Well, I caught you with him On those damp 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 pavement's burning at 92 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 forty 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 And 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 pavement's 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 youTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
