Hey, kinda like that banjo.
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Crank that stuff up a little.
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Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about.
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The way she looks, the way she walks;
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That southern twang; that dirty talk.
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Rides Harley's, reads Vogue.
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She got a tattoo on her ankle, rebel flags on her toes.
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One shake of that hip could make a puppy dog vicious.
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Mmm, hmm, mmm: rebelicious.
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She'll take Jack over martinis,
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Skinny dippin' over bikinis.
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That hard body, soft smile,
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Could send a big man to his knees and drive them little boys wild.
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She likes them tiny little skirts, an' the way the preacher's boy blushes:
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Mmm, mmm: rebelicious.
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She's a long tall, shopping-mall,
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Barbie-doll trailer park queen.
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Mouthwaterin',
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'Bout hotter than anything I've ever seen.
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(Ah,)
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(Ooh.)
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She's an outlaw livin', ready an' willin',
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Sun-tanned redneck, miss hittin'.
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You got a mansion, you drive a vet.
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You wear a Rolex, hell, she ain't impressed.
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She like deer stands, beer cans,
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Baits are on the hook when she fishes:
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Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm: rebelicious.
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Aw, that's what I'm talkin' about man.
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Cheap sunglasses, a pick-up truck; convertible.
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What is that thing? a sixty-nine?
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Mmm, not a tan line on anything I can see: whoo.
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Hey, I bet you she knows David Allen Coe.
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-----------------
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Rebelicious
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Jamey Johnson |