Hank Williams III — 87 Southbound

    	    	Вступление

87 Southbound-Hancock (Hank III)
                            A Bb B
Well, I caught you with him        on those damn satin sheets,

So I packed my things and then I hit the streets.

   E                   B                                           E
87 southbound to San Antone, it’s getting late out, I ain’t got no home.
              E                A
The pavements burning down at 92  
                E              B                       E 
I don’t need to hear no more excuses that I don’t love you.

          E                    B                         E
Lord, the sun keeps beating me down and it’s hotter than hell.
    B                                  E
And if I’m lucky I’ll catch a ride but you can never tell.
    A                                           E   
I’d rather be here with the bugs and flies than back there hearing your alibis
B                                                                               E
Heard all that I’m gonna hear you say, I’m gonna take my pride and go the other way.

   E                   B                                              E
87 southbound to San Antone, it’s getting late out, I’m 40 miles from home,
               E                            A
The rain keeps falling like the tears in my eyes, 
                   E                 B                  E
I’m just trying to wash away all the hurt from all your lies.

E                  B                 E
Lightning streaks across the evening sky 
    B                                E    
and if I’m lucky I’ll make it big or lay right down and die.
A                                 E                               
I know when the morning comes I’m gonna be a walking son of a gun.
    B                                                                     E
And afternoon comes rolling around, I’ll have ten more miles and one more town.

   E                   B                                           E
87 southbound to San Antone, it’s getting late out, I ain’t got no home,
              E            A    
The pavements burning at 102.  
                E              B                       E
I don’t need to hear no more excuses that I don’t love you.
                E              B                       E
I don’t need to hear no more excuses that I don’t love you.		
    

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