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It's that time of time
where Amie goes
down Highway 61 with Bob Dylan
and every pie in the sky high of every lie in the willed
makes 'er itch.
Itch to roam.
Itch to run.
Itch to chase
Amie.
She's a wild one,
and ain't nothin' held 'er down yet.
Nothin' at all.
She's a wild one,
and ain't nothin' held 'er down yet.
Nothin' at all.
When you're born
with running legs,
your legs are running legs.
She's a wild one,
and ain't nothin' held 'er down yet.