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
A Cosmic Cowboy 