What I’m listening to…
Well my buckle makes impressions
On the inside of her thigh
There are little feathered Indians
Where we tussled through the night
If I'd known she was religious
Then I wouldn't have came stoned
To the house of such an angel
Too fucked up to get back home
Lookin' over West Virginia
Smoking Spirits on the roof
She asked ain't anybody told ya
Th…
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