MR
2019-0315
Well the weather man says fair
and smooth sailing ahead,
as we take to the highway
singing Better Off Dead.
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
Chorus:
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.
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