i smell like...niney-weight, an gas-o-line..
high-test, not that 85 octine..
i was born'n the back seat of a '40 ford
an' if i go to heaven, they better have hot-rods lord...
'else i reckon i'll stay behind, a little past my time
for a last drag race, and a fruit jar o' shine...
had a wrench in my pocket, an' grease under my nail
's far back as i 'member, 'cept that one week in jail...
i'm a fast drivin' country boy, ain't much more to it…
an’ if it’s a dang ol’ met-ro-sexual purty smellin’ man yer wit’
ya’ sure won’t like me, go on, now git! |
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