Someone was holding Ramon
I was only taking pictures
Maggie was talking down the phone
Saying the poor get poor and the rich get richer.
And the weather man he said Fair
Weather and smooth sailing ahead
And we headed out to the Tulsa State Fair
Arms locked and singing "Better Off Dead"
Thundering velvet skies ahead
We’re running straight into the storm
The weather man was full of shit
Somehow that’s true to form:
heading to the Gulf Coast
On half a tank of gas
Half a pack of cigarettes and
a whole shitload of sass.
And there is no where to run to
When there is no place to hide,
I’m crossing the county line
with my bestie by my side
[first draft] need to cut these to fit