A.M. Rut 

Preacher, preacher what you trying to do to me
On my busted radio, my watched-up color TV
I got 200 miles to go
To the halfway point I know
Where the lady I fancy is named Miss Mexico

All your crying and your begging is putting me right to sleep
I heard the same damn story on another station last week
To stay awake I resort to prayer
Bless that highway god out there
To guide me to the lady with the cheap perfume in her hair

And all this lying
All this cheating
Adulterating
For good reason
I've been enticed by the thrill
Though it don't do me no good
But I ain't gonna spend my time
Worried about an afterlife in sin
Where do I even begin?

Preacher, preacher is your life better than mine
Does the spirit move you 
As you count all your nickels and dimes
You made me realize my greatest sin
Is this A.M. rut I'm in
Oh take me to the lady with the cheap perfume
Take me to the lady with the cheap perfume
Take me to the lady with the cheap perfume
Take me to the lady with the cheap perfume
Take me to the lady that's named Miss Mexico

J. Meyers