headed out from the Acorn Social Club,
south of gangster town,
and saved our souls
in Staten Island for a spell.
we ruined yesterday
by living today,
waking up alive,
from here to there.
Carla's a babe,
she is older,
and want's nothing to do with me,
but she is a good distraction doctor.
what went down that Thursday
will be blamed on New Orleans
and last year and forever,
such stupid dumb love and luck.
one shot for the windshield wipers,
two for the seatbelts and headrest;
this is a race to the bottom,
leading to the life of somebody else.
drove through the theory
or through the rain,
through the night,
and it is what it is, they say.
just a couple hours
and one more day
until I can ditch this outfit
and start all over again.