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Honky Tonk Badonkadonk    (2005)

Turn it up some.
All right boys, this is her favorite song, you know that, right?
So, if we play it good and loud, she might get up and dance again.
Ooh, she put her beer down: here she comes, here she comes.
Left, left, left, right, left: whoo.

Husslers shootin' eight-ball,
Throwin' darts at the wall,
Feelin' damn near ten feet tall.
Here she comes, Lord help us all.
Ol' T.W.'s girlfriend done slapped him out his chair,
Poor ol' boy, it ain't his fault: it's so hard not to stare.

At that honky tonk badonkadonk,
Keepin' perfect rhythm: make you wanna swing along.
Got it goin' on like Donkey Kong,
And ooh ee, shut my mouth, slap your grandma,
There outta be a law; get the Sheriff on the phone.
Lord have mercy, how's she even get them britches on.
That honky tonk badonkadonk.
(Aw sorry.)

Now, honey, you can't blame her,
For what her Mama gave her.
It ain't right to hate her,
For workin' that money-maker.
Band shuts down at two but we're hangin' out till three:
We hate to see her go but love to watch her leave.

With that honky tonk badonkadonk,
Now, keepin' perfect rhythm: make you wanna swing along.
Got it goin' on like Donkey Kong,
And ooh ee, shut my mouth, slap your grandma,
There outta be a law; get the Sheriff on the phone.
Lord have mercy, how's she even get them britches on.
With that honky tonk badonkadonk.
(Oh, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout right there, honey.)

We don't care 'bout the drinkin', barely listen to the band.
Our hands, they start a shakin' when she gets the urge to dance.
Drivin' everybody crazy: you think you fell in love.
Boys, you better keep your distance: you can look but you can't touch.

With that honky tonk badonkadonk,
Now, keepin' perfect rhythm: make you wanna swing along.
Got it goin' on like Donkey Kong,
And ooh ee, shut my mouth, slap your grandma,
There outta be a law; get the Sheriff on the phone.
Lord, have mercy, how's she even get them britches on.
That honky tonk badonkadonk.

That honky tonk badonkadonk
Yeah, that honky tonk badonkadonk.

(That's it, right there boys, that's why we do what we do.)

Lyrics by Dallas Davidson, Randy Houston and Jamey Johnson.
Recorded by Trace Adkins.

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