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 she'd 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.