Break Down Here
Mile marker 203
The gas gauge leanin on the edge of E
I'll be danged if the rain ain't pourin down
there's Somethin goin' on underneath the hood
It's a-bangin and a-clangin and it can't be good
It's another 50 miles to the nearest town
Everything I own is in the back in a Hefty bag
I'm outta cigarettes and I'm down to my last drag
[Chorus:]
I'd sure hate to break down here
Nothin up ahead or in the rear-view mirror
Out in the middle of no where knowin
I'm in trouble if these wheels stop rollin
God help me keep me movin somehow
Don't let me start wishin I was with him now
I've made it this far without cryin a single tear
I'd sure hate to break down here
Under fifty-thousand miles ago
Before the bad blood and busted radio
You said I was all you'd ever need
well Love is blind and little did I know
That you were just another dead-end road
Paved with pretty lies and broken dreams
Baby lovin' you is easier than bein gone
I don't know what I'll do if one more thing goes wrong
[Repeat Chorus Twice]
It's to late to turn around
I'd sure hate to break down here
Mile marker 215
Похожие новости.
Wishful Thinkin’
Came to Hollywood Gonna be a movie star She got off the bus But she didn't get far Now she can act as good as Meryl Streep Dreams of stardom when she sleeps The casting couch
Lover Please
Lover please please come back Don't take a train comin' down the track Don't please don't please don't leave me don't leave me in memory You would never hold me near you would
Lavorer?
Lavorer? per poi goder goder di chi? goder di cosa? e ti amer? sopra ogni cosa per poi goder goder con te Lavorer? senza riposo per poi goder goder di cosa? e ti amer? mia dolce
Мы Разбиваемся
мы разбегаемся по делам земля разбивается пополам сотри меня смотри в меня останься прости меня за слабость и за то что я так странно и отчаянно люблю вздох сожаления на губах зависли в неправильных городах звонки телефонные под луной границы условные я с тобой сотри меня смотри в меня останься
The Song Collector
The Folk Society meet on Thursday nights Clear their throats and put their coughs to flight To sing the dusty cobwebs from the room A repertoire both in and out of tune Don't assume