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Lyrics to Alberta Postcard
by Trout Fishing in America
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[edit]
Oh my nose froze, from my head down to my toes froze.
Went sliding in white snow down the streets of Calgary.
We saw sun dogs, stayed all day till we saw moon dogs,
home to a fire of burning birch logs, a night of quiet revelry.
It’s not always this cold. Guess we got lucky this time.
But 35 below’s impressive to a southern boy and
memories like this will always be frozen in time.
Oh my nose froze, from my head down to my toes froze.
It was cold in that Alberta snow.
Wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Tell me stories, tell me stories ‘bout your dry rain.
I see the lightning and I smell the rain,
falls but it never hits the ground.
Hear how the snow squeaks, tires are grinding
and groaning down city streets,
people out and about and on their feet, put on those goober boots and go.
Find more similar lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.com/RbEaIt’s not always this cold. Guess we got lucky this time.
But 35 below’s impressive to a southern boy and
memories like this will always be frozen in time.
Oh my nose froze, from my head down to my toes froze.
It was cold in that Alberta snow.
Wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Out of Canmore on the road to Banff, Alberta postcard,
I can’t believe where I am.
Sugar frosted forest, wind sculpted First Face
and the big horn sheep climbing all over the place.
Oh my nose froze, from my head down to my toes froze,
went sliding in white snows, down the streets of Calgary.
Oh my nose froze, from my head down to my toes froze.
It was cold in that Alberta snow.
Wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Went sliding in white snow down the streets of Calgary.
We saw sun dogs, stayed all day till we saw moon dogs,
home to a fire of burning birch logs, a night of quiet revelry.
It’s not always this cold. Guess we got lucky this time.
But 35 below’s impressive to a southern boy and
memories like this will always be frozen in time.
Oh my nose froze, from my head down to my toes froze.
It was cold in that Alberta snow.
Wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Tell me stories, tell me stories ‘bout your dry rain.
I see the lightning and I smell the rain,
falls but it never hits the ground.
Hear how the snow squeaks, tires are grinding
and groaning down city streets,
people out and about and on their feet, put on those goober boots and go.
Find more similar lyrics on http://mp3lyrics.com/RbEaIt’s not always this cold. Guess we got lucky this time.
But 35 below’s impressive to a southern boy and
memories like this will always be frozen in time.
Oh my nose froze, from my head down to my toes froze.
It was cold in that Alberta snow.
Wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Out of Canmore on the road to Banff, Alberta postcard,
I can’t believe where I am.
Sugar frosted forest, wind sculpted First Face
and the big horn sheep climbing all over the place.
Oh my nose froze, from my head down to my toes froze,
went sliding in white snows, down the streets of Calgary.
Oh my nose froze, from my head down to my toes froze.
It was cold in that Alberta snow.
Wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Wouldn’t have had it any other way.
[edit]
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Trout Fishing in America biography
Trout Fishing in America is the long-standing musical partnership of Keith Grimwood and Ezra Idlet. The name, taken from a Richard Brautigan novel, seems almost as incongruous as a picture of this musical duo: Ezra Idlet (guitar) stands six feet nine inches and Keith Grimwood (bass), five feet five and one half inches. After three decades of writing, recording and performing together, Trout Fishing in America can look back at a body of work that is impressive and know they are just hitting their stride.
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