Ric Robertson - Sycamore Hill

Sycamore
Sycamore hill
Sycamore
Sycamore hill

Sycamore hill
Sycamore
Sycamore hill

The coffee is cold and a spliff half smoked
On the edge of the ledge from a bedtime toke
I was reaching for rhymes but couldn't quite make the kill
And another day waking is another day free
'Til it's, "hey, who said that, wait, that was me"
There's no limit to what your mind can be
When you're living on Sycamore hill

Sycamore
Sycamore Hill
Sycamore
Sycamore Hill

Oh the quiet of the night is a hollow old log
Where the coyotes howl through a hazy fog
Such a hush you can almost hear the color of the moonlight spill
And the breaking of day worth its weight in gold
Its a front row ticket to the matinee show
I've since been convinced there's no better way to go
Than living on sycamore hill

Sycamore
Sycamore Hill
Sycamore
Sycamore Hill

Sycamore
Sycamore Hill

I gotta gal with a window seat
On the seven forty seven up from New Orleans
If she's late I'll still wait at the gate
It gives me such a thrill
And there's stew on the stove and sticks for a fire
And a record on deck and a bottle of wine
I'm gonna show my baby how fine a time it is
Living on Sycamore hill

Sycamore (Sycamore)
Sycamore Hill
Sycamore
Sycamore Hill

Sycamore
Sycamore Hill (Sycamore)

Sycamore
Sycamore
Sycamore
Sycamore Hill
Sycamore
Sycamore Hill
Sycamore
Sycamost
Sycabret
Sycatosh
I'm sSitting on Sycamore Hill

Written by:
Eric William Robertson

Publisher:
Lyrics © Songtrust Ave

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