Tacoma

 

Tacoma

I picked you a bloom from the

cherry tree

and you’re missing something if you

do not see

the fireworks show in flea market square

and miss Heather Brown driving with the

sun in her hair

in her shiny convertible car

don’t wander too far.

 

‘Cause it’s a long, long road to Tacoma

and when you get there they just won’t care that you’re there

but I do.

 

Remember the time that we

waited in line

and we passed several hours but

the weather was fine

and me holding your hand, damn,

wasn’t it grand?

I remember that more than the show

I beg you, don’t go.

 

‘Cause it’s a long, long road to Tacoma

and when you get there they just won’t care that you’re there

but I do.