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Tires
The tires on the road,
kicking dirt up as we go.
Passing the Mississippi,
I feel like a fuckin hippie.
We arrive at Shangra La,
standing with open jaws.
Dancing, eating, slackline,
because here there's no time.
The tires on the road,
Makes time go so slow
There's a whole world to see,
as we come up on New York City.
buildings, babes, and booze,
get time to kick off our shoes
before we have to leave,
I have a plan, trust me.
The tires on the road,
I hope one doesn't blow.
With passports in order,
we get to cross the border.
Canada is a hit,
and I mark it off our list.
Then I look to you and say,
"Well, where to next.. ey?"
