Prompt / Lyrics
[Verse 1] White lines drowning under rivers of rain Wipers slap time to the hum in my brain Coffee gone cold, cab smells like smoke Map on the dash curled up like a joke [Chorus] I got blacktop in the blood, ghosts in the grill Hauling dead weight up a long black hill Storm in the sky, storm in my gut If the devil wants a ride, he knows where to cut Right down this road Right down this rut [Verse 2] CB hisses, just static and lies Jackknife rumors and a sideways sky Saw a pair of tail-lights vanish in a spin Like a prayer sucked out where the dark begins [Chorus] I got blacktop in the blood, ghosts in the grill Hauling dead weight up a long black hill Storm in the sky, storm in my gut If the devil wants a ride, he knows where to cut Right down this road Right down this rut [Bridge] Twenty tons swaying on a thin wet line Every mile marker looks like a sign Wind keeps leaning, wants me to fold Whispers my name through the cracks in the bold [Chorus] I got blacktop in the blood, ghosts in the grill Hauling dead weight up a long black hill Storm in the sky, storm in my gut If the devil wants a ride, he knows where to cut Right down this road Right down this rut (yeah, right down this rut)
Tags
country, Grimy outlaw country ballad, baritone male vocals. Low-tuned acoustic and twangy electric guitar over a slow, swaying beat; brushed snare and distant toms like rolling thunder. Verses stay hushed and close-mic’d, with creaking pedal steel and subtle organ drone; chorus swells wider with stacked, ragged harmonies and a hanging reverb tail. Final pass strips back to voice and guitar, letting the last line hang in silence.
Duration
2:58
Instrumental
No
Created
2/1/2026