Texty: John Hiatt. Open Road. Homeland.

My baby puts her hairspray on
With a lit cigarette in her mouth
Takes her fingernail polish off
Speedin' down some rural route
Got a carburetor so leaned out
I think she's burnin' Pam
I'm the son of a locker salesman
She calls me her lover man

Don't you talk about my
Don't you talk about my
Don't you talk about my baby, my baby, my baby, my baby, my :

Don't you talk about my
Don't you talk about my
Don't you talk about my baby, my baby, my baby, my baby

She once trained a horse to do cartwheels
Put a coyote in a sleeper hold
Her heart's been pierced by love repeatedly
But her mind is magnetic and bold
All she ever got outta women's college
Was some kind of fifth degree
Seems she couldn't keep her skirts
Far enough down below her knee

Don't you talk about my
Don't you talk about my
Don't you talk about my baby, my baby, my baby, my baby, my...

Don't you talk about my
Don't you talk about my
Don't you talk about my baby, my baby, my baby, my baby

When that sun comes up
She'll be deadheadin' all alone
She's been up all night
Just tryin' to beat that red guy home

She brings me coffee in her careless panties
Hickory cane and an old straw hat
Fringe velcro'd to a buckskin jacket
Cause daddy never let her leave the house lookin' like that

She's so beautiful it hurts my feelings
I think she's been around once or twice
A thousand years of hearts she's been stealin'
I'm happy to pay love's sacrifice

Don't you talk about my
Don't you talk about my
Don't you talk about my baby, my baby, my baby, my baby, my...