Tekst:
Brantley Gilbert A Modern Day Prodigal Son

oh cause I'm coming home like a modern day prodigal son lord I'm a renegade, a rambler I've squandered all I've owned a bonafied runaway, I'm a gambler

a modern day prodigal son I had all of my things packed by early mornin' I left that bottle I'd lost right there on the bathroom floor I stopped at a

here A football tradition So everybody get up And feast your eyes On the highlight of small town life It's Friday night And winning state would be a

then came a perfect timing, walked in with liquor on my breath, I sit and watched all her tears glisten, said son you'll learn to listen, a man stands

cut and clean shaved. get the cover off the '68, fire it up let them horses sing, a little pretty thing, a little tan-legged georgia dream, she's a rockin

angel cry tears as she stepped over my beers headed out the door. Chorus: There ain't nothin' like a memory, when its comin' on strong like a hurricane

best to remember the words And there's always some drunk in the back Screaming out Free Bird Take a break, and head to the bar Shake a couple hands, got me feeling like a

here A football tradition So everybody get up And feast your eyes On the highlight of small town life It's Friday night And winning state would be a

time on a small town guy, nothing but drama. And she wonders why it's almost everytime she cries, She ends up at my house. She knows I don't give a damn