In the fall we can go huntin' down by the banks of old Mill CreeknOh, you're guns all rusted out and mine's just made for shooting skeetnOh, we can leave 'em in the truck and take two pints of wild turknAnd when they ask us what we got, we'll say, Well, we got out of worknnAnd either you got longer legs or you got bigger lungsnCause I know for a fact we done the same amount of drugsnAnd I'm lying in a heap on the side of the trailnWhile you take the shortcuts up to the top of the hillnnBut anyway, I'm terrified of heightsnYou gotta climb it alonenBut when you get to the top, won't you holler back downnWhat's it look like up there?nI always kinda wanted to knownWoah, woahnnWell, I got me a stereo I keep kinda lownUntil a good song comes on, and then I kinda let her gonThere's still music out there that warms my insidesnIt makes my days a tiny little bit more demiserifiednLike right now Bob Wells and his Playboys are talkingnBout how the big man gets the money while the little one picks the cottonnAnd the big fish eats the little fish, but that little fish was really baitnAnd I eat that big fish up with a silver spoon and a paper platenThe utensil I received from my mother and dadnBut the plate I made myself with my own two handsnAnd I don't mind either one just as long as nobody knowsnWoah, woahnnWell, I remember the day with my brother and his best friendnThey burst into my room looking like the world come to an endnThey said there's a fire on the hill, but it's near the reservoirnWe can put it out but we gotta take mom and dad's carnAnd I cursed bothnAnd then I said lets gonWoah, woahnnYou're giving me that look that says you're in it deepnUnless that's the look that says tonight don't plan on any sleepnI guess I'll take my chances with the one, hold out hope for the othernBut girl, oh, wait a second, that smile's kinda blowing your covernAnd we're sucking in the wind and snow through the cracks between our smilesnMaking tracks back to the village, though we still got a couple milesnWhere we can sharpen up our fangs, flatten out our feathersnAnd thank the good lord up above for this god awful weathernnAnd if it's too good just tell me, I'll do something wrongnBut I'm thinking that you're winking cause you kinda like this songnAnd that bottle of Sangria wasn't such a bad idea after allnWoah, woah