| When our feet were tough as horn
|
| And our eyes were sharp as flint
|
| And our hearts beat like two war drums
|
| And you tracked me by my scent
|
| Cross a scape of shiny asphalt
|
| That blacked our soles with tar
|
| And we ran like brave Comanches
|
| On a moonlit reservoir
|
| And you said
|
| I don’t wanna be tamed down
|
| I just wanna saddle up
|
| Ride my broomstick pony
|
| Along some salt grass open plain
|
| I can see you standing guard
|
| On the fence in your backyard
|
| With your daisy pump air rifle
|
| And your Annie Oakley aim
|
| Ah, you were anything but tame
|
| When you’d summon me with bird calls
|
| Or you scratching at my screen
|
| Your mouth gone sweet with juicy fruit
|
| Tawny legs and cut off jeans
|
| In my stretchy Ford Ranchero
|
| Ah, we rattled like train cars
|
| And we slung our share of gravel
|
| 'Neath a tarpaulin of stars
|
| And you said
|
| I don’t wanna be tamed down
|
| I don’t wanna give an inch
|
| The fenced off picture perfect
|
| In your billfold window frame
|
| 'Cause you were born to romp
|
| In this God forsaken swamp
|
| Dodging cotton mouths and quicksand
|
| On your tiptoes in the rain
|
| Ah, you were anything but tame
|
| I heard Shreveport didn’t last
|
| So you lit out for L. A
|
| But when lightning claws the night up
|
| I can see you plain as day
|
| And when I want to feel you near me
|
| I go quit this tired old gloom
|
| And pull on down a bayou
|
| To where the morning glories bloom
|
| And you said
|
| I don’t wanna be tamed down
|
| I don’t wanna tread regret
|
| And flat out make excuses
|
| For the way I came up lame
|
| I could have been enough
|
| To live down by the gulf
|
| Where the cutting edge of nowhere
|
| Where the sun goes down in flames
|
| We were anything but tame
|
| Anything but tame |