BaD bad WoMaN OBA

BAD BAD WOMAN

Outlaw Country • Southern Rock • Country Rap

Yeah…

Another oilfield town.

Another twelve-hour day.

Another hundred miles of blacktop

between where I was

and wherever the hell they were sending me next.

I wasn’t looking for love.

Hell, I wasn’t even looking for trouble.

But sometimes trouble finds you.

And brother…

She was beautiful trouble.

I was rolling down a backroad with the daylight getting low,

Steel toes on the floorboard, another hundred miles to go.

From an oil pad in the morning to another one at night,

Working underneath that southern sun until we lost the light.

Had the dust all on my pickup, had the grease all on my hands,

Living out a beat-up suitcase, chasing rigs across the land.

Every town became another blur, another motel key,

Another place I’d probably leave before it remembered me.

I was tired, hot and hungry, needed something cold to drink,

Pulled into a little roadside joint without a thought to think.

Just another neon watering hole, another Friday crowd,

Country music from the speakers and the whole damn place was loud.

Then the front door opened slowly.

Brother, everything just stopped.

She walked in like she owned the place,

And every damn jaw dropped.

Pretty face, dark eyes, little wicked country grin,

Body built like trouble wrapped in sun-kissed skin.

Every cowboy turned around, every working man could see,

But out of every fool inside that bar—

She was looking straight at me.

I smiled.

She smiled.

I raised my drink.

She laughed.

And that laugh hit harder than a whiskey shot,

Had me forgetting every mile I’d traveled

and every damn place I had to be.

She was a BAD, BAD WOMAN,

Good God almighty!

BAD, BAD WOMAN,

Little wild, little rowdy!

Everybody in the whole damn place

wanted what I had.

But she grabbed my hand,

pulled me close,

and said,

“Come on, oilfield man, let’s get bad!”

Whoa-oh-oh!

We were burning gasoline!

Whoa-oh-oh!

Wildest woman I’d ever seen!

Seven damn days,

two hearts running free—

That BAD, BAD WOMAN

still remembers me!

Walked over slow, confidence high,

Little fire in her walk, little hell in her eyes.

Said, “What’s your name?”

I told her mine.

She said, “You always this dirty?”

I said, “Most of the time.”

She laughed so hard she damn near spilled

that drink she was holding in her hand.

Said, “I should’ve known by looking at you,

you’re one of those oilfield men.”

Yeah.

Dirty boots, dirty jeans, clean money in my pocket,

Hard-working son of a gun and there ain’t no way to stop it.

Pad to pad, town to town, wherever that work goes,

Sunburned arms and busted knuckles, that’s the life I chose.

But that night I wasn’t thinking about equipment, crews or steel,

Wasn’t thinking about tomorrow

BAD BAD WOMAN thanks for COMING