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Southern Comfort

de The Orwells

Drink by drink, I think, I'm thinking
Why don't you hang with me this evening?
And I can't walk and I can't dance
Give me a smile and then take off your pants

Saw her eyes in the rear-view mirror
Girls in the back seat, drunk on the beer
Eyes on the prize, eyes on the prize
I'm not that old but I'm getting pretty wise

Coke and rum, can I taste your tongue?
Won't stop sipping till we're both numb
Who's that girl in the short black skirt
The bright lip gloss and the tight white shirt?

Hand down my pants, hands on my grass
Got to the bottom of the bottom, but I still can't dance
Like this brother with the hand full of ass
Bad ass shades and a bag full of grass

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