Corsicana Girl

She talks too much, gets it from her mama
She used to dance in small town Nevada
Headed back east, never knew her papa
Her son will never know his own

A Chevrolet, blacker than the night-time
Was her getaway
If it had been the right time, I might have stayed
But I took them white lines back to where I called home

Now I'm sittin' here drownin' in my own tears
With the taste of my own medicine in my mouth
I took care of you, you and your baby too
And all I'm left with is a feeling
That I can't figure out

A fishing pole with bread on the hook
In a swimming hole
We didn't catch nothin' except what we stole
More than a glance
Explicit on the picnic bench

Yankee-doodle boy is the nickname she gave me
She put a feather in my hat and forgave me
For takin' so long to get down south
And get thrown from an old paint

Now I'm sittin' here drownin' in Lone Star beer
With only John Prine to keep me company
And he makes me laugh
Lord knows that I need that
Cuz I miss my little girl from the country
Yeah I miss my little girl from the country