very old morris - gold buick lyrics
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pretty soon, barring weather
i’ll ride the fulton county fair
i ain’t seen eight in half a decade
but won a car last i was there
the sound of hooves, the smell of pumpjacks
will lead me, heavy on the air
and i’ll break a heart, a couple bones i’ve got to spare
and once all my party money’s spent
while i still prize myself a cynic yet
go on around once, scrounging upper hands
and swear i pride myself on it
and haul an empty one+horse trailer
70 south to matador
hitched to a gold buick lesabre
a kind of rolling metaphor
a broken nose and weary angels
a silver buckle and a burner phone
eight ball for luck, silver bullet for the road
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