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Ain’t A Truck


Finally gonna get to know you better

No friends around; like first time ever

Couldn’t wait to see those dreamy eyes

Then I saw you pull into the drive

I was hoping for an F150, any ½ ton, I ain’t picky

(Is that a Civic?)



You can jack it up

You can paint it red

Add big ol’ tires

With big ol treads

But that little ol’ thing won’t make it through the mud

Hang a gun rack

If you want

Throw empty beer cans

In the trunk

But, boy, you’re never gonna pick me up

Cuz that ain’t a truck


You got a smile that shines like a July sun

And, boy, I know we could have some fun

But there’s no bed for watching stars

In that shopping cart you call a car


We’d sure look good in a Silverado, but that tin can don’t even cast a shadow


(Oh my God, is that a Prius?)


When that tailgate comes down I need a gentle hand

A man don’t make the truck, the truck makes the man

 (when you’re ready boy, come back and try again)


© 2017  John Cirillo/Carrie DeMaeyer/Dan Reifsnyder

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