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