|
I've been a thrill seeking rambler |
|
And often came into this town |
|
But the thrills were too high for my little sky |
|
So I dug in and I've settled down |
|
And I got a good job in Nashville |
|
No way they can pay me enough |
|
For grindin' up tobacco leaves |
|
Making brut and snuff |
|
Southern comfort is killin' me |
|
I'm slowly chokin' in Tennessee |
|
I shovel the snuff until late afternoon |
|
Then I crawl with the traffic and I choke on its fumes |
|
And fall on the face when I get to my room |
|
Southern comfort is killin' me |
|
I met a woman in Nashville |
|
For a while we were carryin' on |
|
She'd washed snuff out of my shirts every night |
|
And keep me with clean ones on |
|
But I guess she got tired of tobacco |
|
At least of the regular kind |
|
Now I'm still workin' where nicotine |
|
And memories are burnin' in my mind |
|
And Southern comfort is killin' me |
|
The Cumberland cannot enhermit each bee |
|
I'm sniffin' and dippin' and livin' alone |
|
I smell funny smoke and I know where she's gone |
|
She's in some other county now proving her own |
|
Southern comfort is killin' me |
|
Southern comfort is killin' me |