(Mark Nesler/Tracy Byrd)
I could tell she was a hot rod when she walked in all alone
Made a pit stop at the front bar, in a puff of smoke was gone
I followed her smell of perfume, cause she was too far out of sight
Tried to catch up but the girl was running one hell of a race tonight
She's a real low maintenance, country music beat driven, honky-tonk dancin' machine
All it takes to keep her tuned up is boots and Wrangler jeans
She scoots about fifty times around the floor on one shot of Jim Beam
She's a real low maintenance, country music beat driven, honky-tonk dancin' machine
There's a guy on every corner, watching her make the bend
Hoping he'll be the next one to take her for a spin
She's not the kind that can be hot wired with money or romance
Got a body for pleasure, but all she wants to do is dance
She's a real low maintenance, country music beat driven, honky-tonk dancin' machine
All it takes to keep her tuned up is boots and Wrangler jeans
She scoots about fifty times around the floor on one shot of Jim Beam
She's a real low maintenance, country music beat driven, honky-tonk dancin' machine
She scoots about fifty times around the floor on one shot of Jim Beam
She's a real low maintenance, country music beat driven, honky-tonk dancin' machine
She's a real low maintenance, country music beat driven, honky-tonk dancin' machine