And it's hotter than hell
I ain't got no home
Than back there hearing your alibis
Or lay right down and die
Lord, the sun keeps beating me down
I know when the morning comes
I'm gonna be a walking son of a gun
It's getting late out
It's getting late out
And afternoon comes rolling around
I'll have ten more miles and one more town
So I packed my things
I don't need to hear no more excuses
Heard all that, I'm gonna hear you say
I'm just trying to wash away
To San Antone
I'm gonna take my pride and go the other way
I don't need to hear no more excuses
I'd rather be here with the bugs and flies
Across the evening sky
But you can never tell
87 southbound
I'm forty miles from home
The hurt from all your lies
That I don't love you
To San Antone
To San Antone
I don't need to hear no more excuses
And if I'm lucky I'll catch a ride
And then I hit the streets
87 southbound
The rain keeps falling
I ain't got no home
Like the tears in my eyes
Lightning streaks
At a hundred and two
The pavement's burning at 92
And if I'm lucky I'll make it big
87 southbound
The pavement's burning
It's getting late out
That I don't love you
