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Songs | Albums | Album Arts
Lyricist: John Prine
Lyrics:
She was a level-headed dancer On the road to alcohol And I was just a soldier on my way to Montreal Well, she pressed her chest against me About the time the juke box broke Yeah, she give me a peck On the back of the neck And these are the words she spoke 'Blow up your TV Throw away your paper Go to the country Build you a home Plant a little garden Eat a lot of peaches Try an' find Jesus on your own' Well, I sat there at the table And I acted real naive For I knew that topless lady Had something up her sleeve Well, she danced around the bar room And she did the hoochie-coo Yeah, she sang her song all night long Tellin' me what to do 'Blow up your TV Throw away your paper Go to the country Build you a home Plant a little garden Eat a lot of peaches Try an' find Jesus on your own' Well, I was young and hungry And about to leave that place When just as I was leavin' Well, she looked me in the face I said, 'You must know the answer' She said, 'No, but I'll give it a try' And to this very day, we've been livin' our way Here is the reason why We blew up our TV Threw away our paper Went to the country Built us a home Had a lot of children Fed 'em on peaches They all found Jesus on their own
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