Tuesday, October 27, 2020

Overheard at Table 1: Scrap of Lyrics




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


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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