Dark-Haired Woman
Holy Smoke
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A dark haired woman with curly locks Wrote her telephone number on my cigarette box But when I thumped the last one out of the pack I forgot all about it and I threw it in the trash I was in a motel room on the second floor Had a Ithaca shotgun propped up on the door Cause I hate the way this city yells and moans I either want that woman or I wanna go home Had a little whiskey in old tin cup And a TV dinner that I couldn't heat up I heard a banging on the door I grabbed that shotgun and I hit the floor We've got the whole place surrounded now So put your hands up and your shotgun down Your father reads obituaries Then trades his paper for a Corporate magazine A gun shot from the tv screen Your mother sews to dancing queen Your brothers held up in the garage Dressed in army camouflage But he's just 16 An over tight purolater And a heavy jetted carburetor Spewing gasoline Your screen door slams behind your back And you take off across the grass Yelling rescue me please His motorcycle starts to rev And you jump on the back with him And don't come home til 3 About that time I woke up in a chair The radio waves running up in the air Flicked a cigarette butt out on the lawn Wondering where all that whiskey had gone
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"Dark-Haired Woman Lyrics." Lyrics.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 22 May 2024. <https://www.lyrics.com/lyric-lf/5576384/Holy+Smoke/Dark-Haired+Woman>.
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