Frank Foster piosenki

You can hear Bocephus on a truck radio, hear a turkey gobble down an old log road. You can see a white tail comin cross the field. You can still hear that lonesome whippin wheel as the sun falls out of sight into a crazy country night. There's a bunch of bud...

Well these old work boots, they've become my Sunday shoes. And these old calloused hands, I've grown accustomed to. I can't hardly fight the way I'm turning out to be. Yeah, I'm seeing my old man in me. This old cur dog has become my best friend. Yesterday w...