I don't know why I left but I know it won't be long No it won't be long, till I get back home They gave me a green uniform and black boots for my feet
She tucks her Paul Mitchell hair under a John Deere cap Hides Victoria Secret under those jeans She?s honest as heaven, she got a body to match When they
It's 98 in the shade an' Mr. Rose is rollin' hay Eighty acres down an' ten to go Clouds are buildin' in the south, he knows time is runnin' out An' there
You can't forget what love was wearin' When it walked out your front door Where you fell down to your knees And can't forget the kind of suitcase That
I was raised in the sticks That's where I get my kicks Tailgatin' with my buddies Boots and dog and tires all muddy Cold drinks chillin' in the creek
There's a picture of a covered bridge With water running under it Flowing through my mind, takes me back in time After haulin' hay all day We'd stop
We met when I was stationed at Fort Campbell Got married in the front yard at your dad's I played guitar and sang my songs down at the hatchery Then one
I still get up and make enough coffee for two And every day, when I pray, I still thank God for you Even though my friends all tell me that you're long
I've had big dreams come true and I believe in Angels although I can't see them They're watching over everything I do Ain't no easy street around the
Wind chimes in a weeping willow Biscuits light as feather pillows At mama?s house Sunday morning kids are squirming Thank the preacher for the sermon
My alarm goes off early, can't afford to be late If I don't get a move on then I won't get paid So I throw back those covers and get my butt up outta
With skin as tough as a burlap sack He had his second heart attack Last summer but he?s still goin? There?s a melancholy in his eyes For all of you who
Ain?t but a half a mile between the city limit signs Population nine hundred an? nine A lotta front porch swingin?, down home livin? Friday night hell
Raymond's in his Sunday best He's usually up to his chest in oil and grease There's the Martin's walkin' in With that mean little freckle-faced kid Who
She?s in the kitchen at the crack of dawn Bacon?s on, coffee?s strong Kids running wild, taking off their clothes If she?s a nervous wreck, well it never
He was standin' in the rubble Of an old farmhouse outside Birmingham When some on-the-scene reporter Stuck a camera in the face of that old man He said
Storm blew a tree down in my backyard My axe wouldn?t cut it and my saw wouldn?t start Good excuse for a trip to the hardware store To give that little
I've been fightin' with these sheets again, can't make myself lie still My pillowcase is soakin' wet and yet l feel a chill It takes all I can do these