Well, I caught you with him on those damp satin sheets, So I packed my things and then I hit the streets 87 southbound to San Antone It's getting late out, I ain't got no home The pavements burning at ninety-two I don't need to hear no more excuses that I don't love you Lord, the sun keeps beating me down and it's hotter than hell And if I'm lucky I'll catch a ride, but you can never tell I'd rather be here with the bugs and flies than back there hearing your alibis Heard all that I'm gonna hear you say, I'm gonna take my pride and go the other way 87 southbound to San Antone It's getting late out, I'm 40 miles from home The rain keeps falling like the tears in my eyes, I'm just trying to wash away the hurt from all your lies Lightning streaks across the evening sky and if I'm lucky I'll make it big or lay right down and die I know when the morning comes I'm gonna be a walking son of a gun. When afternoon comes rolling around, I'll have ten more miles and one more town 87 southbound, to San Antone It's getting late out, I ain't got no home The pavements burning, at a hundred and two I don't need to hear no more excuses that I don't love you I don't need to hear no more excuses that I don't love you