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Hope Those Buns Aren’t Loaded!

He’s a buck nekkid outlaw,
You can tell at a glance
That he likes rotgut whiskey
And don’t like no pants.
He gets wrecked when he’s drivin’
Like outlaws will do,
With his Waylon cranked up
And his Willie in view.

The buck nekkid outlaw
Is ornery and mean,
A bad-tempered cuss
And a little obscene.
When the gun-totin’ lawmen
Come round at high noon,
He don’t reach for the sky,
He just gives ‘em the moon!


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