Lyrics: Tennessee Tango Whiskey

The Tennesse boy's shoes don't tie right.
His shirt don't tuck with them jeans so tight.
Pockets of dust, and an empty mouth, but that shit don't matter it's a Saturday night, Alright.
Out on Alsup Road...sip on Lightning Joe.

Here waits Sam with her rolled red hair.
On Highway 61, thumb in the air.
Her lips are drawl. Her legs are lean. In fifteen hours she'll be in New Orleans, Nawlins.
Up on Royal Street. Sam at Mr. B's.

The boy is skinny, but his voice is deep.
His beard won't grow out on his cheeks.
Half a cigarette hangs by his teeth.
Vulgar tones a mane of grease.

Here comes the love of the redhead child.
His eyes are locked on her frame of wire.
Shimmying down Canal and Camp, to the rhythm of the steps of the one he desires.
He's light and wild.
She's fair stone mild. Sam at Mr. B's.

The love can't find Sam at Mr. B's.
He turns west 14 blocks, Bourbon Street.
Spots her frame and stops to breathe.
Takes her hand, she sighs relief.

There goes Sam and her rolled redhair.
Struttin' hot coals. Nose in the air.
Her style is cloudy, but skirt is clean. And for this city that's enough to be crowned queen.