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I'm cruising fast on a motorcycle |
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Down this winding country road |
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And i pass the gravel on the foot of the hill |
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Where last week i fell off |
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There's still some oil by the old elm tree |
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And a dead squirrel that i hit |
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But if i hadn't left, i would have struck you dead |
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So i took a ride instead |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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My doctor says, she hopes i know |
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How lucky i can be |
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After all it wasn't my blood |
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Mixed in the dirt that night |
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But this violent rage, turned inward |
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Can not be helped by drink |
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And we must really examine this and i say |
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I need another drink |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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I'm tearing down route 80 east |
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The sun's on my right side |
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I'm drunk, but my vision's good |
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And i think of my child bride |
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And on the left in shadows |
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I see something that makes me laugh |
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I aim that bike at the fat pothole |
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Beyond that underpass |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
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Bottoming out |
