Tekst:
Corb Lund Hair In My Eyes Like A Highland Steer

hair in my eyes like a highland steer spring in my step like a white tailed deer hitch in my hip like an old sheep dog puff up my chest like a big bull

feelin kinda gambley and i don?t see much of my friends these days cuz except whitey and gravy, they like a game and my neighbor brent says i got a

mine the good lord knows i do the best i can on the big, bitch, butch, bull fiddle baby here i am i got the black horsehair on my big bass bow a

to hell well out on the back quarter there's a cabin waitin there where my little gal and i can keep the world out of our hair at my little foothills

hair in my eyes like a highland steer spring in my step like a white tailed deer hitch in my hip like an old sheep dog puff up my chest like a big bull

the graves the grandfathers tell us at the mouths of the caves only old chiefs older than jesus can save us now, if we're lucky white man light a

mass product at quite a pace it won't be long these counterfeit blues'll run the whole damn place these notes that you've been paying with are a little

an edge on yr knife, son, always keep an edge on yr knife cuz a good sharp edge is a man's best hedge against the vague uncertainties of life yes, a good sharp edge is a