Includes unlimited streaming of Heartland Shakedown
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
ships out within 7 days
Purchasable with gift card
$20USDor more
Compact Disc (CD) + Digital Album
Heartland Shakedown CD - comes in special collector's edition vinyl sleeve and insert. Frame it, keep notes in it.
Includes unlimited streaming of Heartland Shakedown
via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
ships out within 7 days
Purchasable with gift card
$10USDor more
about
Your woman gets her legs from the sockhop
And your arms are the best jukeboxes in these hick bars
I can tell you that someone will warble for you when you die
Turning the stereo up in their postered bedroom
Cowskins hang from all your head-bobbing babes
Their hair paraded in mustangs
You've got these sidling, infantile blondies
And headstrong sirens draped upon your slumping shoulders
I can tell you that someone will cover for you
When the pills go missing, and you with em
It's hard to see these tiny waists and skinny ties
And not see the singular way that one arm drapes around another's body
But when you're six feet deep a woman will still cream
When she hears your voice on the radio
It's easy: vodka poured over your plugged-in guitar
Elvis's pelvis ain't got nothing on yours
Those cigarette leg jeans silhouette each leg in black denim
And I can tell that death won't stop you in your tracks
Sipping martini after martini
Tossing glass after glass in a frantic attempt to get better with time
I won't tell you one more drink won't make it better
But one more drink will get you where you wanna go
lyrics
Your woman gets her legs from the sock hop,
and your arms are the best jukeboxes in these hick bars.
I can tell you that someone will warble for you when you die,
turning the stereo up in their postered bedroom.
Cowskins hang from all your head-bobbing babes
their hair paraded in Mustangs. You’ve got these sidling infantile blondies
and headstrong sirens draped upon your slumping shoulders.
I can tell that someone will cover for you when the pills go missing and you with them.
It’s hard to see these tiny waists and skinny ties
and not see the singular way one arm drapes around another’s body.
But when you’re six feet deep a woman will still cream for you on the radio.
It’s easy: Vodka poured over your plugged-in guitar.
Elvis’s Pelvis ain’t got nothin’ on yours
Those cigarette-leg jeans silhouette each leg in black denim.
I can tell that death won’t stop you in your tracks.
Sipping martini after martini, tossing glass after glass
in a frantic attempt to get better with time.
I might tell you that one more drink won’t make it better.
But one more drink will get you where you want to go
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