Church-house, gin-house
School-house, out-house
On highway number nineteen
The people keep the city clean
They call it Nutbush
Oh, Nutbush
Call it Nutbush city limits
Twenty-five was the speed limit
A motorcycle not allowed in it
You go to school on Fridays
To go to church on Sundays
They call it Nutbush
You're gonna feel on weekdays
And have a picnic on Labour Day
You go to town on Saturdays
But go to church every Sunday
They call it Nutbush
There's no whiskey for sale
You get caught no bail
Soft port and molasses
Is all you get in jail
They call it Nutbush
Oh Nutbush
They call it Nutbush city
Nutbush city limits
Writer(s): Tina Turner
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