Credits
AUSFÜHRENDE KÜNSTLER:INNEN
Eric Church
Stimme und Gesang
Jay Joyce
E-Gitarre
Lee Hendricks
Bass
Craig Wright
Schlagzeug
Jeff Hyde
Akustische Gitarre
Bryan Sutton
Mandoline
Joanna Cotten
Begleitgesang
KOMPOSITION UND LIEDTEXT
Eric Church
Songwriter:in
Casey Beathard
Songwriter:in
Monty Criswell
Songwriter:in
PRODUKTION UND TECHNIK
Jay Joyce
Produzent:in
Arturo Buenahora, Jr.
Ausführende:r Produzent:in
Jason Hall
Ingenieur:in
Matt Wheeler
Aufnahmeingenieurassistent:in
Andrew Mendelson
Mastering-Ingenieur:in
Lyrics
This town, she is a temptress
A siren with gold eyes
She'll cut you with her kindness
And she will bleed you with her lies
She's been called a glistening devil
She's good at keeping score
If you make it, she's your savior
If you don't, she's a whore
The roads to and from her heart are littered with creative souls
They gave all their all, and all they got in return is empty holes
Sure, we've all heard about Shell, and Chris
Willy, and Bobby Bares
She's smiled on the Johnny's, the Merle's
And made Music Row millionaires
Like a beacon, she goes seeking seed
Her loins so fertile
To a free man, she's a prison
To a caged one, she's a fire (fire)
She's the reason there's a Sunday Morning Coming Down
I Saw The Light
A Boy Named Sue
He Stopped Loving Her Today
The Pill, and 16th Avenue
The Ryman, oh, she's a diamond
On the crown of that wicked queen
She was Roy Acuff's castle and Elvis Presley's broken dream
It's not all bad, it's not all dark
It's not all gloom and crass
But, to mine gold in this silver mine, it does take balls of brass
'Cause she's seen 'em come, and seen 'em go
And came herself a time or two
No matter how satisfied her screams sound
She always wants someone new
The next him or her, or them, or all
To be a star in this lady's town
You can fuck, or you can fight
You see, it all comes down to money
Not romantic art of days gone past
If you forget that rule you can bet your backside
She will bury it in your ass
A tramp, a slut, a bitch, a mutt
A thousand pawn shop guitars
A nasty little needle to a vein
That feeds a singer's heart
She lurks in friendly shadows, but she's a junkie with a limp
The agents are her bookies, and the labels are her pimps
I'll tell you a well-known secret of a tiny place known far and wide
The devil walks among us, folks
And Nashville is his bride
Of all the chaos he has caused, and done
His greatest trick is to every guitar-toting dreamer, the Devil don't exist
But me?
I shook his hand, and I know that he is real
So Devil, you can go screw yourself
And then go straight to hell
Devil, devil, I feel you preyin' on my mind
I got nine things going wrong right now
And her leaving makes a dime
I'm mad as hell, and drunk, and well
Tonight, I guess we'll see
If Devil, Devil, you're bad enough to lock horns with me
Level, level, in search of solid ground
This swinging, swaying, side to side, is tossin' me around
I got a hankering for an anchor to steady up my bow
Level, level, tie this rebel down
Crazy, crazy, calling out my name
I've got one foot on the platform, and the other is on a train
Save me, save me, I know what's in store
Crazy, crazy, hell I've been there before
Danger, danger, the way you're looking there at me
Be careful what you wish for, you might get what you don't need
I'm a brush fire on a drought land in a Santa Ana breeze
Danger, danger, don't you play around with me
Crazy, crazy, calling out my name
I've got one foot on the platform, and the other is on a train
Save me, save me, I know what's in store
Crazy, crazy, hell I've been there before
Angel, angel, heavenly body in holy jeans
On second thought, get over here and wrap me in your wings
Throw caution to the wind and honey, give me what I need
Angel, angel, love this Devil, Devil, out of me
Devil, Devil, Devil
Uh-uh-uh-uh, Devil, Devil
Uh-uh-uh-uh
Uh-uh-uh-uh, Devil, Devil
Uh-uh-uh-uh
Writer(s): Casey Beathard, Monty Criswell, Eric Church
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