Somebody's burning up a big brush pile.
Somebody's cutting their grass.
Somebody's planting them front porch flowers.
Somebody's digging up past.
I mean.
It's hard to hit a small town.
Beach by cooling off by sink hummingbird
floating around her dad's pride.
She's too old to be pulling them weeds.
So the neighbors kids do it because they're raised right.
I mean.
It's hard to hit a small town.
Yes, it is.
It's hard to hate them.
Tulane roads on a harvest moon.
F-150 feeling bulletproof.
Ropes swing down off Sycamore Creek and
the miles and miles of cottonwood trees.
Find a spot where you can park.
Fall in love and break a heart.
Oh yeah.
There's always gonna be something to talk about.
It's hard to hit a small town.
That good old boys football games.
The only thing to do on Friday.
They ain't won state since 2008. There's cars flying down the highway.
Come on.
It's hard to hit a small town.
It's hard to hate them.
Tulane roads on a harvest moon.
F-150 feeling bulletproof.
Ropes swing down off Sycamore Creek and
the miles and miles of cottonwood trees.
Find a spot where you can park.
Fall in love and break a heart.
Oh yeah.
There's always gonna be something to talk about.
It's hard to hit a small town.
Somebody's signing up a long black hearse.
Somebody's about to get buried.
Somebody's ringing that old church bell.
Looks like they just got married.
I mean, ooooh.
It's hard to hate them.
Tulane roads on a harvest moon.
F-150 feeling bulletproof.
Ropes swing down off Sycamore Creek and
the miles and miles of cottonwood trees.
Find a pull off spot where you can park.
Fall in love and break a heart.
Oh yeah.
There's always gonna be something to talk about.
Lord, it's hard to hit a small town.
Yes it is.
It's hard to hit a small town.