The box was shaking with the Ultimatte® Blues.
With Lavon breaking in our shoes.
Getting by between the beach and the pool,
And buy-backs by noon,
At the Autobahn Saloon.
Where you don’t have to be alone.
Second Sticks in which we lighten the mood,
With lowly sickly moves.
This boyish chick spit up like she was christening mooks,
Wasting all of that booze.
Like an automotive stone.
There’s a chain gang hopeless thing chant that we both know.
It goes, “you can march off unexposed or I can take you home.”