[Intro: tolling bell, slow banjo] [Verse 1] He's telling me about his septic tank, the permit, the backhoe, the guy at the bank, I'm nodding like a bobblehead on a dashboard in July, but my pupils filed for divorce from my face and said goodbye. [Pre-Chorus] Look at his ear, count the freckles, one, two, Lord, I was raised better than what my eyes want to do. [Chorus] Grey joggers, grey joggers, he's explaining the brakes, I'm explaining to Jesus all the vows that I break, Sunday school taught me where a good girl should stare, but the cotton don't care, the cotton don't care. [Verse 2] The barn fan's been dead since two thousand and nine, it spins slower than my conscience on a Tuesday night, He says, "You listening?" I say, "Every word, babe," that lie came out smoother than the church-lot bake sale gave. [Pre-Chorus] Look at his ear, count the freckles, three, four, my neck's got a mind of its own and it's headed for the floor. [Chorus] Grey joggers, grey joggers, he's explaining the brakes, I'm explaining to Jesus all the vows that I break, Sunday school taught me where a good girl should stare, but the cotton don't care, the cotton don't care. [Breakdown: half-time, guitars drop out, stomp only] [Spoken, low] He asked me what he'd just said. I said, "Start over. Slower." [Bridge: barked] EYES UP! EYES UP! Count the freckles on his ear! Name three kinds of trees! Think of tax season! Think of your grandmother's casserole dish! [Guitar solo: slide, snarling, then crashing back in] [Final Chorus: full weight, doubled vocals] Grey joggers, grey joggers, he's explaining the brakes, I'm explaining to Jesus all the vows that I break, Sunday school taught me where a good girl should stare, but the cotton don't care, the cotton don't care. [Outro: banjo alone, bell tolls once] "...so anyway, that's the transmission." "Mm-hm. Fascinating."
