Thunderbird - John Hiatt

My Thunderbird, my Thunderbird

Put your head on my shoulder

Don’t say a word

We’ll cut across town in my Thunderbird

There’s a burial ground

Beneath a cattle herd

Mr. Henry Ford’s building me a Thunderbird

My Thunderbird, my Thunderbird

Put your head on my shoulder

Don’t say a word

We’ll cut across the country in my Thunderbird

We’re from Pennsylvania

Welsh men of words

My daddy drove a Desoto

I drive a Thunderbird

My Thunderbird, my Thunderbird

She’s the voice of the future

Baby, have you heard

Tomorrow’s taken wing on my Thunderbird

My Thunderbird, my Thunderbird

Put your head on my shoulder

Don’t say a word

We’ll cut across town in my Thunderbird

Got electric windows

Tilt away wheel

Slide across the bucket seat

For that sexy leather feel of

My Thunderbird, my Thunderbird

Put your head on my shoulder

Don’t say a word

We’ll cut across town in my Thunderbird

From the old Volkswagen

Back to the Model T

A lot of men died

Just so you could ride with me in

My Thunderbird, my Thunderbird

She drives like a dream

Baby rest assured

It don’t get any better than a Thunderbird

My daddy was a salesman

My brother was too

I would sell anything

Just to try to stay with you

But not my Thunderbird

No not my Thunderbird

Willy Loman’s saying something

I can’t hear a word

I’m going too fast in my Thunderbird

They make 'em that way

Yeah they make 'em that way

Well they make 'em that way

Yeah they make 'em that way

Well they make 'em that way