The Junk

The Junk

 She’s 14 going on 43… She gets the best of my friends and me

 She’s not afraid to start a fight… No one has ever seen her cry

 She’s been a damn good son… Why didn’t God give her the junk

 She loves to fly fish and hunt… She ain’t afraid of blood and guts

 She never misses with any gun… In her room is a 12 point buck

 She’s been a damn good son… Why didn’t God give her the junk

 She’s got a 12 gauge and 357… She reloads her own ammunition

 She says when she’s old enough… She wants a four-wheel-drive truck

 She’s been a damn good son… Why didn’t God give her the junk

 She doesn’t wear any makeup… Or any blingey girly stuff

 She wears a Broncos ball cap… Or a beat-up cowboy hat

 She’s been a damn good son… Why didn’t God give her the junk

 She wears jeans and flannel shirts… Doesn’t own a single skirt

 She’s got calloused hands… Just like a working man

 She’s been a damn good son… Why didn’t God give her the junk

 I think the man of her dreams… Will sit in the back seat

 And vacuum and clean… And cook up her elk and deer meat

 She’s been a damn good son… Why did God give her the junk







Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s