I got paid and I was on my way,
169 miles southwest of where I lived,
few stops, smokes with strangers,
no shotgun, just a guitar on front seat,
sooner or later I knew you’d come,
burn my heart with your setting sun,
deflower me with leaves from your cherry tree,
oh how good it feels to be free.
they said I couldn’t be with ya,
you said you’d let me down,
3 cigarettes to ash my fear away,
one white, one green and one brown,
let me whisper in your ear,
and tell you how far from perfect you are my dear,
who cares when our hearts already sinned,
there’s no point in holding it in.