The flies have quit their buzzing.
Even Bear has stopped his barking.
They all sense something brewing
up the James and headed this way.
Bobby sips his morning coffee.
Says, have you finished with the funnies?
Looks like a storm's coming honey
guess we'll have to stay in bed today.
I've heard that into every life
a little of it must fall.
If there's any truth to the saying,
Lord, let it be a southern rain.
Marie was born in Macon, Georgia.
She met a west coast lawyer.
He plucked that sweet magnolia
and carried her to the hills of West L.A.
She says, I never thought I'd tire of a dollar.
But this life has grown so hollow.
Every night there's lipstick on his collar
every morning I wash it away.
She heard that into every life
a little of it must fall.
So she spends her evenings praying
for a little of that southern rain.
Cars alive on city streets
of sparkling black water
like waves beneath my window-
never break just roll away.
Tonight, this rain will be my lullaby:
these cars, my dreams
to carry me home to stay.
The wipers beat a rhythm.
Truck spray obscures my vision.
But I'm closing in on my destination
Two more hours and I'll be at your door.
And it will never cease to amaze me
how a little rain can drive folks crazy.
When I'd trade all my clear skies gladly
for your blue eyes, crooked smile
and a steady downpour.
I've heard that into every life
a little of it must fall,
but you'll never catch me complaining
about too much of that southern rain.
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