They will also ruin the undercarriage of your car if you run over one. The jump up when they are threatened and will bash in your oil pan. I've hit a couple with my car and several dozen with a lead bullet.
"I've hit a couple with my car and several dozen with a lead bullet."
Is your nickname the Armadillo Jackal?
"The evening sun was sinkin' down, a chill north wind a-blows
The new-plowed ground was coolin' fast, the river rolls and flows
Beneath the two-lane concrete river bridge between my place and town
On that hot-bed Farm to Market road they call 1291
I'm sayin' son you'll see me searchin'; sizzlin' down that broad hiway
Dollar signs in both my eyes, I'm seekin' out my prey.
I'm prayin' "Jesus, will you send me just another three or four?"
They pay two-fifty down in Halletsville, 3 dollars, maybe more.
And more than likely they'll be out tonight a-wanderin' from the farms;
Waddlin' down 1291 to keep their bodies warm.
I'm talking walkin' belts and neckties, and boots for rodeo;
They don't run too fast, don't waste much gas. I'm makin' lots o'dough.
The armadillo....o....o...o The armadillo....o....o...o
The armadillo never sees me when I hit him with my brights.
His life don't flash before his eyes, he's blinded by my lights
And so I hit him with my bumper doin' sixty, sixty-five;
They take 'em frozen down in Halletsville
They don't take 'em alive.
The jackal cri....i....i...ied The jackal cri....i....i...ied
The jackal cried, "Look there's two of them a-walkin' down the line.
I can't believe my luck tonight this here makes twenty-nine!"
And so he rolled the first one runnin'. The second was too fast.
His breaks and laughter squealin' as he stomped down on the
gas.
Good-God, his car was sideways flyin', when the bridge wall met his door.
The impact shook the river bed his foot went through the floor
Forevermore....or....or...ore Forevermore....or....or....ore
Forevermore was his last moment from the bridge wall to the stream;
From the speckled blood around his smile a-spewin' gasoline.
And then he screamed his raspy epitaph, before he turned to flame:
"They pay two-fifty down in Halletsville.... I ain't the one to blame....."
Ain't it a sha....a....a...ame The jackal cri....i....i...ied
The armadillo....o....o...o The armadillo....o....o...o
"Armadillo Jackal" by Robert Earl Keen, from his "No Kinda Dancer" album.