Sundays, Daddy'd carry me to Grandmama's house,

Allman Brothers up, windows down.

And I'd sing pining songs to the pines lining that blacktop road.

Now we're driving through Tennessee.

In memory of Ruel Bains and Liz Reed.

And my Daddy's back home, got our record on the stereo.

I’ve got a pastel postcard of my Savior on my dash.

I’ve got my Mama and Daddy on speed dial in my phone.

Lord knows I've got some pretty ghosts in my past.

They've all got other men's diamonds on.

And ground into the floorboard

Is the red, red dirt of home.

Burning up oil, burning down cigarettes,

Burning for a girl that ain't burned me yet.

And we're burning down the Interstate under the sun's burning crown.

And all this black air and white smoke

Are like brimstone in my throat,

But we've got a valley to cross and miles before we're laid down.

I’ve got a pastel postcard of my Savior on my dash.

I’ve got my Mama and Daddy on speed dial in my phone.

Lord knows I got some pretty ghosts in my past.

They've all got other men's diamonds on.

And ground into the floorboard

Is the red, red dirt of home.

I pray that someday I will change,

Find a sweet girl to bear my ring,

And I'll sow my seed in the red, red dirt of home.

But for now, I got this haint burrowed in my heart,

Got these songs, this stage and this bar,

And I'm going to shout, shout, shout till this mean old

haint leaves me alone.

I’ve got a pastel postcard of my Savior on my dash.

I’ve got my Mama and Daddy on speed dial in my phone.

Lord knows I got some pretty ghosts in my past.

They've all got other men's diamonds on.

And ground into the floorboard

Is the red, red dirt of home.