Lyrics

She was a level-headed dancer on the road to alcohol And I was just a soldier on my way to Montreal Well, she pressed her chest against me About the time the juke box broke Yeah, she gave me a peck on the back of the neck And these are the words she spoke Blow up your TV, throw away your paper Go to the country, build you a home Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches Try an' find Jesus on your own Well, I sat there at the table and I acted real naive For I knew that topless lady had something up her sleeve Well, she danced around the bar room And she did the hoochy-coo Yeah, she sang her song all night long Tellin' me what to do Blow up your TV, throw away your paper Go to the country, build you a home Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches Try an' find Jesus on your own Well, I was young and hungry And about to leave that place When just as I was leavin' Well she looked me in the face I said, "You must know the answer" She said, "No but I'll give it a try" And to this very day we've been livin' our way Here is the reason why We blew up our TV, threw away our paper Went to the country, built us a home Had a lot of children, fed 'em on peaches They all found Jesus on their own
Writer(s): John Prine, Jeffrey Bradford Kent Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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