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Mind your step, I keep the overhead low, |
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Just the bed, and the books, and the rotary phone. |
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Chicago manual of style keeps the prose right crisp, |
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Minneapolis edition, well it goes like this: |
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Well I talk way too fast, I shoot from a glass, |
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I keep Poe in the glovebox, Plath on the dash, |
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And there's nobody shotgun, I got enough gas, |
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To get Vegas by daybreak, I'm not coming back. |
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I'm pushing this luck all the way to the coast. |
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I'm throwing it over just to see if it floats. |
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I'm taking my chances, I'm making my own, |
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'Cause I've been pretty impatient, I'm ready to go. |
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I'm the book that beat the speed-reader, |
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And I'm the card the dealers won't touch. |
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And it's just not true I'm a man-eater, |
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All the same, we should probably go dutch. |
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So, careful kid with that wolf-whistle, |
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You never know what you'll attract. |
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And you shouldn't make noise to which you wouldn't want to listen. |
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What's good for the goose is good for the gander back. |
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And I'm packed and I'm out the front door, |
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Leave a tip on the sink, oh the staff, they work hard. |
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I hit rain, I hit sleet, but mostly weather stays good, |
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Hit a deer on I-80, fucked up the hood. |
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But you can't play for keeps if you never draw blood, |
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You just brace and you breathe, you drive through the dust. |
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You go through people and places, you hope the engine can take it, |
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They get you up on the blocks on a regular basis. |
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But, innocence is overrated, based on what you haven't done, |
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I don't need a poker-face, open book, smoking gun. |
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Renegade agents, I got no taste for their races. |
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I run on whiskey, and risk, and ennui and impatience. |
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I'm the book that beat the speed-reader, |
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And I'm the card the dealers won't touch. |
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And it's just not true I'm a man-eater, |
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All the same, we should probably go dutch. |
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'Cause, love is like liquor, it burns as it moves you, |
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And as far as I figure, there's nobody fireproof. |
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So thank you for the offer, it truly was kind of you, |
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I'd take you up on it, but just passing through. |
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'Cause I talk way too fast, and I shoot from a glass, |
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I keep Poe in the glovebox, Plath on the dash, |
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And there's nobody shotgun, I got enough gas, |
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To get Vegas by daybreak, I'm not coming back. |
|
I'm the book that beat the speed-reader, |
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And I'm the card the dealers won't touch. |
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And it's just not true I'm a man-eater, |
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All the same, we should probably go dutch. |
