87 Southbound 歌词
| 歌曲 | 87 Southbound |
| 歌手 | Hank Williams III |
| 专辑 | Risin' Outlaw |
| 下载 | Image LRC TXT |
| 作词 : Hancock | |
| Well, I caught you with him on those damn satin sheets, | |
| So I packed my things and then | |
| I hit the streets 87 southbound to | |
| San Antone | |
| It's getting late out, | |
| I ain't got no home | |
| The pavements burning at ninety-two | |
| I don't need to hear no more excuses that | |
| I don't love you | |
| Lord, the sun keeps beating me down and it's hotter than hell | |
| And if I'm lucky | |
| I'll catch a ride, but you can never tell | |
| I'd rather be here with the bugs and flies than back there hearing your alibis | |
| Heard all that | |
| I'm gonna hear you say, | |
| I'm gonna take my pride and go the other way 87 southbound to | |
| San Antone | |
| It's getting late out, | |
| I'm 40 miles from home | |
| The rain keeps falling like the tears in my eyes, | |
| I'm just trying to wash away the hurt from all your lies | |
| Lightning streaks across the evening sky and if | |
| I'm lucky | |
| I'll make it big or lay right down and die | |
| I know when the morning comes | |
| I'm gonna be a walking son of a gun. | |
| When afternoon comes rolling around, | |
| I'll have ten more miles and one more town 87 southbound, to | |
| San Antone | |
| It's getting late out, | |
| I ain't got no home | |
| The pavements burning, at a hundred and two | |
| I don't need to hear no more excuses that | |
| I don't love you | |
| I don't need to hear no more excuses that | |
| I don't love you |
| zuo ci : Hancock | |
| Well, I caught you with him on those damn satin sheets, | |
| So I packed my things and then | |
| I hit the streets 87 southbound to | |
| San Antone | |
| It' s getting late out, | |
| I ain' t got no home | |
| The pavements burning at ninetytwo | |
| I don' t need to hear no more excuses that | |
| I don' t love you | |
| Lord, the sun keeps beating me down and it' s hotter than hell | |
| And if I' m lucky | |
| I' ll catch a ride, but you can never tell | |
| I' d rather be here with the bugs and flies than back there hearing your alibis | |
| Heard all that | |
| I' m gonna hear you say, | |
| I' m gonna take my pride and go the other way 87 southbound to | |
| San Antone | |
| It' s getting late out, | |
| I' m 40 miles from home | |
| The rain keeps falling like the tears in my eyes, | |
| I' m just trying to wash away the hurt from all your lies | |
| Lightning streaks across the evening sky and if | |
| I' m lucky | |
| I' ll make it big or lay right down and die | |
| I know when the morning comes | |
| I' m gonna be a walking son of a gun. | |
| When afternoon comes rolling around, | |
| I' ll have ten more miles and one more town 87 southbound, to | |
| San Antone | |
| It' s getting late out, | |
| I ain' t got no home | |
| The pavements burning, at a hundred and two | |
| I don' t need to hear no more excuses that | |
| I don' t love you | |
| I don' t need to hear no more excuses that | |
| I don' t love you |
| zuò cí : Hancock | |
| Well, I caught you with him on those damn satin sheets, | |
| So I packed my things and then | |
| I hit the streets 87 southbound to | |
| San Antone | |
| It' s getting late out, | |
| I ain' t got no home | |
| The pavements burning at ninetytwo | |
| I don' t need to hear no more excuses that | |
| I don' t love you | |
| Lord, the sun keeps beating me down and it' s hotter than hell | |
| And if I' m lucky | |
| I' ll catch a ride, but you can never tell | |
| I' d rather be here with the bugs and flies than back there hearing your alibis | |
| Heard all that | |
| I' m gonna hear you say, | |
| I' m gonna take my pride and go the other way 87 southbound to | |
| San Antone | |
| It' s getting late out, | |
| I' m 40 miles from home | |
| The rain keeps falling like the tears in my eyes, | |
| I' m just trying to wash away the hurt from all your lies | |
| Lightning streaks across the evening sky and if | |
| I' m lucky | |
| I' ll make it big or lay right down and die | |
| I know when the morning comes | |
| I' m gonna be a walking son of a gun. | |
| When afternoon comes rolling around, | |
| I' ll have ten more miles and one more town 87 southbound, to | |
| San Antone | |
| It' s getting late out, | |
| I ain' t got no home | |
| The pavements burning, at a hundred and two | |
| I don' t need to hear no more excuses that | |
| I don' t love you | |
| I don' t need to hear no more excuses that | |
| I don' t love you |
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