[Verse 1: Raspy Mississippi soul-rock male lead, raspy soul-rock shouted lead, hard swinging drums] Out past the gin where the cotton goes flat There's eleven little houses and a lane like that Three miles of dirt from the highway to us Mud to the axle and the summer all dust County man came out every fourth year Shook every hand, said the tar is near Thirty years of promise and a pothole for a yard And every spring the mailman said that lane is too hard I drove a roller forty years for the state Laid tar to Memphis, laid it straight, laid it great Every town but mine got a road from my hands Came home every night to the mud where I stand [Hook: Raspy Mississippi soul-rock male lead, full band, crunchy overdriven guitar riff] Fresh tar, smell it, smoking black Three miles out and I ain't going back Every road I rolled was somebody's way home Fresh tar, now I'm rolling my own [Verse 2: Raspy Mississippi soul-rock male lead, louder raspy soul-rock shouted lead, thick low bass] Then a letter came in April with the county seal Crew coming Monday with the trucks and the steel I walked up to the foreman in my old orange vest Said I know these three miles better than the rest He looked at my hands and he looked at my years Said get up on the seat, old man, and I near cried tears Every pass I made I was pressing down slow Every pass I made I was saying hello To the porch where my mama used to snap the peas To the yard where the boys used to climb the trees Kids running beside me in their church shoes clean On the blackest, smoothest lane this town has ever seen [Hook: Raspy Mississippi soul-rock male lead, full band, crunchy overdriven guitar riff] Fresh tar, smell it, smoking black Three miles out and I ain't going back Every road I rolled was somebody's way home Fresh tar, now I'm rolling my own [Verse 3: Raspy Mississippi soul-rock male lead, horns land, the full horn section blasts in under the voice] Last stretch rolled at a quarter to nine Miss Pearl fell in her kitchen at the end of the line Thirty years that truck never made it to her gate Thirty years we were carrying folks out on a plank and a crate Hear it coming up the lane, hear the siren getting near Got her out in eleven minutes, and the whole lane cheered [Final Hook: Raspy Mississippi soul-rock male lead, full horn section, crunchy overdriven guitar riff, raw full voice] Fresh tar, smell it, smoking black Three miles out and I ain't going back Every road I rolled was somebody's way home Fresh tar, now I'm rolling my own [End]
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