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129
{title:Early Mornin` Rain}
{st:Gordon Lightfoot}
[C]In the early mornin` r[G]ain, with a do[F]llar in my h[C]and,
With an achin` in my he[Dm]art, a[F]nd my pockets full of sa[C]nd.
I`m a long way from h[Dm]ome, and I miss my loved ones [C]so,
In the early mornin` r[G]ain, with [F]no place to [C]go.

Out on runway number nine, big seven-o-seven set to go,
But I`m stuck here in the grass, where the cold wind blows.
Now the liquor tasted good, and the women all were fast,
Well there she goes, my friend, she`s rollin` now at last.

Hear the mighty engines roar, see the silver bird on high,
She`s away and westward bound, far above the clouds she`ll fly,
Where the mornin` rain don`t fall, and the sun always shines,
She`ll be flying o`er my home, in about three hours time.

This old airport`s got me down, it`s no earthly good to me,
`Cause I;m stuck here on the ground, as cold and drunk as I can be.
You can`t jump a jet plane, like you can a freight train,
So I`d best be on my way, in the early mornin` rain.

In the early mornin` rain, with a dollar in my hand,
With an achin` in my heart, and my pockets full of sand.
I`m a long way from home, and I miss my loved ones so,
In the early mornin` rain, with no place to go.

Submitted to the ftp.nevada.edu:/pub/guitar archives
by Steve Putz
7 September 1992

129
{title:Early Mornin` Rain}
{st:Gordon Lightfoot}
[C]In the early mornin` r[G]ain, with a do[F]llar in my h[C]and,
With an achin` in my he[Dm]art, a[F]nd my pockets full of sa[C]nd.
I`m a long way from h[Dm]ome, and I miss my loved ones [C]so,
In the early mornin` r[G]ain, with [F]no place to [C]go.

Out on runway number nine, big seven-o-seven set to go,
But I`m stuck here in the grass, where the cold wind blows.
Now the liquor tasted good, and the women all were fast,
Well there she goes, my friend, she`s rollin` now at last.

Hear the mighty engines roar, see the silver bird on high,
She`s away and westward bound, far above the clouds she`ll fly,
Where the mornin` rain don`t fall, and the sun always shines,
She`ll be flying o`er my home, in about three hours time.

This old airport`s got me down, it`s no earthly good to me,
`Cause I;m stuck here on the ground, as cold and drunk as I can be.
You can`t jump a jet plane, like you can a freight train,
So I`d best be on my way, in the early mornin` rain.

In the early mornin` rain, with a dollar in my hand,
With an achin` in my heart, and my pockets full of sand.
I`m a long way from home, and I miss my loved ones so,
In the early mornin` rain, with no place to go.

Submitted to the ftp.nevada.edu:/pub/guitar archives
by Steve Putz
7 September 1992

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