GRAVEL ROAD RECEIPTS

Do you member Racket pants saggin shoes with the holes Cereal-water dinners that wagon still rollin slow Hill City Crawford Artesia Plum Grow If you forgot let the gravel roads tell ya what they know Hand-me-down summers screen doors slappin flies Mama's third shift wed raid the cookie jar lie County line dirt where the curfews a myth Pops Chevy sputtered but we rode like its a gift Scuffed knees from crawdad creeks skipped the mall Flashlight battles til the neighbors yelled Yall fall No AC just sweatbox drives with the windows bawlin Aint rich but the mud on our boots looked like diamonds dawg Aint no neon just firefly wars in the thickets No milk cartons but we licked the sugar from the biscuits Every crack in that porch step still hums our old rhythms Mississippis got receipts and we still livin em Do you member When the world was a dirt path Sippi nights jar-lid wishes laughin through the math That wagons rust sang louder than the radios bass Now every potholes a tattoo of the grind wed embrace Piggyback races down Plum Grows dead-end lane Artesias field where we swore we saw a ghost train Crawfords corner store nickel candy fake IDs Hill Citys fairgrounds snuck in through the weeds No GPS just turn left at the tire swing County cops knew our names let the mischief slide Now every city streets a stranger but my minds still there Sippi dirt in my veins yeah the grind dont lie Aint bout the chrome its the rust that we trust The way the crickets harmonized with the Greyhounds bust We built forts from scrap wood kings of the dust Now skylines rise but my souls in a Sippi cul-de-sac Do you member The grit in the gravy The way the Sippi wind smelled like hard work and maybe Hill City Crawford Plum Grow Artesia Aint just towns they the roots in our rearview mirror