The Greatest Oldies Music

Country

Don Williams – Tulsa Time

About the Song

In the realm of country music, there are songs that touch the heart with their simple melodies and poignant lyrics, and then there are songs like “Tulsa Time” by Don Williams, which transcend the genre to become timeless classics. Released in 1978, this ballad has become an enduring symbol of lost love, longing, and the bittersweet ache of memories.

Don Williams, the “Gentle Giant” of country music, imbues “Tulsa Time” with his signature velvety vocals, weaving a tale of a man haunted by the ghost of a love that still lingers in the Tulsa nights. The lyrics paint a vivid picture of a love story gone awry, with the protagonist reminiscing about the time he spent with his beloved in the vibrant city of Tulsa, Oklahoma.

The song’s opening lines, “I left Oklahoma drivin’ in a Pontiac / Just about to lose my mind”, set the stage for a journey of emotional turmoil. The protagonist is fleeing his past, seeking solace in the vast expanse of the American West. However, the memories of his lost love continue to chase him, refusing to be outrun.

As the song progresses, the lyrics delve deeper into the protagonist’s heartache. He recalls the time he and his lover would spend “dancin’ in the Tulsa Town Pavilion”, their laughter echoing through the night. These cherished moments now serve as painful reminders of what he has lost.

The chorus, “And I’m lost in Tulsa Time / And I can’t seem to find my way”, serves as a poignant refrain, capturing the protagonist’s overwhelming sense of loss and disorientation. He is adrift in a sea of memories, unable to escape the past that haunts him.

“Tulsa Time” is not merely a song about heartbreak; it is a profound exploration of the human condition. It speaks to the universal themes of love, loss, and the enduring power of memories. Williams’s gentle delivery and the song’s melancholic melody create a deeply moving listening experience that has resonated with audiences for decades.

The song’s enduring popularity is a testament to its ability to connect with listeners on a personal level. “Tulsa Time” has been covered by numerous artists, including Emmylou Harris, Glen Campbell, and Willie Nelson, each adding their own unique interpretation to the song. However, Williams’s version remains the definitive rendition, capturing the essence of the song’s heartache and longing.

“Tulsa Time” is a timeless classic that continues to touch the hearts of country music fans worldwide. It is a song that captures the complexities of love and loss, reminding us of the indelible mark that cherished memories can leave on our souls. With its simple yet profound lyrics and Williams’s heartfelt vocals, “Tulsa Time” is a song that will undoubtedly continue to resonate for generations to come.

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Lyrics: Tulsa Time

I left Oklahoma, drivin’ in a Pontiac
Just about to lose my mind
I was goin’ to Arizona
Maybe on to California
Where the people all live so fine.My baby said, I’z crazy
My mama called me lazy
I was gonna show ’em all this time
‘Cause you know I ain’t no fool
And I don’t need no more schoolin’
I was born to just walk the line.Livin’ on Tulsa time
Livin’ on Tulsa time
Well, you’ll know I been through it
When I set my watch back to it
Livin’ on Tulsa Time.Well, there I was in Hollywood
Wishin’ I was doin’ good
Talkin’ on the telephone line
But they don’t need me in the movies
And nobody sings my songs
Guess, I’m just a wastin’ time.Well, then I got to thinkin’
Man I’m really sinkin’
An I really had a flash this time
I had no business leavin’
An nobody would be grievin’
If I just went on back to Tulsa time.Livin’ on Tulsa time
Livin’ on Tulsa time
Gonna set my watch back to it
‘Cause you know I been through it
Livin’ on Tulsa time.

Livin’ on Tulsa time
Livin’ on Tulsa time
Gonna set my watch back to it
‘Cause you know I been through
Livin’ on Tulsa time.

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HIS FATHER TOLD HIM TO PUT DOWN THE GUITAR. NASHVILLE FORGOT HIM. TWICE. HE CAME BACK IN A WHEELCHAIR AND STILL WOULDN’T SHUT UP. Vern Gosdin grew up hauling rocks and chopping cotton in Woodland, Alabama. His father tried music once, failed, and forbade his son from ever touching a guitar. Vern left home and never looked back — never saw his father again. He moved to California. Then Chicago. Then Nashville. Two record labels went bankrupt under him. Nobody called. Nobody came looking. So he quit, moved to Georgia, and sold glass for a living. But he kept a guitar in his truck. In the late ’70s, he crawled back to Nashville — older, broker, and angrier than every pretty boy on country radio. He didn’t sound trendy. He sounded like a man who’d been through hell and could prove it. Then he wrote “Chiseled in Stone” and beat every superstar in town for CMA Song of the Year. Tammy Wynette called him “the only singer who can hold a candle to George Jones.” In 1998, a stroke stole his voice. He kept writing from a wheelchair. 101 songs. Still fighting. They called him “The Voice.” Nashville called him too late. Does knowing how many times Vern Gosdin had to start over make “Chiseled in Stone” hit even harder now?

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THEY LOOKED LIKE FOUR OUTLAWS WHO COULD OUTRUN TIME ITSELF. BUT WHEN YOU WATCH THE HIGHWAYMEN SING “BIG RIVER” TODAY, THE EMPTY MICROPHONES BREAK YOUR HEART. Onstage, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and Willie Nelson looked untouchable. Four weathered men, four different wounds, four voices that made country music sound dangerous, honest, and free. When they traded verses on Cash’s “Big River,” it wasn’t just another performance. It was four old brothers chasing the same song down the same river, each one carrying a piece of the road in his voice. Cash brought the thunder. Waylon brought the grit. Kris brought the broken-poet soul. Willie floated above it all with that calm, aching grace only he could carry. Back then, the stage lights made it easy to believe they would always be there. That was the beautiful lie of watching legends stand side by side. But time does what no outlaw ever could: it catches everyone. Today, Cash is gone. Waylon is gone. Kris has crossed the river too. Willie is the only one left, still playing, still standing, still carrying a brotherhood that can never fully gather again. That is why “Big River” feels different now. It is no longer just a song about chasing something you cannot hold. It feels like time itself moving past four men we were not ready to lose. The song remains. But three microphones are empty. Does “Big River” feel heavier now that Willie is the only one left to sing it?

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SHE WAS A BRIDE AT FIFTEEN, A MOTHER AT SIXTEEN, AND THE FIRST WOMAN NASHVILLE EVER HAD TO CALL “ENTERTAINER OF THE YEAR” — THEN SHE NAMED HER BABY AFTER THE BEST FRIEND SHE’D JUST BURIED, AND THAT BABY SPENT A LIFETIME MAKING SURE NEITHER VOICE WAS FORGOTTEN. Loretta Lynn came out of Butcher Hollow, Kentucky, with nothing but a coal miner’s last name and a voice that could pin a grown man to his chair. Married before she could drive. Four children by twenty-two. Then she wrote songs that scared Nashville half to death — about cheating husbands, birth control pills, and women who’d had enough. Sixteen number-ones. Presidential Medal of Freedom. The whole world calling her the Coal Miner’s Daughter. In 1963, her best friend Patsy Cline died in a plane crash. The next year, Loretta gave birth to twins. She named one of them Patsy. That little girl grew up backstage, between tour buses and honky-tonks. She formed The Lynns with her twin sister Peggy. Earned CMA nominations. Then she did something quieter and heavier — she stepped behind the glass and co-produced her mother’s final albums alongside Johnny Cash’s son. Loretta died October 4, 2022. That first birthday without her, Patsy woke up reaching for a phone call that wasn’t coming — her mama singing “Happy Birthday,” the way she always had. Does knowing Loretta named her daughter after a ghost she never stopped grieving make “I Fall to Pieces” feel like it belongs to both of them now?

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