Текст и слова песни Wayne Hancock – 87 Southbound
I caught you with him
On them damp, slick, sticky, satin sheets
Then I packed my things and then I hit the streets
(Chorus)
87 southbound, to San Anton'
You got your baby, I got no home
The pavements burnin', at a hundred and two
I don't need to hear no more excuses, but I don't need you
Lord the sun keeps beatin' me down, and it's hotter'n hell
And if I'm a lucky I'll catch a ride, but you can't never tell
I'd rather be here with the bugs and flies,
Then back there hearin' your alibis
I heard all that I'm gonna hear you say,
I gonna take my pride and go the other way
87 southbound, to San Anton'
It's getting late out, I'm forty miles from home
The rain keeps a fallin', like the tears of my eyes
Just tryin' to wash away the hurt from all your lies
(Yeah daddy)
And lightnin' streaks across the evenin' sky
And if I'm a lucky (it'll make you?) laid right down and die
I know when the morning comes, I'll still be a walking son-of-a-gun
When afternoon comes rolls around,
I'll have ten more miles and one more town
(Repeat Chorus)
No I don't need to hear no more excuses, but I don't love you
On them damp, slick, sticky, satin sheets
Then I packed my things and then I hit the streets
(Chorus)
87 southbound, to San Anton'
You got your baby, I got no home
The pavements burnin', at a hundred and two
I don't need to hear no more excuses, but I don't need you
Lord the sun keeps beatin' me down, and it's hotter'n hell
And if I'm a lucky I'll catch a ride, but you can't never tell
I'd rather be here with the bugs and flies,
Then back there hearin' your alibis
I heard all that I'm gonna hear you say,
I gonna take my pride and go the other way
87 southbound, to San Anton'
It's getting late out, I'm forty miles from home
The rain keeps a fallin', like the tears of my eyes
Just tryin' to wash away the hurt from all your lies
(Yeah daddy)
And lightnin' streaks across the evenin' sky
And if I'm a lucky (it'll make you?) laid right down and die
I know when the morning comes, I'll still be a walking son-of-a-gun
When afternoon comes rolls around,
I'll have ten more miles and one more town
(Repeat Chorus)
No I don't need to hear no more excuses, but I don't love you
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