Corsicana Girl

She talks too much, gets it from her mama She used to dance in small town Nevada Headed back east, never knew her papa Her son will never know his own A Chevrolet, blacker than the night-time Was her getaway If it had been the right time, I might have stayed But I took them white lines back to where I called home Now I'm sittin' here drownin' in my own tears With the taste of my own medicine in my mouth I took care of you, you and your baby too And all I'm left with is a feeling That I can't figure out A fishing pole with bread on the hook In a swimming hole We didn't catch nothin' except what we stole More than a glance Explicit on the picnic bench Yankee-doodle boy is the nickname she gave me She put a feather in my hat and forgave me For takin' so long to get down south And get thrown from an old paint Now I'm sittin' here drownin' in Lone Star beer With only John Prine to keep me company And he makes me laugh Lord knows that I need that Cuz I miss my little girl from the country Yeah I miss my little girl from the country