holler up to break of day.
Don't get crazy, lay that pistol down.
All along the dawn highway,
clouds like angels bend to pray.
Crazy Peg and Darby Doyle
brought this cook pot to the boil.
Dumped in half a sack of coffee grounds.
Fire burnin', callin' bubble,
we don't ever borrow trouble
Arkansas or T -4, Texas bound
This just might be our kind of town
Big enough to turn around
Small enough to spit from side to side
Well, this might be our stomping ground
Not too lost, not too found
Not too high, too lonesome or too
I ain't gonna give my heart away,
Once you give it up, well then it's gone
Crazy is, as crazy lives,
the thing about old Peggy is
She's not half as odd as she lets on
Egg, you know you've got a way of
saying what I meant to say
Before I find out what it is myself
Don't need to hear no echo ring,
so I won't say another thing
Cold and silent, glad to share the will
This just might be our kind of town
Big enough to turn around
Small enough to spit from side to side
Well, this might be our stomping ground
Not too lost, not too found
Not too high, too lonesome,
Now Peg, you scared me half to death
Take a while to catch my breath
Woke up to find you gone,
With two fat catfish on a line,
this one yours, that one mine
Rhyme later, crawl back in the sack
thunder of some distant drum
We both wear a wedding ring,
yours a tin foil, mine a string
If it ain't love, at least we laugh a lot
This just might be our kind of town,
big enough to turn around
Small enough to spit from side to side
Well, this might be our stomping ground
Not too lost, not too found
Not too high, too lonesome, or too wide
Holler up at the break of day
