South Alabama trailer park princess,
Strolling through a warm Gulf Coast breeze
Moving on up from boring Mobile to Memphis
She was all of nineteen, magnolia and mint
Knew she could face the world with ease.
Lord Jesus? I know I don’t see you too much.
Sunday school, church, guess that’s not enough.
Anyway, I swear, wherever I am, I’ll stay in touch.
He claimed only to be some romantic poet,
She thought he was a messiah anyway.
Her own back-pocket savior, don’t you know it?
Walking hand in jeans down shaded streets…
He was ready to leave; she thought he’d stay.
Jesus? What was I thinking, where’d I do wrong?
Now I’m praying I can be delivered from this mess.
I need some help; can’t make it out here alone for long.
They wrote her name on choked toilet stall walls.
She made some cash, another soiled little dove.
Found dates cruising back alley bars, smoky pool halls,
Slaps, screams, followed by grunts: mama’s “I-told-you-so’s”
Closed eyes, breathing in bourbon and lies, pretending love.
Hey, mister Jesus man, a minute of your time.
Would you help out a down-on-her-luck good old friend?
Hey, honey; can you maybe please spare me a dime?