They Make Whiskey

They make cell phones, to call your friends
 To pick you up at a half past ten
 Half ton trucks to get you on down the road
 And they make Texaco's, for stopping at
 To get yourself a brand-new pack
 Of them cigarettes, she hated that you smoked
 And they make little bars on the edge of town
 For getting lost for getting found
 And hanging around for more than a round or two (more than a round or two)
 And they make eight ball racks, jukebox songs
 So you can act, like you've moved on
 Neon signs to shine that neon blue (that neon blue)
 It just hit me
 That they make whiskey
 To get me over you
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 And they make diamond rings for getting tossed
 And front porch steps for stepping off
 And hatchback Hondas to hold an old suitcase
 And they make taillights to disappear
 While you're standing there in the rearview mirror
 With a memory that time just can't erase
 And they make little bars on the edge of town
 For getting lost, for getting found
 And hanging around for more than a round or two (more than a round or two)
 And they make eight ball racks, jukebox songs
 So you can act, like you've moved on
 Neon signs to shine that neon blue (that neon blue)
 It just hit me
 That they make whiskey
 To get me over you
 ♪
 And they make little bars on the edge of town
 For getting lost, for getting found
 And hanging around for more than a round or two (more than a round or two)
 And they make eight ball racks, jukebox songs
 So you can act, like you've moved on
 Neon signs to shine that neon blue (that neon blue)
 It just hit me
 They make whiskey
 To get me over you
 'Cause I ain't over you