured it down the drain

Weatherman says fair tomorrow

But tonight it looks like rain



I mumble that I'm better off

Shout out that I don't care

But the whiskey takes my drunken words

And throws them down the stairs

From the black-and-white above the bar

I hear that same sad refrain

Weatherman says fair tomorrow

But tonight it looks like rain



Well no no no no

No, people I haven't gone insane

It's just that mean old southern whiskey

Clouding up my brain

It's just that mean old Southern whiskey

Dragging me down again

Lord, Lord, Lord, I wish she'd never caught that train

Weatherman says fair tomorrow

But tonight it looks like rain