This Can’t Be Good

There's a campfire burning on the Mississippi River bank
My old pickup speakers are cranking out alot of Hank
That's the sheriff's daughter dancin' on my hood
With an empty bottle this can't be good.

There's an unwritten law in this sleepy little town
There ain't no drinkin on the river when the sun goes down
Think I see the blue lights comin' through the woods
Its the sheriff and his posse, this can't be good

Everybody is runnin' like the end of the world is comin'
With a Buffard T kinda law man closin' in
She just keeps on rockin guess i better do some talkin
She's too dumb to run n' i'm too drunk to swim
This can't be good, this can't be good, this can't be good

Aww stay tuned...

This ol' haybarn's full of last years grass
I got a whole tin can full of campfire gas
Theres a little bitty flame on this piece of firewood
And when it all comes together it can't be good

Everybody is runnin like the end of the world was comin
With a wildfire burnin' like a freight train outta control
She just keeps on rockin', babe there ain't no time for talking
Throw her over my shoulder run with everything I can
Hold on babe looks like were jumpin in...

Now you know, when we get to the other side, were gonna have to take all
These wet clothes off, and hang out awhile... you know, this could be good.

Yea!

Похожие новости.

Per? Ti Amo

Sto parlando con te forse non l'hai capito apri quelle orecchie non sei per niente bella, nemmeno spiritosa, a volte sei noiosa. Ehi, smetti di truccarti tanto non cambia niente, niente rimani sempre quella, quella che non capisco anch'io non

I Got Mine

Yeah! I was a movin' man in my younger days But I've grown out of my ramblin' ways I left that road so far behind Now I know, oh baby I got mine I got mine I

Back In My Baby’s Arms

I'm back in my baby's arms again I'm thankful too I'm back in my baby's arms again that love is true I'm back in my baby's arms again where I should be Cause

Ее Глаза (Из Шекспира)

Её глаза на звёзды не похожи В них бьётся мотыльком живой огонь Ещё один обычный вечер прожит, А с ней он каждый раз другой Её упрёки - вестники прохлады Как скошенная в августе трава И пусть

Луговая Трава

Брат, ты слышишь эти звуки ? В них сердец глухие стуки Да молитва через мат Где в нагрудный крестик град Пуль, что дуры ошалели Глаз, которые в прицел смотрели Рук дрожащих мелкой сталью Взгляд застывший дальней далью Луговая