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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Tyler Childers
Vocals
Michael J. Henderson
Electric Guitar
Mike Bub
Bass Guitar
Miles Miller
Drums
Russ Pahl
Pedal Steel Guitar
Stuart Duncan
Fiddle
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Tyler Childers
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Sturgill Simpson
Producer
David Ferguson
Mixing Engineer
Richard Dodd
Mastering Engineer
Sean Sullivan
Assistant Engineer
Lyrics
Well my buckle makes impressions
On the inside of her thigh
There are little feathered Indians
Where we tussled through the night
If I'd known she was religious
Then I wouldn't have came stoned
To the house of such an angel
Too fucked up to get back home
Looking over West Virginia
Smoking Spirits on the roof
She asked ain't anybody told ya
That them things are bad for you
I said, "Many folks have warned me
There's been several people try
But up 'til now, there ain't been nothing
That I couldn't leave behind"
Hold me close, my dear
Sing your whispering song
Softly in my ear
And I will sing along
Honey, tell me how your love runs true
And how I can always count on you
To be there when the bullets fly
I'd run across the river just to hold you tonight
Well, my heart is sweating bullets
From the circles, it has raced
Like a little feathered Indian
Calling out the clouds for rain
I'd go running through the thicket
I'd go careless through the thorns
Just to hold her for a minute
Though it'd leave me wanting more
Hold me close, my dear
Sing your whispering song
Softly in my ear
And I will sing along
Honey, tell me how your love runs true
And how I can always count on you
To be there when the bullets fly
I'd run across the river just to hold you tonight
Writer(s): Tyler Childers
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