Ah, what y'all say we pick it back up just a little bit right here?
Yeah, Cali, what you got, baby?

Quit my job, flipped off the boss, took my name off the payroll
Screw you, man
Picked up my cell, rang my baby's bell, said, "I'm three miles from home"
I said, "Sugar, why don't you put on that sun dress I like so much?
Wait out by the road, I'm comin' to pick you up"

Whoa
Throw your suitcase in the back
Whoa
Done gassed up the Pontiac
Whoa
Blastin' out to Johnny Cash
Headin' for the highway
Baby, we ain't ever comin' (back)

It's four hundred and sixty-seven miles to the outskirts of Las Vegas
What do you say we go get married by a preacher man who looks like Elvis?
Yeah, mama
Sugar, don't you worry 'bout tellin' your mama goodbye
Send her a souvenir postcard from the wild side
Singin'

Whoa
Throw your suitcase in the back
Whoa
Done gassed up the Pontiac
Whoa
Blastin' out to Johnny Cash
Headin' for the highway
Baby, we ain't ever comin' back

Whoa
Throw your suitcase in the back
Whoa
Done gassed up the Pontiac
Whoa
Blastin' out to Johnny Cash
Headin' for the highway
Baby, we ain't ever comin' back
I said

Whoa
Hear that train a-comin', rollin' 'round the bend
(Whoa)
The man in black's gonna rock that ass again
(Whoa)
(Whoa)

Copyright: AMPLIFIED ADMINISTRATION, RESERVOIR MEDIA MANAGEMENT INC, Songtrust Ave, Universal Music Publishing Group, Warner Chappell Music, Inc.
Writer(s): John Rich, Rodney Clawson, Vicky McGehee