Birthday Boy Songtext

Got a girlfriend, don't you, boy?
Nervous hands can't lie
Married men don't ask how much
Single one's ain't buy

One day you've got everything
Next day it's all broke
Let this Trixie sit up front
Let her wipe your nose

Working for the money like you got eight hands
Flat on your back under a mean old man
Just thinking happy thoughts, breathing in

Between your momma's drive and daddy's belt
It don't take smarts to learn the tune
?

Pretty girls from the smallest towns
Can't remember life's storms and droughts That old men talk about the years to come

I guess that's why they give us back
So few old man can say
They saw us when we were young

Which one's the birthday boy? she said
I ain't got all night
What your momma name you?
You can call me what you like