Almost seven where’s Virginia?
Blue ridge mama hangs out by the roadside.
Dark and crusty, with warts upon her knees.
Smells just like a dead skunk dying on the breeze.
Country toads. Run ’em down.
Squish em up. They’ll turn brown.
Like a Frisbee, you can fly ’em.
Country toads. Run em down.
Virginia hopped out one dark and stormy night.
Passed out by the road side, didn’t see the light.
Now it happened, Virginia’s gone to far.
Tangled with a semi, now she blends with tar.
… Chorus …
I hear her scream as the tires ran upon her.
Going 60 miles an hour, there was no hope at all.
Riding down the road I always see her there.
She’s preserved and doing fine, part of that white line.
Sung to the the tune of “Country Toads” by John Denver