Promised Land

Michel Marra - Promised Land (Chuck Berry)
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[Verse]
A                                 
Left my home in Norfolk, Virginia,
                  D
 California on my mind.
  E                                
I straddled that Greyhound, rode 
him into Raleigh, and on across 
   A
Caro-line.

A                              
We drived by Charlotte and drove 
through Rock Hill, and we never was 
            D
a minute late.
       E                           
We was ninety miles out of Atlanta 
by sundown, rollin' out of Georgia 
A
state.

A                                 
We had motor trouble, it turned 
into a struggle, Half way 'cross 
  D
Ala-bam,
         E                         
And the 'hound broke down and left 
us all stranded, in downtown 
        A
Birming-ham

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A                       
Right away, I bought me a 
through-train ticket, straight 
                     D
across Mississippi clean
         E                         
I hopped aboard that midnight 
                      A
flyer, smoking into New Or-leans.

[Solo]
A D E A  A D E A

A                                 
Somebody gotta help me get out of 
Louisiana, gotta help me get to 
        D
Houston Town
           E                       
There's an uncle there who cares a 
bit about me, and he won't let the 
         A
poor boy down

A                                 
Well sure as you're born they 
bought me a silk suit, put some 
          D
luggage in my hand
      E                
And I woke up high over 
Alburquerque, on a jet to the 
          A
promised land, yeah yeah yeah

[Solo]
A D E A  A D E A

A                                 
Somebody gotta help me get out of 
Louisiana, gotta help me get to 
        D
Houston Town
          E                        
There's an uncle there who cares a 
bit about me, and he won't let the 
         A
poor boy down

A                                 
Well sure as you're born they 
bought me a silk suit, put some 
          D
luggage in my hand
      E                
And I woke up high over 
Alburquerque, on a jet to the 
          A
promised land

A                                 
Swing low chariot come down easy, 
                     D
taxi to the terminal zone
     E                        
Cut your engines and cool your 
wings, and let me make it to the 
      A
tele-phone

A                          
Los Angeles, get me No'folk, 
                                 D
V'ginia, Tidewater four ten o' nine
         E                         
Tell the folks back home this is 
the promised land calling, the poor 
            A
boy is on the line