| Strap them kids in, give 'em a little bit of vodka
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| In a Cherry Coke, we’re goin' to Oklahoma
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| To the family reunion for the first time in years
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| It’s up at Uncle Slayton’s 'cause he’s getting on in years
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| You know he no longer travels, but he’s still pretty spry
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| He’s not much on talking, he’s just too mean to die
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| And they’ll be comin' down from Kansas and from west Arkansas
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| It’ll be one great big ol' party like you never saw
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| Uncle Slayton’s got his Texan pride
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| Back in the thickets with his Asian bride
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| He’s got an Airstream trailer and a Holstein cow
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| He still makes whiskey 'cause he still knows how
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| He plays that Choctaw bingo every Friday night
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| You know he had to leave Texas, but he won’t say why
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| He owns a quarter section up by Lake Eufala
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| Caught a great big ol' blue cat on a driftin' jug line
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| Sells his hardwood timber to the chipping mill
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| Cooks that crystal meth because the 'shine don’t sell
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| He cooks that crystal meth because the 'shine don’t sell
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| You know he likes that money, he don’t mind the smell
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| My cousin Roscoe, Slayton’s oldest boy
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| From his second marriage up in Illinois
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| He’s raised in East St. Louis by his mama’s people
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| Where they do things different thought he’d just come on down
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| He was going to Dallas, Texas, in a semi-truck
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| Called from that big McDonald’s, you know the one that’s built up
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| On that great big ol' bridge across the Will Rogers Turnpike
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| Took the Big Cabin exit, stopped and bought a carton o' cigarettes
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| At that Indian smoke shop with the big neon smoke rings
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| In the Cherokee Nation hit Muskogee late that night
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| Somebody ran a stoplight at the Shawnee Bypass
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| Roscoe tried to miss 'em, but he didn’t quite
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| Bob and Mae come up from some little town
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| Way down by Lake Texoma where he coaches football
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| They were 2-A champions now for two years runnin'
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| But he says they won’t be this year, no, they won’t be this year
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| And he stopped off in Tushka at that Pop’s Knife and Gun place
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| Bought a SKS rifle and a couple full cases
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| Of that steel-core ammo with the Berdan primers
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| From some East bloc nation that no longer needs 'em
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| And a Desert Eagle, that’s one great big ol' pistol
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| I mean, 50-caliber made by bad-ass Hebrews
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| And some surplus tracers for that old B-A-R of Slayton’s
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| Soon’s it gets dark, we’re gonna have us a time
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| We’re gonna have us a time
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| Ruth Ann and Lynn come down from Baxter Springs
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| And that’s one hell-raisin' town way up in southeastern Kansas
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| Got a biker bar next to the lingerie store
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| That’s got the Rolling Stones lips up there in bright pink neon
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| And they’re right downtown where everyone can see 'em
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| And they burn all night
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| You know they burn all night
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| You know they burn all night
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| Ruth Ann and Lynn, they wear them cut-off britches
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| And them skinny little halters
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| And they’re second cousins to me
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| Man, I don’t care, I want to get between 'em
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| With a great big ol' hard-on like a old Bois d’Arc fence post
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| You could hang a pipe rail gate from
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| Do some sister twisters 'til the cows come home
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| And we’ll be havin' us a time
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| Uh-huh
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| Uncle Slayton’s got his Texan pride
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| Back in the thickets with his Asian bride
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| He’s cut that corner pasture into acre lots
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| He sells 'em owner-financed strictly to them
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| That’s got no kind of credit cause he knows they’re slackers
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| And they’ll miss that payment, then he takes it back
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| He plays that Choctaw bingo every Friday night
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| He drinks his Johnny Walker at that Club 69
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| We’re gonna strap them kids in
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| Give 'em a little bit o' Benadryl
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| And a Cherry Coke, we’re goin' to Oklahoma
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| Gonna have us a time
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| Gonna have us a time |