Well, I caught you with him

on those damp satin sheets,

So I packed my things 

and then I hit the streets

87 southbound 

to San Antone

It's getting late out, 

I ain't got no home

The pavements burning 

at ninety-two

I don't need to hear no more excuses

that I don't love you

Lord, the sun keeps beating me down 

and it's hotter than hell

And if I'm lucky I'll catch a ride,

but you can never tell

I'd rather be here with the bugs and flies 

than back there hearing your alibis

Heard all that I'm gonna hear you say, 

I'm gonna take my pride and go the other way

87 southbound 

to San Antone

It's getting late out,

I'm 40 miles from home

The rain keeps falling 

like the tears in my eyes, 

I'm just trying to wash away 

the hurt from all your lies

Lightning streaks across the evening sky

and if I'm lucky I'll make it big 

or lay right down and die

I know when the morning comes 

I'm gonna be a walking son of a gun.

When afternoon comes rolling around, 

I'll have ten more miles and one more town

87 southbound,

to San Antone

It's getting late out,

I ain't got no home

The pavements burning,

at a hundred and two

I don't need to hear no more excuses 

that I don't love you

I don't need to hear no more excuses

that I don't love you