When my last old lady left me
When she told me we were through
She busted my ol’ guitar
And my Waylon LP’s too
She said that she was fed up
Shackin’ up with this ol’ fool
Who wishes he was country
When country wasn’t cool
After that I packed my boxes
And to Dubuque I bid adieu
I headed down to Austin
Now there’s a town with a better view
I claimed an empty beat-up bar stool
In a dive fit for a fool
Who wishes he was country
When country wasn’t cool
Well, I was sippin’ bourbon whiskey
Ol’ Buck Owens on the juke
When I heard the sweet, sweet shufflin’
Of your sequined snake-skin boots
I turned and saw your figure
Figured here’s another fool
Who wishes she was country
When country wasn’t cool
…
I finally found me a woman
Who agrees a pleasin’ time
Is a pickup truck and eight-tracks
Of Gene Autry and John Prine
But I wait for my next heartbreak
For it’s the fate of every fool
Who wishes he was country
When country wasn’t cool
