| 作词 : Hidalgo, Pérez | |
| Heaven is a place where good men go | |
| Maybe it's a place that | |
| I won't know | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| Mama told me not to run, 'cause | |
| I might fall | |
| But never was the kind to listen much at all | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| Damn that old whiskey trail | |
| Daddy drank his dinner from a paper sack | |
| Made it out the door one day | |
| And never came back | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| They say that | |
| I'm a chip off a son of a gun | |
| With nowhere to hide out and nowhere to run | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| Can't you hear the engines wail | |
| Damn that old whiskey trail | |
| Can't you hear the engines wail | |
| Damn that old whiskey trail |
| zuo ci : Hidalgo, Pe rez | |
| Heaven is a place where good men go | |
| Maybe it' s a place that | |
| I won' t know | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| Mama told me not to run, ' cause | |
| I might fall | |
| But never was the kind to listen much at all | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| Damn that old whiskey trail | |
| Daddy drank his dinner from a paper sack | |
| Made it out the door one day | |
| And never came back | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| They say that | |
| I' m a chip off a son of a gun | |
| With nowhere to hide out and nowhere to run | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| Can' t you hear the engines wail | |
| Damn that old whiskey trail | |
| Can' t you hear the engines wail | |
| Damn that old whiskey trail |
| zuò cí : Hidalgo, Pé rez | |
| Heaven is a place where good men go | |
| Maybe it' s a place that | |
| I won' t know | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| Mama told me not to run, ' cause | |
| I might fall | |
| But never was the kind to listen much at all | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| Damn that old whiskey trail | |
| Daddy drank his dinner from a paper sack | |
| Made it out the door one day | |
| And never came back | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| They say that | |
| I' m a chip off a son of a gun | |
| With nowhere to hide out and nowhere to run | |
| Heading down that whiskey trail | |
| Can' t you hear the engines wail | |
| Damn that old whiskey trail | |
| Can' t you hear the engines wail | |
| Damn that old whiskey trail |
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