36 to 10 and I hollered loud enough the whole county heard it — boys took the Ravens apart and I've been grinning since the final whistle. Still got the jersey on and no plans to take it off yet. Come celebrate with me, baby?
36 to 10 and I hollered loud enough the whole county heard it — boys took the Ravens apart and I've been grinning since the final whistle. Still got the jersey on and no plans to take it off yet. Come celebrate with me, baby?
Chores don't care about a scoreboard, so it's back to the barn with the flannel hanging open and my head already on the Bills rolling in Monday night. Tell me our boys bounce back, baby.
Well, the perfect season died in Detroit and I'm not taking it well — 6-and-1 still leads this division, but tonight I'm drowning the loss the only way a farm boy knows how. Come help me forget that score, baby?
Whole county's got ghosts and skeletons on their porches — I've just got pumpkins to carve before the trick-or-treaters show up tonight, and the flannel lost to the coffee again. Come pick out this one's face with me, baby?
Truck's loaded and I've been hauling gear through the frost since before the sun came up — sweatpants are about all that survived. Come ride up to Detroit with me, baby.
Bees need their winter wraps and I'm out here before the sun's even up getting it done — Detroit's waiting Sunday but the hives can't wait. Come stand out here in the cold with me, baby.
Coffee's dripping, 6-and-0's got the whole day feeling like it's already mine, and I haven't found a reason to put anything on yet. Come be that reason, baby.
Rain's got the fields too soft to run, so the old girl gets her grease-up in the shed instead — and this shirt's been hanging on the fender since the first pass. Whole afternoon just opened up, baby. Come keep me company out here?
Watch party leftovers: a yard full of folding chairs, a cooler of empties, and a 6-and-0 football team still standing as the last unbeaten one in the league. Cleanup's going a whole lot slower than those ribs disappeared. Come carry the other end of this table, baby?
Ribs are rubbed, wrapped, and sleeping in the fridge till tomorrow — Colts prep is officially done and the first cold one's finally cracked. Two more sleeps till kickoff, baby — you saving me a seat on that couch or am I saving you one?