Truck Bed Therapy

I got a dented tailgate, half a tank of gas,
And a cooler full of secrets I ain’t gonna ask.
You left me with the radio and a ghost of your perfume—
Now I’m drivin’ circles ‘round this heartbreak town,
Singin’ loud enough to drown the sound.
(Chorus:)
So pour me one more shot of moonshine truth,
Let the stars judge me, they don’t need proof.
I’ll crank the volume till the windows shake,
Call it truck bed therapy—yeah, that’s my mistake. Ain’t no therapist cheaper than a dirt-road drive,
With a six-string prayer and a broken heart alive.
(Verse two:)
Mama says “get over it,” Daddy says “grow a pair,”
But they never had to watch your taillights disappear.
I got your hoodie in the back seat, smells like last July—
Every mile I chase you, I just end up cryin’.
Chorus:
So pour me one more shot of moonshine truth,
Let the crickets testify, they’ve heard it all too.
I’ll blast that old George Strait till the cops pull me over,
Call it truck bed therapy—hell, I’m still your lover.
[harmonica wail, like a coyote laughin’]
(Bridge:)
Maybe tomorrow I’ll trade this rust for gold,
Find a girl who don’t leave me cold.
But tonight? Tonight I’m king of this gravel throne—
Just me, my dog, and a phone that won’t ring home.
(Final chorus (slower, half-spoken):)
So here’s to bad decisions and better songs,
To diesel dreams and where we both went wrong.
I’ll keep the wheel straight, keep the volume high—
Truck bed therapy… till the day I die. [beat drops, TikTok-ready hook:]
“Truck bed therapy—yeah, that’s my high.”

Country Modern outlaw country: raw, twangy heartbreak with big hooks. Like Stapleton + Wallen, but dirt-road real.