I'm a Sober Girl, not for any good reason I found myself on this road I'm on It felt a lot like treason To my last girlfriends, who could never understand
Baby's got a lot of tears Enough to cry a thousand years Enough to cry a thousand seas Enough to break a boy like me I want to stand and deliver And be
It might do you harm Hanging around this farm We got things that infect Things we can't shake and a rep Oh it might seem mean All your starry eyed dreams
She comes down to Georgia to dance across my kitchen floor, Leavin' black marks on linoleum, a country song on the radio. I am just a rodeo calf with
Words and music by Amy Ray Yeah when I go over yonder I will see my mother My sister and my father But my brother is going to hell Yeah they hung him
She brings me Spanish Clementine, I eat them by the waterside Throw the peels and taste the clean, how could I still feel so mean? Take this meanness
See that girl over there she's gonna give me the cold shoulder She may be straight tonight but last night she let me hold her It took a little bit of
Come a little bit closer Closer than you are Cause anything worth it now Is just gonna be hard Come a little bit cleaner Get a little bit mean Just give
I hear the rock show winding down at the high school Kids out on the sidewalk, waiting for a ride All the punks and the queers and the freaks and the
I fell for guys who tried to commit suicide, With soft rock hair and blood shot eyes. He tastes like Marlboro cigarettes, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups,
You ride your John Deere down to the pond Just to watch me struggle along. You say you got your daddy's seed in you And you think you're bored with anything
Every time I go downtown I think I might find you around. I take your picture just in case, anybody's seen- A girl who's had her better days, just like
When you march stand up straight. When you fill the world with hate Step in time with your kind and Let it ring When you speak against me Would you bring
In a sea of white faces I heard the latest version of The Clash. Still no ticket for the races, And the sisters still get the shaft. We got a punk rock
Words and music by Amy Ray We were talking ticket slump We'd try to put our finger on it Quantify the undoing of each little step And its just a lack
We hit snow on the road to laramie We all heard about that mess But that town ain't nothing different Than the rest Poor man do the bidding for the