Charlie got a chainsaw and a pickle jar of

formaldehyde

One way or another tonight she will be

going for a ride

The roses and the poems he wrote,

somehow they didn't win Samantha's heart

But tonight she will be Charlie's, if he can only get

that old Poulan to start

Been sittin' in the shed so long, the oil in the case

has turned to sludge

Been yankin' on the cord all night but he can't get

the goddamn thing to budge

Samantha will be walking by just like she

does every night at 8

She's leaving on the 10:05 tomorrow

morning it'll be too late

Maybe it's the spark plug, or the gas he siphoned

from his daddy's truck

But that Poulan won't cooperate, it looks like

Charlie might be out of luck

And here comes his Samantha whistling

and walking down the street

One last pull - the Poulan fires up and true love's

rolling past his feet

Look at Charlie and Samantha

another twisted modern fairly tale

Samantha's in a pickle jar somewhere

and Charlie's growing old in jail

True love will make you crazy and

some of us don't

handle it too good

now that Poulan's old and rusty - it'll never cut

another piece of wood

yeah that Poulan's old and rusty, and it'll never

cut another piece of wood.