G                           C
She was a level-headed dancer on the road to alcohol,
    D                           D7           G
And I was just a soldier on my way to Montreal.
          G                                       C
Well, she pressed her chest against me about the time the jukebox broke;
    D                                           D7                       G
She gave me a peck on the back of the neck, and these are the words she spoke:

             G
Blow up your TV, throw away your paper,
          D7                    G
Go to the country, build you a home.
               G
Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches,
             D7             G
Try and find Jesus on your own.

Well, I sat there at the table and I acted real naive, For I knew that topless lady had something up her sleeve. Well, she danced around the barroom and she did the hoochy-coo; Yeah, she sang her song all night long, tellin' me what to do: Blow up your TV, throw away your paper, Go to the country, build you a home. Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches, Try to find Jesus on your own. Well, I was young and hungry and about to leave that place, When just as I was leavin', well, she looked me in the face. I said, "You must know the answer." She said, "No, but I'll give it a try." And to this very day we've been livin' our way and here is the reason why: We blew up our TV, threw away our paper, Went to the country, built us a home. Had a lot of children, fed 'em on peaches; They all found Jesus on their own.