Dudes Don’t Wear Dresses Around Here

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[Slow, nasty slide-guitar intro, bass drum like a heartbeat in a titty-bar at 2 a.m., then the band kicks in hard — fiddle screamin’ like a woman who just got grabbed] [Verse 1] I was leanin’ on my mud-splattered Ford, cold beer sweatin’ in my hand When this city boy rolled up in a Prius, lookin’ prettier than his girlfriend, man Fishnets climbin’ up them chicken legs, lipstick red as a fresh-killed hog He batted fake lashes, licked his lips slow — said “Hey y’all, wanna frolic in the bog?” Whole damn bar went quieter than church when the preacher’s caught with the deacon’s wife I spit my dip, cocked my .45, said “Boy, you just bought yourself a real short life.” [Chorus – full band, rowdy as hell] ‘Cause dudes don’t wear dresses around here We like our men mean and our women sincere We’ll drink you under the table, then fuck your girl in the bed of my truck while you cry in your beer Yeah, dudes don’t wear dresses around here If you ain’t packin’ what God gave ya, disappear ‘Round here we like pussy on our breath and blood on our knuckles And glitter don’t mix with buckshot, motherfucker — that’s just clear. [Verse 2] He said “I identify as a queen, sugar — wanna be my king tonight?” I laughed so hard I pissed my Wranglers, said “Darlin’, I already got a wife She’s in the cab with her skirt hiked up, boots on the dash, pussy drippin’ like Georgia rain You keep that thong, I’ll keep my twelve-gauge — go on and sashay back to West Hollywood, princess, this ain’t your lane.” [Chorus – even dirtier, crowd singin’ along] Dudes don’t wear dresses around here We fuck hard, fight dirty, and shift our own gears Got chew in our lip and a rebel flag tat where the sun don’t shine, boy, we pioneers Yeah, dudes don’t wear dresses around here Bend over in that skirt and you’ll feel more than fear We’ll turn that little black dress into a crime scene And leave you walkin’ funny for a goddamn year. [Bridge – slow, menacing, spoken over a single distorted guitar] See, down here we raise our boys on venom and venison Whiskey, women, and Willie on the jukebox religion You wanna prance? Go on, sugar — dance Just know every man in this bar’s got a loaded gun and a hard dick And zero patience for your performance art bullshit. [Final Chorus – full-throttle, banjo goin’ apeshit] Dudes DON’T wear dresses around here! We’ll skull-fuck your feelings and chug your tears Take your rainbow pride and shove it where your tampon goes, son — welcome to the real frontier Dudes don’t wear dresses around here And if you do… We’ll bury you in it, six feet deep with them heels still on Singin’ “Sweet Home Alabama” while we piss on your grave at dawn. [Band slams to a halt. One last slide guitar whine like a dying drag queen, then dead silence except crickets and somebody racking a shotgun.]