Well, I gotta go, down the road
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Outta my way, Pigfuckers, it's getting old
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I'm leavin town, anywhere bound
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Call my name, I won't be found.
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With your Wal-Mart gossip, and country-fried philosophy, toothless witticisms abut farm machinery
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Just a greasy ham stuffed with high-school football scores, I'm hittin' the road, mister, I cant take it anymore.
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Jacked-up high-school jarheads tradin' licks at the Dairy Queen.
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Line-dancing silicon bimbos trying to be seen.
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A thousand well-placed hand grenades in the local mall, my little way of sayin' "Goodbye to all y'all!"
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Well, anyone can see, it's been home to better than me, so I guess I'd better watch what I say. But what am I supposed to do, the one thing I know is true: the only time I like it is when I'm far away
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Outta The Way, Pigfuckers
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| Nine Pound Hammer |
