Bells

(альбом: Creeker - 2018)

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa

We didn't sing Kumbaya, we sang with straight pipes off the 305
We never cussed around our mamas but we raised hell
Until the day of the church bells

Nanny made apple pie in the kitchen
Pawpaw cut the combs off chickens
And daddy burned up this old town
In a ragged GT with three different wheels
Momma read tarot cards under that moon
Spoke to God with some candles in the bathroom
My brothers and me was some rednecks
Coming up on a one lane

We didn't sing Kumbaya, we sang with straight pipes off the 305
We never cussed around our momma's but we raised hell
Until the day of the church bells

We didn't play with Tonka toys
We shot BB guns at the neighbor next door
Any kid who moved in new
Got a taste of that old swampy creek juice
We walked bare feet till our feet turned
Black as the slate on a swimming hole floor
And any car that drove by the midnight street
Never seen my six inch blade

We didn't sing Kumbaya, we sang with straight pipes off the 305
We never cussed around our momma's but we raised hell
Until the day of the church bells

So dear mama, daddy, nanny, and Chicken Willie above
I hope you're happy of the thick skinned man that I've become
That I've become (That I've become)
That I've become (That I've become)
That I've become

We didn't sing Kumbaya, we sang with straight pipes off the 305
We never cussed around our momma's but we raised hell
Until the day of the church bells