Sittin on the Dock of the Big O

Lyrics

[Intro]
Big 'O' Ranch, December 1967,
you sit on that wraparound porch,
pecan leaves damp underfoot,
red clay clinging to your boots.

[Verse 1]
Otis Ray Redding Jr.,
born September 9, 1941,
you walk these 300 acres near Macon,
Zelma cooking fried chicken and collards inside,
the scent mixing with rain-soaked earth.
You hum to the fields,
These Arms of Mine taking shape here,
arms that held Karla, Dexter, Otis III.

[Chorus]
Sittin' on the dock of the bay,
three days before the end,
December 7 at Stax,
926 East McLemore Avenue,
that RCA ribbon microphone close,
catching your voice raw,
whistling where words failed,
Steve Cropper keeping it in the mix.

[Verse 2]
Big 'O', your retreat from stage lights,
pecan trees whispering back your melodies,
Sausalito houseboat inspiration fading into Georgia haze.
You tell Zelma it's a new sound,
soul fusing with something lighter,
but the Beechcraft H18 waits,
December 10 approaching like fog over Lake Monona.

[Bridge]
Lake Monona, 30 degrees cold,
plane down in Wisconsin waters,
but here on the porch,
your heart stays with the farm,
with the unfinished verse,
whistling into the void.

[Verse 3]
Otis, you concentrated twenty-four hours,
as you told Jet Magazine that year,
entertaining, writing, family first.
The sloped floor at Stax echoes still,
your genius orphaned by fifteen,
blind by seven, but vision in every note.

[Chorus]
Sittin' on the dock of the bay,
three days before the end,
December 7 at Stax,
926 East McLemore Avenue,
that RCA ribbon microphone close,
catching your voice raw,
whistling where words failed,
Steve Cropper keeping it in the mix.

[Outro]
Big 'O' Ranch endures,
Zelma holding the heart,
the whistle carries on the wind,
from Macon to Monona,
unfinished but eternal.