They Make Whiskey

They make cell phones, to call your friends To pick you up at a half past ten Half ton trucks to get you on down the road And they make Texaco's, for stopping at To get yourself a brand-new pack Of them cigarettes, she hated that you smoked And they make little bars on the edge of town For getting lost for getting found And hanging around for more than a round or two (more than a round or two) And they make eight ball racks, jukebox songs So you can act, like you've moved on Neon signs to shine that neon blue (that neon blue) It just hit me That they make whiskey To get me over you And they make diamond rings for getting tossed And front porch steps for stepping off And hatchback Hondas to hold an old suitcase And they make taillights to disappear While you're standing there in the rearview mirror With a memory that time just can't erase And they make little bars on the edge of town For getting lost, for getting found And hanging around for more than a round or two (more than a round or two) And they make eight ball racks, jukebox songs So you can act, like you've moved on Neon signs to shine that neon blue (that neon blue) It just hit me That they make whiskey To get me over you And they make little bars on the edge of town For getting lost, for getting found And hanging around for more than a round or two (more than a round or two) And they make eight ball racks, jukebox songs So you can act, like you've moved on Neon signs to shine that neon blue (that neon blue) It just hit me They make whiskey To get me over you 'Cause I ain't over you