Verse 1 - My Ford broke down, again, I'm wondering why I ever bought this truck. My wife told me not to buy it, so to spite her I went out and bought this rusty pile of fuck. I reckon I needed something else in my life to cause me a headache and refuse to do anything I want it to, but I can't afford anything new.
Verse 2 - On the occasion this truck does decide to start, I hang my head down low when other drivers pass. I'd be proud enough to drive with my head above the steering wheel if it was held together by a little more thanpaint chips and a prayer, and drivers weren't always on my ass.
Chorus 1 - I don't drive far anymore. This truck is a run down, fucked up version of the truck it was before. It wakes the neighbors with its backfires and needs a new set of tires. The rims are cracked, the ignition is hacked, and the timing is never right. If I knew any better, I'd junk this thing just to get it out of my sight.
Verse 3 - As for my wife, she nags all day, won't ever stop bitching, and just won't ever go away. She spends my money, smokes as much as the truck, and her makeup is always runny. If she doesn't die soon, I might have to leave just to sleep one quiet moon.
Verse 4 - I can't go one more sleepless night, and if the truck breaks down again, my boss will cut me loose, then my mortgage will go tits up, and my wife will hang me with a noose. I'm not asking for sympathy, just a little peace and quiet. It's too bad that when I tell my wife I love her, she won't buy it.
Chorus 2 - I don't drive far anymore. This truck is a run down, fucked up version of the truck it was before. It wakes the neighbors with its backfires and needs a new set of tires. The rims are cracked, the ignition is hacked, and the timing is never right. If I knew any better, I'd junk this thing just to get it out of my sight.
Verse 5 - Well, suppose I flee, that'd be okay with me, but how far would I get? A few miles down the road, a couple of tires blowed, putting me even further into debt. But don't mind me, I'm as happy as can be, after all my life ain't half bad. It could be worse, I could be gay, and I'd still have a piece of shit truck. The less I think, the less I care, and the better I live each day.
Chorus 3 - I don't drive far anymore. This truck is a run down, fucked up version of the truck it was before. It wakes the neighbors with its backfires and needs a new set of tires. The rims are cracked, the ignition is hacked, and the timing is never right. If I knew any better, I'd junk this thing just to get it out of my sight.
