Hey, kinda like that banjo. Crank that stuff up a little. Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' about.
The way she looks, the way she walks; That southern twang; that dirty talk. Rides Harley's, reads Vogue. She got a tattoo on her ankle, rebel flags on her toes. One shake of that hip could make a puppy dog vicious. Mmm, hmm, mmm: rebelicious.
She'll take Jack over martinis, Skinny dippin' over bikinis. That hard body, soft smile, Could send a big man to his knees and drive them little boys wild. She likes them tiny little skirts, an' the way the preacher's boy blushes: Mmm, mmm: rebelicious.
She's a long tall, shopping-mall, Barbie-doll trailer park queen. Mouthwaterin', 'Bout hotter than anything I've ever seen.
(Ah,) (Ooh.)
She's an outlaw livin', ready an' willin', Sun-tanned redneck, miss hittin'.
You got a mansion, you drive a vet. You wear a Rolex, hell, she ain't impressed. She like deer stands, beer cans, Baits are on the hook when she fishes: Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm: rebelicious.
Aw, that's what I'm talkin' about man. Cheap sunglasses, a pick-up truck; convertible. What is that thing? a sixty-nine? Mmm, not a tan line on anything I can see: whoo. Hey, I bet you she knows David Allen Coe.