| I climbed off that rusty farm hog, covered head to boot with dirt.
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| I rinsed off quick in a swimming hole, throw me on a clean shirt.
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| Cause I know my baby’s sittin there waiting, rockin on a porch swing.
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| She ain’t clueless, she knows what she’s doin and how it gets to me.
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| When she puts on them jeans,
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| Climbs up in my truck,
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| She kicks up her bare feet
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| And I’m sweatin bullets son.
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| It’s almost blinding
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| But my eyes ain’t minding.
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| She’s the best thing this back road boy has ever seen,
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| When she puts on them jeans.
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| Sittin in the back pue, listening to the preacher talk.
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| I’m preachin 'bout being thankful and Lord, I’m sure thankin God.
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| She’s got me in a mess with that sundress, yeah my baby, she’s on fire.
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| We were late for the sermon, the hymns we never heard and neither did hear the
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| choir.
|
| When she puts on them jeans,
|
| Climbs up in my truck,
|
| She kicks up her bare feet
|
| And I’m sweatin bullets son.
|
| It’s almost blinding
|
| But my eyes ain’t minding.
|
| She’s the best thing this back road boy has ever seen,
|
| When she puts on them jeans.
|
| When she puts on them jeans,
|
| Climbs up in my truck,
|
| She kicks up her bare feet
|
| And I’m sweatin bullets son.
|
| It’s almost blinding
|
| But my eyes ain’t minding.
|
| She’s the best thing this back road boy has ever seen,
|
| When she puts on them jeans.
|
| When she puts on them jeans, son. |