I Drive Your Truck sing and play along

Eightynine cents in the ash tray,

half empty bottle of Gatorade rollin' in the floorboard,

that dirty Braves cap on the dash.

Dog tags hangin' from the rear view,

old Skoal can and cowboy boots and a "Go Army" shirt folded in the back.

This thing burns gas like crazy but that's alright.

People got their ways of copin',

oh, and I got mine:

I drive your truck.

I roll ev'ry window down and I burn up ev'ry back road in this town.

I find a field.

I tear it up 'til all the pain's a cloud of dust.

Yeah, sometimes I drive your truck.

I leave that radio playin' the same old country station where you left it.

Yeah, man, I crank it up.

And you'd prob'ly punch my arm right now if you saw this tear rollin' down on my face.

Hey, man, I'm try'n' to be tough.

And Momma asked me this mornin' if I'd been by your grave.

But that flag and stone ain't where I feel you anyway.

I drive your truck.

I drive your truck.

I've cussed, I've prayed, I've said goodbye;

shook my fist and asked God why.

These days, when I'm missin' you this much,

I drive your truck.

I roll ev'ry window down and I burn up

ev'ry back road in this town.

I find a field.

I tear it up 'til all the pain's a cloud of dust.

Yeah, sometimes, brother, sometimes I drive your truck.