Sitting here hungry, i've been drinking and Moody
Thinking back when I had the Lincoln and cruising
Around the town listening to blues travelers; damn
That car was like the brotherhood of the traveling pants
all of my people drove her, atleast the ones with a chance
And if they ain't have a license they still paid for the gas.
It was like a right to take the whip for a ride
Hit I-275 smoking, coming back from Cincinnati high.
The only radio that worked was a 2 speaker boom box
Battery powered with a tape deck that held the Roots; locked.
You either drove and played music or you sat in the back
cuz the radio had permanent shotty;
everybody else rolled the sacks.
It had a rebuilt title, and still idled a little low,
If we stayed parked for too long, the headlights dimmed to a glow.
Punch the gas and Rev the engine; she roared back to life every time,
Till one night we hit a tree, and couldn't stop her from dying.
She was the whole blocks car, half the people in it I never knew
Which makes it odd I cared more that the engine was through
Than I did for the kid that died that night with her too
Because he was just a bystander in the the death of my youth.
