Late night wanderings across the Tennessee state line
“Let’s go to the burlesque”
He muttered beneath Hank Williams honky tonkin’
Into the nightly, the flathead rumbled
The 51’ Henry gnarled on the pavement
Scratching the air with her satin black paint.
“Why are we going what’s the occasion”?
“No occasion” he replied
With the pines whispering in a southern dialect
As mountain land appeared.
He held a bottle Old Crow
“Want a shot for your belly”?
At the club, it was closed of course.
“Hey man they’re closed” said a stranger.
“Whooeee I’m geeked, just spent 400 on one gal. She shouldn’t’ tease so.”
Hollered the stranger into the nightly cold.
“What’s next”
“Nashville son, where the beer tastes like gold” he replied.
“Of course you realise we’ll have to stay the night.”
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