Boots, BBQ, an’ bad decisions

‘Boots, BBQ, an’ Bad Decisions’ - Original Song by MAdoK958 Copyright © 2024 MAdoK958 suno.com/@madok958 Hair so high, it’s kissin’ the sky, Cutoffs ridin’ high like a dare. Belt buckle’s big as a brisket pie, Stompin’ in boots that make y’all stare. Billy Ray grabs my hand, smells like sin, I tell ‘im, “Hang tight, cowboy, the fun begins!” Boots, BBQ, an’ bad decisions, Sweat on the floor an’ all kinda suspicions. Spin me left, dip me low, Under these lights, we’re stealin’ the show. It’s Texas, sugar—where sass meets collisions. Jolene’s squawkin’, “Girl, ya blinder than the sun, That buckle’s gonna start a barroom war!” But jealous ain’t cute, an’ I’m just havin’ fun, Two-steppin’ like a queen while she watches from the floor. Carla Jean’s givin’ me the stink-eye glare, I wink an’ holler, “Bless your heart—don’t compare!” Boots, BBQ, an’ bad decisions, Whiskey on my breath, riskin’ temptations. Swing me high, don’t let go, Billy’s lookin’ like he’s diggin’ my flow. Texas nights breed spicy conditions. “Careful, sugar, I’m hotter than a jalapeño in July,” Billy’s smilin’ wide, but he’s walkin’ the line. He leans in close, says, “Wanna see my brisket rub?” I laugh, “Darlin’, you’d best buckle up!” Boots, BBQ, an’ bad decisions, Grillin’ up trouble, creatin’ traditions. Twirl me fast, pull me close, Billy, behave, or you’ll end up toast. Ain’t nothin’ tame ‘bout Texas ambitions. Life’s short, kinda like my cutoffs, darlin’. BBQ sauce on my cheek—who’s carin’? If trouble’s the music, I’m singin’ the tune, Dancin’ through life by the light of the moon. Prairie Gulch ain’t ready for my revisions.