Jet trails cut across a Winter County sky
That’s why I recon Sunday is a good day to die
There’s a beautiful black gale and then he’s waiting there for me
Pissed off and raising neck hairs and shooting number three
Last night they were pulling pints of pesky Pendleton
Snuck away from the fire, slept there with the grass and wind
I looked up at Heaven, saw how small I really was
I wanna build a house and burn it down just because
And you’re smirking like an asshole
With a cheek full of tobacco
In the back of some Bronco
In a town you’ve never been
Nothing fun happens after you turn twenty-five
If I make it out at all, I pray you’re right here by my side
And if I’m going down then I’m going down true
If I’ve got anyone to thank, then It’ll always be you
What the hell am I doing?
Who the hell am I?
How I’ll miss the scripture
Oh, Sunday’s the day to die
And granddad sure was punchy
But loved Jesus to his core
I wanna die today, so I can learn to live for more
Nothing fun happens after you turn twenty-five
If I make it out at all, I pray you’re right here by my side
And if I’m going down then I’m going down true
If I’ve got anyone to thank, then It’ll only be you
If I’ve got anyone to thank, then It’ll always be you
Well, jet trails cut across a Winter County sky
That’s why I recon Sunday is a good day to die
(Alright)
(Alright)
(Alright, boys)
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