Three Minutes to Memphis

The radio said, "It's a quarter to twelve," I had a half-tank

left and a story to tell.

She'd called that station on Highway Nine,

Said, "Play him our record one last time." The DJ laughed,

said, "Son, you're late,

She's catching a train at the county gate."

I looked at the clock,

gave the wheel a squeeze,

Said, "Come on, old engine,

do this for me!"

The needle was shaking,

the dashboard hummed, The announcer said,

"Here comes number one!"

I heard her voice through the AM whine— "Jesse,

you've got till the end of this line!" Three

minutes to Memphis,

Three minutes to you!

A whole lot of sorry

And a whole lot to prove!

Got a heart full of foolish,

Got a mouth full of truth,

Three

minutes to Memphis—

And I'm coming home to you! (yeah!)

I pulled up outside that radio shack,

With my collar turned up and my hair pushed back.

The DJ said, "Boy,

you've got some nerve." I said,

"Mister, that's more than I deserve."

He handed the microphone over to me,

Said, "You'd better talk fast,

we're on in three."

I cleared my throat,

forgot my name, Then heard her laughing down the line again.

She said, "Jesse, you always were late."

I said, "Darling, I'm improving my rate!"

She said, "You think a song can make things right?" I said,

"No, but maybe we could start tonight."

I don't need a grand parade,

Don't need a speech somebody made.

Just one more chance to get it straight,

And maybe show up before it's late.

She said, "There's a diner down on Beale." I said,

"Tell me this is real."

She said, "Coffee's on at half past two." I said,

"Save a little sugar,

I'm coming through!"

Three minutes to Memphis!

Three minutes to you!

I finally said the things I should've said back in June!

No more running in circles,

No more playing the fool,

Three minutes to Memphis— And I'm coming home to you!

"Now,

anybody know a shortcut

to Beale Street?"