Hot steam rising from the door, by the tar road.
Crawdads kicking in the dirt.
Serious cleavage in pink motels.
(The) preacher's emptying his bucket.
(Chorus)
Forks in the road
Pock marks in starch-white shirts.(2x)
Carca** rotting in the yard, by the motel.
(The) Bayou's washed it on the shore.
Maggots turned up bu*terflies in the deep south.
Here I am running from the pulpett.
(Chorus repeated endlessly).