Sugar in the gas tank my car won't go
and where I stop the speedometer knows
Sucking one hundred dollar bills up your bloodshot nose
applying magic marker to prewashed clothes
I've got a critic in the backseat
all words they pass straight through me
tangled in my ribcage and gouging out my heartstrings
My jaws unhinged so in the chorus we all shall sing
Painting those lines down Texas' roads
where my pawned car just failed to go
but the man he drives right off the right
Bounce off of my hood and into the mud