Songwriter: Bruce Springsteen
At 16 she quit high school
To make a fortune in the promise land
Got a job behind the counter
Of an all-night hamburger stand
She wrote faithfully home to Mama:
Now Mama, don't you worry none
From small things, Mama, big things one day come
It was late one Friday
As he pulled in out of the dark
He was tall and handsome;
First she took his order; then she took his heart
They bought a house up on a hillside
Where little feet once had run
From small things, Mama, big things one day come
Good love is fleeting
It's sad but it's true
But when your heart is bleeding
You don't wanna hear the news
She packed her bags; went to Wyoming with a real estate man
They drove down to Tampa in an El Dorado Grande
She writes home "dear Mama, life is heaven in the sun"
From small things, Mama, big things one day come
She shot him dead
On a sunny Florida road
But when they caught her asll she said was
She couldn't stand the way he drove
Back home, lonesome Johnny
Waits for his baby's parole;
He sits high up on a hillside
Where the Wyoming river flows
At his feet, and almost grown now
Sits a daughter and a handsome son
From small things, Mama, big things one day come
To make a fortune in the promise land
Got a job behind the counter
Of an all-night hamburger stand
She wrote faithfully home to Mama:
Now Mama, don't you worry none
From small things, Mama, big things one day come
It was late one Friday
As he pulled in out of the dark
He was tall and handsome;
First she took his order; then she took his heart
They bought a house up on a hillside
Where little feet once had run
From small things, Mama, big things one day come
Good love is fleeting
It's sad but it's true
But when your heart is bleeding
You don't wanna hear the news
She packed her bags; went to Wyoming with a real estate man
They drove down to Tampa in an El Dorado Grande
She writes home "dear Mama, life is heaven in the sun"
From small things, Mama, big things one day come
She shot him dead
On a sunny Florida road
But when they caught her asll she said was
She couldn't stand the way he drove
Back home, lonesome Johnny
Waits for his baby's parole;
He sits high up on a hillside
Where the Wyoming river flows
At his feet, and almost grown now
Sits a daughter and a handsome son
From small things, Mama, big things one day come