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White-Washed Picket Fences
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Winner of the 2003 Great American Songwriting Contest Honor Award!! Music/Lyrics: Tracy L. Keeney, Production: Clarke Jackman, Jackman Studios, Orem, Utah
Author
Copyright
Album
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Tracy Keeney
2003

Sun Feb 29, 2004
Country : Country General
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Charts position
» highest in charts:   # 136   (47,068 songs currently listed in Country)
» highest in sub-genre:   # 45   (14,300 songs currently listed in Country > Country General)
About the song
Motivation behind this song? He he-- getting stuck in 5pm rush hour traffic on I-85 in Atlanta, GA, in 102 degree weather, and the CONSTANT barrage of new strip malls going up just about EVERYWHERE!
Lyrics
"White-Washed Picket Fences"
Words and Music by Tracy Keeney
Guitar: Doug "Bronco" Collins
Violin: Craig Sowby
Percussion: Secily Saunders
Vocals: Tracy Keeney
Production: Clarke Jackman

Stuck on 85, about to die of thirst
Unless the carbon monoxide kills me first
I spend every dog gone ev'nin in a traffic jam
Can't get in the lane 'cause someone cut me off
Got a jerk beside me, flippin' me off
Lucky me, at 6am I get to do this again

One day I'm gonna pack my things and leave
I need a small country town where I can breathe.

I wanna hear the rustlin' of the wind
blowin' through the trees
I wanna smell honeysuckle
Floatin' on a breeze
I wanna see open fields of grain
that touch my senses
Small two lane roads,
and white-washed picket fences

All this urban sprawl, makin' me incensed
Always buildin' somethin', -they call it progress
But to me that's just another word for corporate
greed, yes indeed
A million brand new homes, another fast food shop
Ten story buildings, a few more parking lots
How many strip malls do we really need?

I swear one day I'm gonna pack my things and leave
I need a small country town with room to breathe

Repeat chorus

I think some people
must be a little obsessed
To see how many neon signs and concrete slabs
Can fit in a one mile stretch. May I suggest....

A little, rustlin' of the wind
blowin' through the trees
And smelling the honeysuckle,
blowin' on a breeze
I want to walk through
Rolling fields of grain that feed my senses
I need small two lane roads
And white-washed picket fences

Gimme white-washed picket fences