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Cable spools on a deck out back, nothing fancy just an old wood shack
Hidden from the tourists, down on the Gulf of Mexico.
It was my favorite waterin’ hole.
A salty little place where all the locals go, on a warm Florida evening
When they’re out for a stroll.
Late at night when the sun went down, the air was still
and you can hear the sound, of a six string guitar.
Playin’ Jerry Jeff Walker and some Bocephus too, Jim Morris
And his big bamboo.
While the lights of the oil rigs twinkled out towards New Orleans.
Down an Oyster shell path and cross the parking lot, brought back memories
Of times that I thought, were over, like the end of a sad country song.
But now that neon sign cast an eerie glow, backwards on the salty mirror below,
and you can read the name, where all the locals go.
The Tropical Depression, seafood bar and grill
The Tropical Depression, my favorite place on the Gulf Of Mexico.
Good friends meet there on Saturday night.
Drink Sangria wine in the pale moonlight,
Sneak a little smoke, on the downwind side of the deck.
Singer takes a break and we lean on the rail,
See shrimp boats passin’ with nets like sails,
And I’m glad to be here, on the Gulf Of Mexico.
Well I’ve sailed the Atlantic Ocean , the Carribean tooo ,
And I’ve swam the clear waters of Honolulu
And I’ll tell ya what I know. I love the Gulf of Mexico.
An playin’ Jerry Jeff Walker and some Leo Dean too, Jim Morris
And his big bamboo,
While the lights of the oil rigs twinkled out towards New Orleans.
While the lights of the condo’s twinkled out across Tampa Bay.