| G | C | |
| She cooks him ham and ho'cakes |
| G | C | |
| at five thirty every morn |
| G | C | |
| and she does the dishes |
| G | C | |
| and she irons his unif | orm |
| G | C | |
| And she t | hinks she might have loved him once, |
| G | C | |
| but that was so long | ago |
| G | C | |
| and the r | ain pours down like a holy waterf | all |
| G | C | |
| over the G | ulf of Mexico |
| G | C | |
| The boardwalk's deserted |
| G | C | |
| and the beach is all closed d | own |
| G | C | |
| and the | middle school punk rockers |
| G | C | |
| ride their skateboards through the | town |
| G | |
| And s | he looks back and she daydreams |
| C | |
| about p | aintin' people she's never seen |
| G | C | |
| just to k | eep from bein' blue |
| G | |
| and s | he gets home about a quarter 'till four |
| C | |
| and she d | rives her brother to the liquor store |
| G | C | |
| on O | cean Avenue |
| G | C | |
| And I'm parked on the stateline |
| G | C | |
| on this cold November day |
| G | C | |
| and | pretty soon I'll be a drivin' fool |
| G | C | |
| somewhere down this lost hi | ghway |
| G | |
| and | I here a voice from my soul's core |
| C | |
| sayin | ' freedom's just a metaphor |
| G | C | |
| you g | ot nowhere to go |
| G | C | |
| and the r | ain pours down like a holy waterfall |
| G | C | |
| over the G | ulf of Mexico |
| G | C | |
| over the G | ulf of Mexico |
| G | C | |
| over the G | ulf of Mexico |
| That's about it. |
| git er done! |