Picking Pattern and Chord Formations: I slipped on her shoe; she was a perfect size seven. I said, "There's no smoking in the store, ma'am." She crossed her legs and then We made some small talk; that's where it should have stopped. She slipped me her number; I put it in my pocket. My hand slipped up her skirt; everything slipped my mind In that little roadhouse On Highway 29. It was a small town bank; it was a mess. Well, I had a gun. You know the rest. Money on the floorboards, shirt was covered in blood And she was cryin'; her and me we headed south On Highway 29.
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